Clause 2: Standards of Conduct and Social Obligations

The light was all wrong.

Poppy blinked awake, disoriented. Late afternoon sun slanted through unfamiliar windows. She’d slept through the entire day and most of the previous night too, judging by the shadows.

The room was empty, and Titus’s side of the bed was cold. She could hear voices somewhere distant in the house; family, servants, the normal sounds of a household that didn’t include her.

And her hands were shaking.

Not badly. Not yet. But the familiar jitter was there—the edge of anxiety that came from missing doses, the tightness in her chest that had nothing to do with the contract or the marriage or any of it. Just her body reminding her what it needed.

You slept a long time, Echo observed. That’s good, right?

I missed doses.

You needed to sleep more.

That’s not how this works.

She pushed herself up carefully, listening. The voices were distant enough. Titus was clearly occupied elsewhere—consular duties, probably, or dealing with his family. Either way, she was alone.

She slipped out of bed and looked around the room for her bag. It was exactly where she’d left it, sitting on the chair by the writing desk. She crossed to it, hands steadier now that relief was close.

The vials were tucked in the inner pocket, the same place she always kept them in case someone needed them. She pulled them out, checking the levels automatically. Still plenty. A month’s worth, maybe more if she was careful.

You’re not going to be careful, Echo said.

Probably not.

She uncorked a vial and took a measured dose. Not too much—just enough to take the edge off, to stop the shaking, to quiet the anxiety that was part withdrawal and part everything else.

The relief was immediate. Warmth spreading through her chest, the tightness easing, her thoughts settling into something manageable instead of the spiraling mess they’d been.

Better? Echo asked.

Better.

She corked the vial and tucked it back into her bag, then stood there for a moment, staring at it.

This was fine. She was fine. She was cured, yes, but that didn’t mean she had to stop. Blight was useful for more than just Veilwalker infections. Plenty of people used it for—

For what? Echo interrupted.

Poppy ignored the book and moved to the wardrobe. Marius and Cassia had finished unpacking while she slept. Her clothes were arranged neatly, organized by type and color with more care than she usually bothered. Everything in its place in someone else’s system.

She pulled out a dress suitable for late afternoon. Simple enough not to look like she was trying too hard, formal enough that she wouldn’t embarrass Titus if she ran into his family.

Are you actually going to go out there? Echo asked. Or are you going to hide in here until dinner?

I should explore. Get my bearings.

You should find Titus and tell him about the dreams.

She got dressed without responding, taking her time with the laces and buttons. The Blight had settled into her system now, leaving her calm and focused. Clear-headed enough to navigate whatever family dynamics were waiting outside these rooms.

The hallway outside was quiet. She could still hear voices from somewhere below—the main floor, probably, or one of the common rooms. The estate was larger than she’d realized yesterday, all branching wings and corridors that looked similar enough to get lost in.

Just like home, Echo observed.

Not really. The Katullin estate was all sharp edges and marble, with high ceilings and dark colors designed to impress and intimidate. This place was warmer, more lived-in. Family portraits on the walls, lightly worn rugs in the hallways, the kind of details that came from generations actually living somewhere instead of just occupying it.

She turned left, away from the voices, following the corridor toward what looked like it might be a library or study. Better to orient herself to the quiet spaces first, the places she could retreat to when family dinners or political gatherings got to be too much.

The first door she tried opened into a sitting room, obviously someone’s private space. She backed out quickly before anyone noticed.

The second was a linen closet.

Very thorough exploration, Echo said.

I’m figuring out where things are.

You’re hiding.

The third door opened into what was clearly a music room. A pianoforte sat near the windows, and two drum sets were pushed into opposite corners. Sheet music was scattered across a table, and there was a child’s recorder sitting on the window seat.

The twins, probably. She could imagine them here, arguing over who got to play what.

They seem nice, Echo said. The twins.

They do.

You’re going to be their stepmother.

Poppy’s hand tightened on the door frame. She’d known Titus had daughters, obviously. But she hadn’t fully processed what that meant.

Stepmother.

You know what happens to stepmothers in stories, right? Echo’s tone was too casual.

They’re usually evil.

Exactly. Evil stepmothers and innocent children. Classic.

I’m not going to be evil to them.

I didn’t say you would be. I’m just saying that’s what people expect.

Poppy stepped back from the music room and closed the door carefully. Her heart was beating too fast again, the Blight not quite enough to smooth over this particular anxiety.

