Chapter Text
“Someone to see you, my lord.”
Chrom glanced up from the sheaf of parchment in front of him, blinked twice. “What?”
“Lady Maribelle, my lord. She is here to see you.” The door peeked open slightly to reveal the edge of a ruffled skirt before the tip of a parasol emerged and immediately swung the door open to reveal her pinched smile, just lightly irritated enough to still be charming.
“Maribelle.” Chrom paused. “Hi.” He immediately pushed the parchments to his right, managing to narrowly avoid an inkpot as he did so.
“Good day, milord.” She swept in with all the force of a small storm, pink breeches swapped out for a light green dress the color of her family crest, but hair still up in her tightly spun curls. When she sat in the seat opposite him, she laid the parasol across her knees instead of resting the tip on the stone floor.
“Oh.” Maribelle looked down at the white umbrella in her lap, evidently following his gaze. “My apologies, milord. It is –”
“Merely a habit.” Chrom nodded. Even while travelling with the Shepherds, she had refused to let the brilliantly starched white parasol touch the muddy ground, even once.
She smiled tightly back at him. “Exactly.”
“So. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Chrom clasped his hands in front of him on the table.
Maribelle took a slight breath before speaking. “Milord, it has come to my attention that there is rumor your advisors wish to find you a wife.”
Chrom’s entire demeanor tightened. He instantly grimaced. “Well. I’m not surprised the heir of the duchy of Themis has heard of this. Especially since she’s also Lissa’s close confidant.”
“Yes, milord. I have word from Lissa, but I mostly speak of hearing things from others – other noblewomen. Gossip runs quickly through these halls, milord.” At Chrom’s immediate scowl, Maribelle continued. “As much we wish it would not, of course.”
“Of course.” Chrom pulled one of the pieces of parchment back in front of him and began to fidget with the corner of it. “Well, what do you have to say of these gossips, then?”
“It is not the gossips I come to speak about today, milord, but the truth.”
Chrom looked up. Maribelle’s eyes were fixed directly on his. “The truth?”
“Yes, milord.” She paused, smoothed an imagined crease out of her dress. “I wanted to hear from you – much as it may not be any of my business, of course – what you mean to do about it.”
Chrom’s lip curled down, and he fixed his gaze at the parchment as though to burn holes in it. “It is rumor. My advisors cannot force me into marriage.”
“But they can, milord.” He looked up to speak, but Maribelle held up a lace-gloved hand. “Please. If you would let me continue, milord.”
He nodded stiffly, and she regally inclined her head in response. “Thank you, milord. We both know that your advisors hold considerable sway. You have not been the exalt long, milord. There is not much we can do about them, unfortunately – they will pester you until your ears bleed, if you will please pardon the rough expression.”
Chrom looked as though she was forcing him to eat lemons, but he sighed, looking up. “I admit, you are correct.”
“And yet you have no plans?” Maribelle’s hands tightened around her parasol.
“I will marry for love,” Chrom bit out. He looked briefly to the side, as though his bookshelf would give him answers. “I refuse to be… forced into something I do not wish.”
“And what about Lissa, then?”
His head immediately snapped back to meet her gaze, eyes darkening. “What do you mean by that? Lissa has nothing to do with this.”
“Au contraire, my dear prince.” Maribelle’s lips thinned. “Unfortunately, court politics being as it is… one of you will most likely be asked – and by asked, well, it goes without saying that there is force behind the question – to marry for something other than love. If not you, my – our – dearest Lissa.”
“I won’t allow it.” Chrom’s voice was steel, the voice of a man well-accustomed to giving commands he knew would be followed.
Maribelle shut her eyes and smiled with no warmth. “I would not either, milord. Unfortunately, it is not my decision to make. After all, there are many options for your advisors to suggest. There is a duke from Regna Ferox who has been sending letters to one of your advisors, you know. A few noblemen in court with rich purses who could be useful in potentially stabilizing your rather fluctuating coffers, a few earls scattered around, and I’ve heard word that a lord from Plegia, of all places, is looking to solidify an alliance. Virion has been whispering something about a Valmese nobleman, and –”
“All right, that’s quite enough.” Chrom raised a hand as though to physically block her words. “Plenty of options. I get it.”
