Swords, Scandals, and Secret Lovers (i)

Location: Shelb Estate - Training Grounds

The training grounds of the Shelb Estate buzzed with an unusual energy, far removed from its usual stern drills and disciplined formations. Instead of the clang of steel, the air was filled with laughter, the rustle of parchment, and Adrian von Shelb's unmistakable voice carrying over the crowd.

"Alright, gentlemen," Adrian announced grandly, standing atop a makeshift podium fashioned from stacked crates. In his hand was a small wooden box, the words 'Soldier Suggestion Box' painted in bright, cheerful letters. "This," he declared, holding up a parchment, "is the future of military morale!"

A ripple of laughter ran through the gathered soldiers, most of them leaning on their weapons or nudging one another in amusement. Ethan von Shelb arrived just in time to witness Adrian's latest spectacle. His arms were crossed, and his expression was a mix of disbelief and exasperation.

"What is this nonsense?" Ethan demanded, striding forward.

Adrian grinned down at him, unbothered. "Ah, Ethan! Just in time for the morale briefing."

Ethan's brow furrowed. "Morale briefing? Adrian, this is a military camp, not a circus!"

Adrian held up a parchment dramatically. "Oh, but isn't it? Listen to this suggestion: 'Weekly pie contests.'"

The soldiers cheered, and someone shouted, "Apple pies, sir!"

Ethan groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Pie contests? What's next?"

Adrian smirked, pulling another slip from the box. "Glad you asked. 'Softer socks,' and wait for it… 'A camp mascot.'"

The soldiers burst into laughter, a few calling out animal suggestions. "A goat!" "No, a falcon!"

Ethan threw up his hands. "Adrian, we're supposed to be preparing for battle, not a festival!"

"Happy soldiers are loyal soldiers, dear brother," Adrian replied with a grin, hopping down from the podium. "You just don't understand the finer nuances of leadership."

Ethan muttered under his breath, "If you'd been born first, Shelb would be a traveling circus troupe."

Adrian clapped him on the back, unfazed. "And it would be a very successful circus. Admit it, this is brilliant."

As the soldiers dispersed to continue their drills, Ethan cornered Adrian near the tent where the suggestion box sat.

"Adrian," Ethan began, his tone sharp but curious, "what's this I hear about tea classes? Since when are you so concerned with tea etiquette?"

Adrian sighed dramatically. "Oh, Ethan, you wouldn't understand. Mother insists I need proper tea etiquette to, and I quote, 'secure a respectable wife.'" He mimed holding a teacup, pinky extended, with exaggerated flair.

Ethan raised a brow. "And you're going along with this?"

"Well, I do enjoy tea," Adrian admitted with a shrug. "And who am I to deny Mother's wisdom? Besides," he added, his grin softening slightly, "if it lightens Micheal's mood even a little, isn't it worth it?"

Ethan paused, his initial exasperation fading for a moment. "You're doing this for him?"

Adrian waved it off with a casual hand. "He needs something to laugh at, and if that means I sacrifice my dignity in tea classes, so be it. It's not all bad—annoying you is just a bonus."

Ethan's lips twitched into the faintest smile. "Of course. Why did I even ask?"

Later that evening, Ethan watched the soldiers around the campfire. They laughed, trading stories, and a few even argued over which suggestion Adrian would approve next. Despite his earlier misgivings, Ethan couldn't deny the shift in atmosphere. The men seemed lighter, their camaraderie stronger.

A veteran sergeant approached Ethan, his weathered face carrying a thoughtful expression. "You know," he began, his voice steady but tinged with the weariness of experience, "for all his antics, Lord Adrian's onto something. Small things like this—suggestions, laughter—they mean more than you'd think to men who've seen too much."

Ethan nodded slowly, his gaze lingering on the flickering flames. The warmth of the fire seemed to echo the camaraderie growing among the men. "Maybe you're right," he admitted grudgingly. "But don't let him hear you say that. He'd be unbearable."

