The Marshal Is My Mate novel · Chapter 1 of 24
Chapter 1: I Want Your Uncle
At the Empire's grandest ball Perrin publicly dismisses Lucan as too weak a Drone; Lucan walks to the Marshal, silences his storm with one touch and proposes, and Perrin crushes his glass.
At the Empire's grandest ball, in front of three hundred guests and a row of cameras, Perrin bowed to Lucan and asked him to give up.
"Your Grace, please," Perrin said, soft and polite. "I'm a married man now."
Lucan had come to this ball with one question, and Perrin had just answered it in public.
The engagement letter had arrived nine days ago. It was two lines long and it was signed by a lawyer.
Lucan had been engaged to Perrin for three years.
"You're a C-rank Drone," Perrin went on. "I'm an S-rank Sentinel. My storms are too big for you."
"I settled them for six years," Lucan said.
"You managed them." Perrin smiled kindly. "My husband is an A-rank. He can actually hold me."
The husband stood at Perrin's shoulder in a pale gray coat.
He had been Lucan's friend before he was Perrin's husband. He had carried Lucan's coat to the car on a hundred nights.
Now he laid a warm hand on Lucan's sleeve.
"Luc, nobody's being cruel," Lord Ansel Corval said. "Come to dinner next week. You'll always be welcome in our house."
His other hand was wrapped around Perrin's wrist.
Perrin's fingers drummed on the stem of his champagne glass, fast and uneven.
Lucan noticed it, and then his own palms began to ache, as they always did near Perrin.
They had ached for six years. He had stopped thinking about it.
Around them the guests had gone quiet and lifted their phones.
"Poor man," a woman whispered behind a fan. "He actually came."
"Three years," her friend whispered back. "And not one word of warning."
Lucan felt his face go hot.
He could beg, and every phone in the room would record it.
He could walk out, and the same phones would record that too.
He looked at Perrin's tidy bow and Ansel's gentle hand, and he made up his mind.
He was done asking for what he was owed.
"Perrin," Lucan said, loud enough for the back of the hall. "You're right. I can't settle you."
Perrin's smile eased. "I'm glad you understand."
"So I'll find a Sentinel who can use me." Lucan turned his head. "I want your uncle."
The champagne glass stopped in Perrin's hand.
For one second nobody spoke. Then three hundred people spoke at once.
Marshal Garrick Wexcombe stood at the far end of the hall, alone.
He wore a black dress uniform and black gloves, and he stood inside a wide ring of empty floor.
Nobody went inside that ring.
Garrick was the Empire's strongest Sentinel, and for nine years no Drone had been able to settle him.
Above his head the crystal chandelier was trembling.
Every glass on the nearest tables hummed, thin and high.
"Lucan, don't," Ansel said, and the warmth was gone from his voice. "That's a death wish."
"Let go of my arm, Ansel."
Ansel let go.
Lucan crossed the ballroom. The crowd opened for him and closed behind him.
At the edge of the ring a guard stepped in front of him. "Your Grace, four men have collapsed inside that circle."
"I know," Lucan said. "Move."
The guard looked at his Marshal.
Garrick gave one small nod.
Lucan stepped into the ring. The hum in the glasses climbed until his teeth ached.
Garrick looked down at him. His eyes were gray and red-rimmed from nine years without real sleep.
"Turn around, Duke," Garrick said. His voice was low and rough. "I won't be able to stop it if it breaks."
"Then I'd better be quick."
Lucan pulled off his left glove.
He took Garrick's wrist, undid the black cuff and pushed the sleeve back.
He laid his bare palm over the pulse.
The chandelier stopped swaying.
The glasses went silent, one after another, all the way across the hall.
Garrick's breath left him in a long, shaking line. His shoulders came down.
His hand opened inside Lucan's grip.
Nobody in the room made a sound.
"You're the C-rank," Garrick said, very quietly.
"Yes."
"Then why is it quiet?"
Lucan did not know. He only knew that, for the first time in six years, his palms did not hurt.
He kept his hand where it was and looked up.
"Marshal Wexcombe, marry me."
A woman at the edge of the ring dropped her fan.
"Uncle." Perrin had followed him as far as the line, white to the lips. "He's using you. He wants your name. He can't hold you."
"Perrin," Garrick said, without turning, "I haven't felt my hands in nine years, and I can feel them now."
He covered Lucan's hand with his own.
"Registrar," the Marshal said, and the whole hall heard it. "Bring the book to me tonight."
Behind them there was a sharp crack.
Perrin had crushed his champagne glass in his fist, and blood ran down between his fingers.
Ansel caught his wrist and Perrin did not even look at the cut.
He was staring at Lucan's hand on his uncle's wrist, and his mouth was shaking.
Want to keep talking to characters like these? Chat with AI romance characters: AI Boyfriend · AI Girlfriend · Dark Romance · Fantasy Romance · BL (Boys’ Love) · Billionaire Boyfriend · Mafia Boyfriend · Possessive Boyfriend · Hockey Boyfriend · Older Boyfriend · K-Drama Boyfriend · Anime Boyfriend · Vampire Boyfriend · Werewolf Boyfriend · Demon Boyfriend · Fae Romance · GL (Girls’ Love) · Anime Girlfriend · Goth & Alt Girlfriend · Gamer Girlfriend · Tsundere Girlfriend · Fantasy Girlfriend