“And all of them are loose cannons. Loose ends.” Maribelle’s face pinched into a scowl. “We know not enough about any of them, and I refuse to place dear Lissa in a situation where she would be harmed.”
“Gods, no.” Chrom’s expression darkened. “I would never let Lissa be – no. Never.”
“Well, then, milord.” Maribelle said. “What are you going to do about the situation?”
He eyed her before eventually breaking eye contact and sighing. He covered his eyes with one gloved hand. “Oh, gods. Lissa.”
“If you married advantageously, it is unlikely Lissa will have to, milord. She is, after all, younger, and you would have fodder and influence enough to push your advisors away. They have not turned to her yet.”
There was a pause. Maribelle’s eyes fell to the parchment on Chrom’s desk. It was a treaty, something in legal writing. Chrom’s signature was scribbled out at the bottom. Several quiet, long seconds passed.
“Yes. Fine. You are right, Maribelle.” His voice was heavy. “Why have you come here to say this?”
Maribelle took a breath, steadied herself. “Milord, I have come to recommend you a course of action.”
“What?” Chrom’s hand slipped from his face, his expression close to anger. “So you too would advise me, for ‘the good of the kingdom’?”
“No, milord.” Maribelle bit her tongue lightly between her teeth, thinking about how to continue. “As I am sure your advisors have let you know, there are many women who would serve you well as options for marriage.”
“I am well aware of the copious options open to me.” Chrom grimaced, presumably at the thought of the multiple advisors who hounded him.
“Good. I am here to offer you a different way of proceeding.” His eyes were immediately on her. She pushed her shoulders back, posture ramrod straight. “I am here to offer myself, milord.”
“What?” Chrom looked immediately wary, the self-same expression he wore before a fight. She looked at her parasol and then back up again.
“I am a noblewoman, milord, daughter and sole heir to Duke and Duchess Themis. This, and the money my family name makes, will throw a bone to those slavering advisors of yours. I am a Shepherd, so I will know those you spend time with and I will understand your devotion to them over the royal army.”
Chrom opened his mouth but Maribelle swiftly cut him off. “I am dearly devoted to Lissa. I consider her a sister already, and it would be my honor to be her sister by law. I am acquainted with the court already, as a foreigner would not be. And… if I may be so bold, we are friends. I am no stranger.”
“But – Maribelle, wait.” Chrom looked entirely lost. He touched the desk in several places, shifting things around as though to find some meaning in the papers around him. “Why do you suggest this? I don’t understand.”
“It solves many problems,” Maribelle said levelly. Her grip tightened on her parasol again, until she looked at her lap and noticed her knuckles had gone the same color as the lace.
“But…” Chrom looked at the ceiling, back at her, and then to his desk. His eyebrows were drawn together, his eyes, so like Lissa’s, wide and confused. “But, Maribelle, you have no stake in this. Why do you not… I mean, I am appreciative of the offer, but this doesn’t make sense.”
Maribelle looked at her hands again, and forcibly loosened her grip. “A prince cannot marry for love. Neither can a lady.”
The noise of a chair creaking was the only marker of Chrom’s discomfort, as Maribelle refused to look up. “Wait, Maribelle. I am appreciative. Please understand.”
“No, milord, I do understand. Neither of us are in a position to be picky.” She forced herself to meet his eyes, so blue and wide. “You would do well to marry a soon-to-be-Duchess, and I am also hounded to marry, though by my father. I do not expect love, but I doubt you do either, milord.”
Chrom was silent. She met his eyes for a minute longer before standing.
“I will see you tomorrow morn, I am sure, milord. Please consider the offer.”