A Stitch in Time (ii)

The automated carriage glided to a smooth stop in front of a weathered old shop, its peeling paint and sagging beams standing in stark contrast to the bustling Shelb-Armond Tower Micheal had just left. His bright blue eyes took in the neglected structure with a mix of hope and exasperation.

This was the shop his father had given him, a supposed "launchpad" for his man-bra venture, though it looked more like a sinking ship.

Micheal stepped out, brushing off his coat as Arthur came walking out from inside the shop. Arthur's neat and professional appearance stood in stark contrast to the shabby building. His straight black hair was combed perfectly to one side, and his piercing gray eyes seemed to absorb every detail of Micheal's arrival. Yet his slight stoop and fidgeting hands gave him the air of a man perpetually on the edge of worry or deep thought.

"Lord Micheal! You're here!" Arthur exclaimed, his voice tinged with a mix of relief and nervous excitement. "I was starting to think you'd decided to abandon this place."

"Abandon it? Never," Micheal replied, his voice tinged with dry humor. "Though if I'm honest, Arthur, the shop looks like it's doing a fine job of abandoning itself."

Arthur's face fell slightly as he glanced at the sagging ceiling beams. "It's not that bad… is it?"

Micheal strode past him, his polished boots clicking on the worn floorboards. "Arthur, we can't sell anything—let alone revolutionize soldier welfare—out of a shop that looks like it belongs to an apothecary from two centuries ago."

Arthur hesitated, his brow furrowing. "Do we really need to start with the structure? I mean, maybe a bit of cleaning—"

"Arthur." Micheal stopped and turned, fixing him with a patient but firm look. "First impressions matter. If our shop doesn't inspire confidence, neither will our products."

Arthur nodded quickly, his determination kicking back in. "You're right. Of course, you're right. I'll—uh—I'll make sure this place is ready for a grand opening in no time!"

Micheal smirked, amused by Arthur's earnestness. "Good. Now, how are your sketches coming along?"

Arthur perked up, eager to impress. "They're… progressing! But honestly, I wanted to hear how your meeting with Countess Maggie went first."

At the mention of Maggie, Micheal's expression shifted, a mix of pride and lingering embarrassment. "It could've gone better. She wasn't impressed with the designs or the prototypes."

Arthur tilted his head in confusion. "Prototypes? You had prototypes?"

"Barnaby made them last night," Micheal replied with a casual shrug, as if crafting professional-grade samples overnight was the most natural thing in the world.

Arthur's gray eyes widened. "Last night? But… you sketched those designs right in front of me. I was there!"

Micheal waved a dismissive hand. "Barnaby is efficient."

Arthur's mouth opened and closed as he processed this. Finally, he sighed, his admiration for Barnaby overtaking his bewilderment. "I'll just… work harder. Like Barnaby."

Micheal clapped a hand on his shoulder as he tuned to return home. "That's the spirit."

-----

The hum of the automated carriage soothed Micheal as he leaned back against the seat, staring out at the passing countryside. His com-tab buzzed, pulling him from his thoughts. It was a message from Maggie.

Maggie Armond: "I know today didn't go as planned, but I admire your persistence. If you're serious about helping soldiers, you need to understand their lives. Get real experience."

Micheal frowned, reading the message twice. Real experience. She couldn't possibly mean joining an army camp, could she? His com-tab buzzed again.

Maggie Armond: "Try the Armond military camp. Start as a recruit. You won't be coddled there. It's the best way to understand your audience."

He hesitated, his thumb hovering over the screen. As the heir—albeit a spare—of House von Shelb, joining the military as a common recruit was unheard of. His family's legacy hung over him like a storm cloud, and every decision he made was scrutinized through the lens of Harold von Shelb's legend.

Micheal: "Not sure I can do that. Expectations are… complicated in Shelb."

Her reply was swift.

Maggie Armond: "That's exactly why you should try it. Armond camp is different. No one cares who you are there. Think about it."

Micheal let out a long sigh, staring out at the rolling hills. The idea was both daunting and oddly appealing. Could he really do it? Shed his title and immerse himself in the life of a soldier? The thought lingered as his com-tab buzzed again—this time, a message from Lysander.

Lysander Valmont: "I hear Lady Maggie roped you into joining the military. Man-bra pioneer turned warrior? This I must see."

Micheal scowled at the screen.

Micheal: "And I hear the great Lysander Valmont has been reduced to fetching fir tree rings for my wife. A tragic fall."

Lysander Valmont: "Touché. But unlike you, I wasn't presenting corsets to soldiers."

Micheal: "They're man-bras. Functional ones."

Lysander Valmont: "Ah yes, functional enough to paralyze a dragonslayer. Truly revolutionary. The real question is how will you get the enemies to wear it?"

Micheal groaned, pocketing the com-tab as the carriage rolled to a stop in front of the estate. He stepped out with a new mix of emotions—uncertainty, determination, and a spark of excitement. Whether he took Maggie's offer or not, one thing was clear: the journey ahead was about to take a decidedly unexpected turn.