She was going to be a stepmother. To two nine-year-old girls who’d lost their real mother years ago. Who were excited about the wedding, about having someone new in their lives, who had no idea what they were actually getting—a woman who worked for her grandfather, who ran a press that was quickly becoming widespread in the Freelands, who was probably going to drag their father into political schemes he wanted no part of.

You’re spiraling again, Echo observed.

I’m being realistic.

You’re catastrophizing.

“Are you lost?”

Poppy spun around. A woman stood at the end of the hallway. She was older, elegant, with the kind of posture that suggested she’d been trained in etiquette from childhood. Her dress was expensive but understated, her dark hair threaded with silver and arranged in an elaborate style.

Titus’s stepmother. Had to be.

“I was just exploring,” Poppy said, trying to sound less caught-out than she felt. “Getting familiar with the house.”

“Of course.” The woman’s smile was warm, genuine. “I’m Helena Marianus. Titus’s stepmother. You must be Penelope.”

“Poppy, please.”

“Poppy.” Helena moved closer, her expression shifting to something almost maternal. “I’m so glad you’re finally awake. Titus said you needed the rest and I agreed, you looked exhausted yesterday when you arrived.”

She noticed, Echo observed. She’s been paying attention.

“I was more tired from the journey than I realized,” Poppy said carefully.

“Understandable. I can only imagine what your grandfather put you through before giving his approval.” Helena’s tone was sympathetic, and Poppy couldn’t tell if it was genuine or performed. “But you’re here now, and you’re going to be family. We should make sure you feel at home.”

She linked her arm through Poppy’s with the ease of someone used to taking charge.

“Let me give you a proper tour. I’m sure Titus was too distracted yesterday to show you around, and you shouldn’t have to wander lost through your own home.”

Your own home, Echo repeated. Interesting phrasing.

Helena guided her down the corridor with practiced grace, narrating as they walked.

“This wing is primarily family quarters. Titus’s rooms you’ve seen, of course. Mine are just down here—” she gestured to a door near the end of the hall, “—and the twins’ rooms are in the adjoining wing. They have a governess who keeps them mostly contained, but they do like to roam.”

“They seem lovely,” Poppy offered.

“They are. Energetic, curious, far too clever for their own good.” Helena’s smile was genuine now. “They’ve been beside themselves with excitement since Titus told them about the engagement. I hope you don’t mind children underfoot. They’re going to want to be involved in everything.”

“I don’t mind.”

You’re going to be their stepmother, Echo reminded her. But not an evil stepmother, remember?

Not helping.

They descended a staircase to the main floor, and Helena continued the narration. “The formal dining room is through here—we use it for important dinners and entertaining, but family meals are usually in the smaller dining room. Much more appropriate for a proper Civen household.”

There was a slight emphasis on “proper” that Poppy almost missed.

“Titus’ first wife preferred informal arrangements,” Helena continued, her tone carefully neutral. “She had… different ideas about how things should be done. But I’m sure you understand the importance of maintaining certain standards, coming from the Katullin household.”

“I’m sure she had her own way of doing things,” Poppy said carefully.

“She did.” Helena’s smile was tight. “But you’re a patrician. You understand how these households work, what’s expected. It’s such a relief, honestly. The girls need a proper influence, someone who can teach them to navigate society correctly.”

“The twins seem well-adjusted,” Poppy offered.

“They are. Though they were so young when their mother—” Helena paused delicately. “Well. It’s been several years now. They barely remember her, which is probably for the best. Now they’ll have a stepmother who can actually prepare them for the lives they’ll lead as Marianus daughters.”

She didn’t like the first wife very much, did she?

They ended up in what Helena called the blue sitting room, a lovely space with windows overlooking the gardens and furnished in tasteful blues and creams.

“This is where I usually take my tea,” Helena said, settling into a chair and gesturing for Poppy to do the same. “It’s become something of my personal space over the years. I thought perhaps we could use it for our planning sessions.”

“Planning sessions?”

“For the engagement feast, of course.” Helena’s smile was pleasant. “Your grandfather wants it to be quite the event, and Titus is hopeless at party planning. I thought you and I could coordinate on the details—make sure everything is perfect.”

Is she asking to be involved or saying she is?

“That’s very kind of you,” Poppy said carefully.

“Nonsense. We’re going to be family.” Helena leaned forward slightly. “And I know how these things work, Poppy. Political marriages, powerful grandfathers, expectations and obligations. I’ve been navigating this world for over forty years. I can help you, if you’ll let me.”

She paused, then added: “I tried to help Drea understand these things. She was… resistant. But you’re different. You already know how to navigate society. How to present yourself properly. It will make things so much easier for everyone.”

