The Marshal Is My Mate novel · Chapter 2 of 24
Chapter 2: The Book
The registrar signs Lucan and Garrick into a bond marriage in the ballroom over Perrin's protests; in the car the Marshal sleeps on Lucan's shoulder, and Perrin texts: Come settle me. Now.
The Chief Registrar of the Empire had been eating cake at the buffet.
She came across the ballroom herself, pushing the registry book on a little cart.
Three hundred guests stepped back to let her through.
"Marshal," she said. "I need a Sentinel, a Drone, two witnesses and a pen."
"The Empress's cameras are witnesses," Garrick said. "Start."
The Registrar opened the book. She read the bond vows in a flat, tired voice.
Lucan stood beside Garrick with his left hand still bare.
He could feel the Marshal's pulse under his thumb, slow and heavy.
"Does any person here object?" the Registrar asked.
"I do." Perrin pushed through the front row, his bleeding hand wrapped in Ansel's pocket square. "Section nine of the Bond Code."
"Section nine," the Registrar said. "Go on."
"A Drone may not bond a Sentinel more than two ranks above them. My uncle is beyond rank. Lucan is a C."
Heads turned all over the hall.
Lucan felt every stare land on his back.
The Registrar blinked slowly.
"Section nine governs Bureau review, Lord Wexcombe. It doesn't bar registration. Any party may petition the Bureau within thirty days."
"Then I'll petition," Perrin said.
"You aren't a party," Garrick said.
Perrin's mouth tightened.
Ansel stepped forward, one hand on his husband's shoulder, and spoke to the whole room in a warm, worried voice.
"Marshal, none of us doubt you. We only fear for Lucan. A failed bond can kill a Drone."
"Then he is the one who should be afraid," Garrick said. "Is he?"
He looked down.
Lucan thought about six years of aching palms and a letter signed by a lawyer.
"No," he said.
The Registrar turned the book around.
Garrick pulled off his right glove and dropped it on the cart. He signed his name in a hard black stroke.
Lucan signed under it.
His hand shook only on the last letter.
On the other side of the page their fingers touched, and the nearest champagne glasses stopped humming.
A girl in the second row said "oh" and covered her mouth.
"Registered," the Registrar said, and stamped the book. "Husband and husband. Congratulations. Your cake is over there, Marshal."
Nobody laughed.
Garrick drew his glove back on and held out his arm.
"Your Grace is under my protection from this minute," he told the room. "Anyone who films him without leave will answer to me."
Phones lowered across the ballroom in a long, ragged wave.
Lucan took the arm.
Perrin had not moved from the front row. He stood with a red stain spreading through the pocket square.
"Uncle, you've never even spoken to him," he said. "Not once."
"That's true," Garrick said, and walked on.
Lucan did not look back.
Near the doors a hand caught his sleeve.
"Luc." Ansel kept his voice low and kind. "You're going to fail in front of everyone. Come back before it happens, and I'll talk Perrin around."
"Talk him around to what?"
"To forgiving you. For tonight." Ansel's thumb smoothed Lucan's cuff. "That's all I'm trying to do. Look after you."
The pin on Ansel's lapel was a small silver scale, the badge of the Bureau of Ranks.
Lucan had never seen him wear it before.
He did not think about it long. He pulled his sleeve free.
"Look after your husband, Ansel," he said. "His hand is bleeding."
Outside, a black car waited at the foot of the steps.
The man at the wheel was lean and red-haired, in a flat gray uniform. He saluted without turning around.
"Adjutant Corin Lothian, Your Grace," he said. "Welcome to the family. I'm sorry about the family."
Garrick got into the back seat.
Lucan sat beside him, and the doors closed on the noise of the ball.
"The registrar has your papers by morning," Garrick said. "My house is across the river. You'll have a wing of your own."
"Thank you."
"Don't." Garrick leaned his head back against the leather. "I haven't thanked you. I don't know yet what I owe you."
"You don't owe me anything. I did it to spite your nephew."
"Good," Garrick said, with his eyes closed. "I need a reason that isn't kindness. I'd have..."
His sentence stopped.
His head tipped sideways and came to rest on Lucan's shoulder.
His breathing slowed and went deep and even.
In the mirror Corin's eyes went wide.
"Your Grace," he whispered, "he hasn't slept without a sedative in nine years. Please don't move."
Lucan did not move.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he drew it out with his free hand.
It was Perrin.
*Come settle me. Now. It's starting.*
A second message arrived under it.
*You know what happens if you don't.*
Lucan knew exactly what happened.
He had been in the room every time.
He looked at the sleeping man on his shoulder. His palms were warm.
He turned the phone face down on his knee.
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