The Dragon Warlord's Silent Bride

DIANA’S POV

By the next morning, Blackharrow had given Diana an office and immediately filled it with other people’s problems.

The room itself was unimpressive.

Good.

It sat beside the main Household Relief office, close enough that clerks could move files between them without crossing half the Citadel. A narrow window overlooked the Healing and Household Terrace. Two desks occupied opposite walls, with shelves for active cases and a locked cabinet for records containing private family information.

Someone had placed a carved chair behind Diana’s desk.

It was taller than every other chair in the room.

Diana looked at it.

Then at the senior relief clerk.

He cleared his throat.

”Household Works believed the Grand Duchess should have a proper chair.”

Diana sat in the ordinary chair beside the desk.

The clerk looked at the carved one.

Diana opened the first file.

Eventually he sat too.

His name was Master Enric Marlon, and he had spent twenty-three years working in military dependent support, casualty correspondence, and territorial relief.

He knew far more about the work than Diana did.

That became obvious before the first hour ended.

Diana reviewed a petition from a wounded infantryman whose household allowance had been reduced after his unit record changed status.

She read the military page.

Then the relief page.

Then wrote: THE UNIT RECORD IS WRONG.

Master Marlon looked at the documents.

”No, Your Grace.”

Diana looked up.

”The relief classification is wrong.”

He turned the military record toward her.

”The soldier moved from active infantry to medical convalescence. His unit status changed correctly. The allowance should have followed him into convalescent support but did not.”

Diana reread the lines.

He was right.

She had found the disagreement and blamed the wrong office.

Diana crossed out her note.

Master Marlon watched.

She wrote: IF I AM WRONG, TELL ME.

The man hesitated.

Diana turned the slate farther toward him.

He read it again.

”Even when the correction is inconvenient?”

ESPECIALLY THEN.

Master Marlon looked at the tall carved chair standing empty behind her.

Something about his posture eased.

”Then the relief classification is wrong.”

Diana nodded.

”Because the medical transfer date controls the allowance change, not the unit reassignment.”

She wrote that down.

Master Marlon continued.

”The military office has no reason to know whether the household payment changed correctly. They record the soldier. We record the dependent support.”

Which was exactly how six miners had disappeared between correct records.

Each office could perform its own work properly while the contradiction lived in the space between them.

Diana marked the file for correction and moved to the next.

By midday she had reviewed eight cases.

Three required no further action after the clerk explained what Diana had misunderstood.

Two involved delayed documents that had already arrived.

One required Treasury verification.

Another concerned a soldier listed under two slightly different spellings after transferring between companies.

The final file involved an elderly father receiving the wrong heating allocation after his son’s death benefit changed category.

Nothing about the work looked important enough for a battlefield.

That had become one of Diana’s reasons for taking it seriously.

Alma worked at the second desk for part of the morning, organizing Diana’s notes into the forms other offices could read quickly. She did not speak for Diana when the clerks were capable of waiting for the slate.

When a junior clerk misunderstood one of Diana’s shortened notes, Alma explained the sign Diana had used rather than supplying a new decision.

Daric appeared at the door shortly before lunch and found Alma surrounded by files.

”You have been recruited.”

Alma did not look up.

”I was already employed.”

”Different problem.”

Diana pointed toward the door.

Daric looked at her.

She wrote: DO YOU HAVE A CASE?

”No.”

THEN WHY ARE YOU HERE?

”I was told the Grand Duchess had occupied the relief office.”

Diana waited.

”That sounded dangerous.”

Alma said, ”For the relief office?”

”Yes.”

Diana considered throwing a file at him.

Master Marlon quietly moved the nearest stack farther from her hand.

Apparently her reputation had spread.

Daric left before the office acquired a military incident.

Diana worked through lunch.

This was discovered by Alma.

Alma informed Master Marlon.

Master Marlon informed nobody, which Diana appreciated.

Mistress Hale discovered it anyway.

A meal appeared beside Diana’s elbow.

She looked at Alma.

Alma shook her head.

”I did not send it.”

Master Marlon was reading a Treasury response.

”Neither did I.”

Diana lifted the cover.

Dark bread. Roasted vegetables. A small portion of meat.

Nothing elaborate. Enough that whoever had sent it apparently expected her to continue working while eating.

Diana ate while working.

The afternoon cases took longer.

A missing-soldier appeal required military confirmation before relief could act.

A widow’s housing request belonged entirely within household authority and needed no military involvement.

A convalescent soldier had submitted two contradictory addresses because his family moved while he was deployed.

Diana learned that some contradictions meant fraud.

