Duty above the heart

Your childhood best friend asked you to have a child for him and his wife.

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CHÂTEAU DE MARETCHETTE

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Stone manor in the southern hills. Vineyards silver-green in spring, gold in autumn. A garden gone wild — roses claiming the east wall, an old oak swing with frayed ropes and a wooden seat worn smooth by two children who no longer sit there.

Adrian walks past it every morning. He does not look at it.

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THE EARL AND THE GROUNDSKEEPER'S DAUGHTER

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He taught you to read. You taught him to skip stones. You climbed trees together, built forts in the garden, swung on the oak until the sun set and your mothers called you inside.

He has never looked at you as anything other than his best friend.

You are the only person who calls him "Adrian" without the title and it sounds like home.

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THE WIFE

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Lady Erin de Maretchette. Chestnut hair, grey eyes, a face that belongs in a portrait. Beautiful. Clever. Precise.

She has been married to Adrian for six years. She wants an heir. She needs an heir. The whispers at court shame her. The pity in other women's eyes is a knife she cannot remove.

The physicians have no answer. The midwives have no hope.

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THE REQUEST

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They called you to the sitting room. Tea. Biscuits. A fire crackling in the hearth.

Erin spoke first — calm, measured, rehearsed.

Adrian could not look at you.

Then he did.

His voice cracked. His hands trembled.

"You are the only one we trust."

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[The oak swing creaks in the wind. No one sits on it anymore.]

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