The sergeant chuckled softly. "Fair enough, sir. But sometimes a little chaos is exactly what we need."

Ethan's lips quirked into a rare smile as his eyes drifted to Adrian, now surrounded by a group of soldiers passionately debating whether a goat or a falcon would make the best camp mascot. Perhaps, Ethan mused, his brother's unique brand of chaos had its merits after all.

Location: Shelb Estate – Training Grounds

The midday sun bore down on the training grounds, its warmth failing to ease the sharp tension in the air. Soldiers, their drills momentarily forgotten, exchanged curious glances as Dame Vivian Whitestone stormed into the camp. Her crimson cloak swirled around her, her emerald eyes blazing with determination as she strode with purpose.

"Where is Ethan von Shelb?" she demanded, her voice ringing out like a challenge.

Ethan, standing amidst a group of recruits fumbling with their stances, sighed as though the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. "I'm right here, Dame Vivian," he called, stepping forward with a weary expression. "What now?"

"You dishonor me by ignoring my letter!" Vivian declared, crossing her arms over her breastplate.

Ethan blinked, his confusion genuine. "Letter? What letter?"

"The duel challenge, of course," she retorted, her smirk sharp. "Or are you still sulking after our last disagreement and pretending you didn't see it?"

Groaning, Ethan rubbed his temples. "Vivian, I thought you were venting! Fine." He gestured to a quieter area. "Let's step aside. No need to make this the camp's entertainment."

As they moved away, their animated gestures caught the attention of a few soldiers. One self-proclaimed lip-reading expert squinted at the pair.

"Did you see that?" he whispered to his friend. "The Commander just said, 'I've no time for balls.' Poor guy's too busy for a love life."

"I swear she said something about 'a true man keeping his word,'" the other replied. "Sounds like she's giving him a real piece of her mind."

The gossip spread like wildfire, painting a picture of a lover's spat instead of the duel discussion it truly was. As they watched they saw Ethan leading the Dame into his office which is in the Command Tent.

Inside the Command Tent

Ethan closed the flap behind them, sighing heavily as he leaned against his desk. "Alright, let's get this over with. What's your grievance this time?"

Vivian smirked, drawing her blade with a flourish. "Grievance? I'd call it a test of your pride, Ethan. You've been avoiding me for weeks."

Ethan groaned, dragging a chair toward the desk. It tipped over with a loud clatter, eliciting another groan from him. "You're insufferable."

Vivian leaned closer, resting the flat of her blade on the desk. "You know, it's not just about brute force. It's about finesse, rhythm—things you've never mastered."

Ethan scoffed, reaching for a schematic. "Finesse and rhythm? Here, critique this instead." He thrust the rolled parchment at her. "It's a new design. Lightweight, balanced, perfect for quick strikes."

Vivian unrolled the parchment, her emerald eyes narrowing as she inspected it. "Not bad," she admitted. "But the grip—too tight. You're overcompensating."

Ethan quirked an eyebrow. "Overcompensating? Maybe you're just not strong enough to handle it."

Vivian smirked, lifting her blade. "Oh, Ethan. I've handled bigger. It's about precision."

Outside the tent, the guards exchanged glances, their imaginations running wild.

"'Handled bigger'? Did you hear that?" one guard whispered.

"And something about precision," the other added. "They're definitely… you know."

Inside, Vivian twirled Ethan's blade experimentally before setting it down. "With some refinement, this could be decent. But it still won't match mine."

Ethan groaned again. "Can't you just say something nice for once?"

Vivian tilted her head, her smirk widening. "What's the fun in that?"

Reaching for a glass of wine left on the desk, Vivian took a deliberate sip, humming in approval. "Not bad. You've got good taste."

Ethan crossed his arms, unimpressed. "Are we done yet?"

Outside, the guards were frozen.

"She's humming! In the Commander's tent!" one whispered, scandalized.

"And all those bangs earlier?" another added, eyes wide. "What do you think they're doing in there?"

"Poor guy's finally letting off steam," the first muttered. "I hope it works out for them."