Location: Shelb Castle

Micheal arrived back at the Shelb estate, his mind still swirling with the implications of his earlier conversations. Magda's composed yet supportive words lingered, as did the biting wit of Lysander and Maggie's well-meaning critique.

He barely registered Barnaby handing him another neatly pressed invitation until the words "tea with the Duchess" snapped him out of his reverie.

"Tea? With Mother?" Micheal murmured, blinking at the ornate card.

Barnaby nodded solemnly. "It's not just tea, sir. It's the Duchess' tea. And when the Duchess summons, even the Emperor himself might consider rescheduling."

Micheal sighed. "I suppose I have no choice."

"No, sir. You do not," Barnaby quipped, straightening Micheal's lapel with a critical eye before waving him toward the family drawing room.

-----

The Duchess Eleanor von Shelb sat poised and regal, her long chestnut-brown hair cascading down her back in perfectly styled waves. Her hazel eyes, warm yet sharp, flicked to Micheal as he entered the room.

Beside her sat his two brothers: Adrian, his golden-blonde hair tied neatly back, exuding calm intelligence, and Ethan, the very image of a classic military hero with his cropped golden hair and muscular frame.

Micheal drifted in like a ghost, his bright blue eyes distant, still caught in his thoughts. The Duchess noticed immediately.

"You're late, Micheal," she said, her voice a mixture of affection and gentle reproach.

"Am I?" Micheal replied absently, sinking into a chair with the grace of a practiced nobleman.

Adrian raised an eyebrow. "Are you alright? You look... distracted."

The Duchess studied him for a moment before turning to her other sons. "Let us catch up first. Micheal seems to need a moment to land back on earth."

Adrian launched into a detailed account of a recent military training exercise, his tone lively but deliberate.

"And then, Mother," Adrian said, his deep blue eyes lighting up, "Father charged right into the mock skirmish with nothing but a wooden saber. His aura alone sent the recruits scattering. It was magnificent—just like the stories he tells about the Northern campaigns."

The Duchess smiled faintly. "I see your father is still fond of his theatrics."

"Oh, he is," Adrian confirmed, glancing at Ethan for support. "He's also given me some advice for motivating the troops. Honestly, Mother, it's fascinating to watch him still command so much respect."

"Respect or fear?" Ethan muttered under his breath, earning a sharp glance from Adrian.

"Respect," Adrian insisted, returning his attention to the Duchess. "The Shelb army remains one of the finest in the Empire, thanks to his leadership."

"And yours, no doubt," the Duchess said diplomatically, though her expression suggested she wasn't entirely sold on Adrian's account.

Ethan, who had been silent for most of Adrian's storytelling, leaned forward suddenly. "What about you, Micheal? Have you ever considered joining the army?"

He paused briefly before continuing, his tone firm. "Even as a volunteer, it would teach you discipline—something our House takes great pride in."

Micheal, who had been stirring his tea absently, froze. He looked up at Ethan as if seeing him for the first time.

"The army?" he echoed.

"Yes, the army," Ethan said firmly. "You're refined, yes, but some time with soldiers might temper that refinement with a little grit."

Before Ethan could continue, Micheal abruptly stood, his expression shifting to one of newfound determination.

"I've decided," he announced, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. "I'm joining the Armond military as a recruit."

The room fell into stunned silence. Adrian looked as though Micheal had just insulted the entire Shelb lineage, while Ethan's jaw slackened in disbelief.

"The Armond military?" Adrian finally managed, his tone hovering between offense and confusion. "Why not the Shelb army? It's one of the best in the Empire."

Micheal waved a hand dismissively. "The Armond camp suits my current... goals better."

Adrian's expression darkened. "So you think the Shelb army isn't good enough for you?"

"What? No! That's not what I meant—"

But Adrian was already frowning deeply, misinterpreting Micheal's words as criticism.

Ethan, meanwhile, looked genuinely shaken. "I was just trying to nudge you, not—" He gestured helplessly toward Micheal. "This."

The Duchess, who had been watching the exchange with growing irritation, set her teacup down with a decisive clink. "Enough," she said coolly, her hazel eyes sharp as they moved between Adrian and Ethan.

"Micheal," she continued, her voice softer but no less commanding, "are you certain about this? The army isn't exactly... your calling."

Micheal nodded, his determination unwavering. "I need to do this, Mother."

The Duchess sighed, her composed exterior cracking just slightly. "Very well. I know there's no swaying you once your mind is set, but if it becomes too much, you will come back."

Micheal was steadfast to a fault. Attempting to dissuade him would only strengthen his resolve.

Micheal inclined his head. "I won't."

As he left the room, the Duchess turned her gaze to her elder sons. "Congratulations," she said dryly. "Between Adrian's overzealous storytelling and Ethan's relentless pushing, you've driven your brother into the arms of another army."

Adrian looked mortified. "Mother, I didn't—"

"And I was just suggesting—" Ethan started, but the Duchess silenced them both with a raised hand.

"Enough," she said with a small sigh, reclaiming her teacup. "Men."

Ethan and Adrian exchanged glances, both wondering how such a simple tea had gone so spectacularly awry.

 -----