Some meant mistakes.

Some meant a person’s life had changed faster than the paperwork.

By late afternoon the Winter Court became visible through the office window as workers carried treated wood through the adjoining passage.

Diana went down to inspect the work before the light disappeared.

The northern shelter remained unfinished.

One section of plaster still needed repair, and the drainage channel along the reopened room had been uncovered again after meltwater pooled near the threshold.

Tavia stood beside a craftsman with the shelter drawing.

”This angle still collects snow.”

The craftsman looked personally offended by weather.

”It collects less.”

”Less snow still weighs something.”

Diana took the plan.

The revised support used local iron and replaceable panes exactly as agreed.

The slope was the problem.

She pointed.

Tavia nodded.

”Higher there.”

The craftsman sighed.

”I know.”

Diana wrote: THEN WHY IS IT NOT HIGHER?

He looked between both women.

”I was hoping neither of you would notice.”

Tavia said, ”Poor strategy.”

Diana approved.

They sent the drawing back.

Nothing about the Winter Court was suddenly complete because people had started using the name.

An elderly woman sat on the finished southern bench while waiting for her husband’s infirmary examination. A child had already discovered the wooden animal box and was attempting to balance three carved dragons on one another.

The place worked while still being worked on.

Diana liked that.

She returned to the office after sunset.

Only four cases remained.

Then three.

Then two.

Master Marlon finally stood.

”Your Grace, those will still be here tomorrow.”

Diana wrote: THEY ARE HERE NOW.

”That is generally how paper works.”

Diana looked at him.

He bowed.

”Tomorrow, Your Grace.”

Alma had already left to collect a replacement slate and apparently decided Master Marlon had the right idea.

Diana remained with the last two files.

A shadow crossed the open doorway.

She looked up.

Raigoro stood there.

His ribs no longer required the broad support wrap, but the Citadel healer had still restricted full training. Diana knew because the Citadel healer had told her when asked.

Raigoro took in the office, including the empty carved chair.

”You rejected the chair.”

Diana wrote: IT IS RIDICULOUS.

”It is taller.”

EXACTLY.

He entered.

His attention moved to the papers.

”How long have you been here?”

Diana looked toward the window.

Dark.

Unhelpful.

She wrote: A WHILE.

Raigoro picked up the covered food tray sitting untouched on the side table.

Diana had not seen anyone bring it.

He put it beside her.

”You missed dinner.”

She opened the cover.

Warm bread.

Stew.

Frostberry preserve again.

Diana looked from the preserve to Raigoro.

Then wrote: WHO TOLD YOU?

”No one.”

She waited.

Raigoro pulled the second ordinary chair closer to the desk.

Diana pointed toward the preserve.

Raigoro looked at it.

”You choose it over plum whenever both are on the table.”

Diana stared.

That was true.

She had not known he had noticed.

Raigoro sat.

”Eat.”

Diana wrote: YOU ARE BECOMING LIKE ALMA.

”That sounds serious.”

EXTREMELY.

She took the bread anyway.

Raigoro glanced toward the active file.

”What is left?”

Diana turned the folder toward him.

A dependent-support appeal requiring confirmation from a territorial unit.

He read the first page.

”This can wait.”

Diana wrote: YOU GAVE ME WORK.

”I did not tell you to fight it to the death.”

Diana looked at the file.

Then wrote: IT STARTED IT.

Raigoro looked close to smiling, and Diana made the mistake of noticing his mouth. The accidental kiss returned to her with irritating efficiency. When he caught her looking, Diana became intensely interested in her stew.

This post-kiss situation was becoming poorly designed.

Raigoro took the other remaining file and opened it.

”I’ll read while you eat.”

Diana looked at him.

”This does not transfer the decision to me.”

Good.

She ate.

He read.

Neither mentioned the cavern.

By the time Diana finished eating, Raigoro had found the missing reference number in the final file.

Diana wrote the request for verification.

Two cases remained for morning instead of four.

She closed the active ledger.

Raigoro stood.

Diana gathered her slate.

At the door, she looked back at the office.

The carved chair still stood unused.

The shelves were already half full.

Tomorrow more files would come.

In Valence, records had helped make Diana disappear. Here, Blackharrow had given her a desk because someone needed to notice when the records were wrong.

A junior clerk appeared in the doorway before Diana could leave.

”Your Grace?”

Diana looked at the file in his hand.

”Master Marlon asked that this be placed first tomorrow.”

She took it.

The petitioner was a widow named Eva Corven.

Four Blackharrow offices agreed that her husband was dead.

Two could not agree what he had done afterward.