Gale – Candlekeep, Two Days Before Departure

  Traveling, Gale insisted, was an exact science.

  One began with a list. Then another list, to double-check the first list’s priorities. Then came clothing (practical), gloves (charmed), a traveling cloak (deep forest green), and boots (already spelled against slipping, frostbite, and "regrettable aesthetic choices").

  Next, the books.

  Three volumes on arcane law, two on noble court customs (he muttered while packing these), a treatise on cursed architecture, and — despite himself — A Historical Survey of Ducal Foher: Lineage, Legacy, and Last Scandals.

  He packed each one with reverent precision into his satchel, murmuring minor protective spells as he went.

  That done, he turned to his wardrobe, muttering enchantments that sorted the clothing by warmth, color coordination, and last-worn date.

  Then came the knock.

  “Master Dekarios?”

  He ignored it.

  “It’s about the—”

  “Come in, and speak only if it’s either urgent, illegal, or on fire.”

  The door opened to reveal a flushed, nervous student — one of the more persistent ones, a tangle of youth and panic and badly recited theory.

  “I… um… think I’ve accidentally reversed a binding ward on the astral floor. It’s not dangerous. I think. But the chairs are singing. Very politely.”

  Gale blinked.

  Then sighed. “Of course they are.”

  Fran – Vartis, Same Morning

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  She had not meant to say it.

  But she had said it.

  And now the city hummed with it.

  “Gale Dekarios of Waterdeep.”

  A name dropped in desperation. And now it was everywhere.

  They gossiped in the corridors, the kitchens, the gardens, the bathhouses.

  “She bewitched him,” some whispered. “Lured him with sob stories and eyes like poisoned tea.”

  “He’s the one who cast something,” others muttered. “Everyone knows he had lovers in every city. She’s just another crown for his collection.”

  Even the staff had turned sharper, ruder. Courtiers left suggestions of eligible nobles with conveniently similar names on her desk. Some proposals came sealed with hearts.

  And still, worse than all of that, worse than the court or the rumors or the headaches —

  — was the waiting.

  Waiting for him to arrive. To smirk. To lecture. To pity her.

  “You poor thing,” she imagined him saying. “A duchess in name. A girl in truth.”

  She’d send him away.

  The moment she saw him.

  She’d already rehearsed it a dozen times in her head.

  “Thank you for your journey. The Duchess appreciates your time. But she will not require your services after all.”

  Clean. Formal. Final.

  Gale – On the Road

  The chairs had, in fact, been very polite.

  One had even recited a sonnet about the ceiling.

  It took him hours to dispel the charm, lecture the student, and draft a formal reprimand that included the phrase “if you must reanimate furniture, at least do it with style.”

  By the time he returned to his packing, he’d completely forgotten his reply to Vartis — which now sat, unopened, on a shelf beneath a teetering stack of books about demon summoning etiquette.

  He departed Candlekeep the next morning, pleased with his efficiency.

  The journey was uneventful — if long.

  Snow turned the world to bone and hush. His driver was mute with frost. At night, he read by lantern light, swaddled in blankets and smugness. He wondered what kind of library the palace had. Probably disorganized. Probably dusty. Probably full of locked cabinets he’d open anyway.

  He slept surprisingly well.

  Fran – Vartis, Morning of His Arrival

  The rumors had reached their climax by dawn.

  Someone left an enchanted pastry on her study chair. It briefly sang a love ballad before being drowned in ink.

  By midmorning, a valet arrived, stiff-backed and nervous.

  “Your Grace… Master Dekarios has arrived. He is being received now.”

  Fran didn’t even flinch.

  She only stood — slowly — and smoothed her sleeves, every gesture precise.

  “He is to meet me alone,” she said. “In the palace library.”

  The valet bowed and fled.

  Alone in the silence, she rehearsed the words again.

  Once more.

  Then once more, to be sure.

  And then she walked.

  Toward the moment she feared.

  Toward the man she would surely regret.