Stigma Premier

Night had fallen over the palace when Márquez left the hall and took refuge on the terrace. Governing the frontier had taught him that danger rarely announces its arrival.

The doors opened behind her. "She always chooses solitude," said the Countess.

He didn't turn around immediately. "Solitude allows for clear thinking"

She stepped forward to the railing, observing the dark gardens. "Brightness can be unsettling. The Duke of Armand mentions her name in council." The Marquis barely turned his face.

She showed no surprise. "Titles are disputed when the kingdom feels insecure." The Countess studied it carefully.

"They could blame him for the tension at the border," a slight silence fell between them.

"I don't fear the accusation. I fear incompetence." A distant laugh came from the living room.

The party continued, oblivious to the invisible tension. "Then move before them."

The Marquis crossed his arms. The contemplation was over. Without another word, he walked into the palace.

The night had barely begun, and the real game wasn't fought with swords, but with decisions; she had to form a marital union with someone to quell the accusations for the moment before forming a better plan; she wouldn't allow them to take her position.

"Remember, I can be tolerant for the most part, but don't test my patience." The clinking of the teacup became somewhat louder.