She’s saying she’s glad you’re not a peasant, Echo translated helpfully.

“I appreciate the offer,” Poppy said, her tone carefully neutral.

“Good.” Helena stood gracefully. “Why don’t we plan to meet here tomorrow afternoon? Say, three o’clock? We can go over the initial plans for the feast, discuss what your grandfather expects, make sure we’re all aligned.”

“Three o’clock,” Poppy agreed.

“Wonderful.” Helena moved toward the door, then paused. “Oh, and Poppy? We dress for dinner here. Nothing too formal, but—” her eyes swept over Poppy’s current dress, “—something a bit more appropriate for evening. I’ll have Cassia help you choose something suitable.”

“Of course,” Poppy said.

Helena left with a rustle of skirts, and Poppy stood alone in the blue sitting room, trying to process what had just happened.

Is it normal for someone to just tell you what you’re going to be doing? Echo asked curiously.

Poppy moved to the windows, looking out at the gardens. They were beautiful—carefully maintained, organized, everything in its place.

Just like everything else in this house.

⊱⊰

The pattern established itself quickly. Helena found her in the morning with lists and schedules. The twins stayed mostly out of sight, corralled by their governess. Titus worked during the day, and Poppy absorbed her new obligations one hour at a time. Dinner required the right dress. Breakfast had assigned seating. Each correction came accompanied by “as a Marianus wife should know” or “this is how proper senatorial households operate.”

By the third afternoon, she’d retreated to her room before Helena could find her for another “planning session.” She stood by the window, too restless to sit, when she noticed a small piece of paper being pushed under the door from the hallway.

Poppy stared at it for a moment, then crossed to pick it up. The handwriting was careful, deliberate, clearly from a child trying very hard to be neat:

Oh, Echo said. The twins. That’s actually kind of cute.

Poppy found herself smiling slightly as she moved to the writing desk. There was paper there, a quill already set out. She pulled out a sheet.

What are you doing? Echo asked.

Writing them a story.

You’re exhausted. You can barely think straight.

I can write a story. I’ve been doing it since I was their age.

What story?

I don’t know yet. What do nine-year-olds like?

Um. Magic? Adventure? Animals?

The quill felt familiar in her hand, grounding in a way nothing else had been.

She started writing a story about a clever fox who ran away from home because she didn’t fit in with the other foxes. She learned to speak the language of birds, made friends with a family of lost geese, and helped them find their way home by following the river and the stars in the shape of a wing. But when the geese invited the fox to come with them, she had to decide: return to the foxes who never understood her, stay with the geese who’d become her family, or find somewhere new where a fox who spoke bird-language might finally belong.

The words came easier than she expected, flowing onto the page while her hand moved almost of its own accord. She made the quill scratch loudly enough that whoever was outside the door would know she was writing.

That’s actually pretty good, Echo said when she paused. Where’d that come from?

I don’t know. I’m making it up.

The fox is kind of like you. Lost and trying to find home.

That’s not—

I’m just saying. The fox doesn’t know where it belongs either.

Poppy finished the last line, folded the paper carefully, and walked to the door. She slid it underneath and stepped back.

There was a moment of silence, then excited whispering that was definitely two voices trying to be quiet and failing.

“Did you see? She wrote us a whole story!”

“Shh, she’ll hear you!”

“Do you think we can ask for another one?”

“Julia, we haven’t even finished this one—”

The voices faded as small feet pattered away down the corridor.

Poppy leaned against the door, something warm and unexpected settling in her chest.

See? Echo said. You can still do that. Make stories. Make people happy.

For now.

What does that mean?

It means Grandfather wants to take my paper away. How long before he decides writing stories for nine-year-olds is just as undignified?

Titus said he won’t let that happen.

And if he can’t stop it?

Echo didn’t answer.

Poppy moved back to the bed and lay down, staring at the ceiling.

She’d gotten to write a story for two curious girls. At least that had been her choice. A small one, maybe, but hers.

⊱⊰

The sitting room Helena had claimed as “theirs” was set for three this time. Winter light filtered through tall windows, casting sunlight across the expanded tea service.

Poppy paused in the doorway. Her mother sat in the chair that had been Poppy’s for the last three afternoons, positioned across from Helena with the ease of someone used to these games.

“Penelope, darling.” Hermena smiled. “Helena was kind enough to invite me to join your planning session. I hope you don’t mind.”

Oh, your mom is here? When did she get here? Echo’s voice was distant. She had thought leaving it across the estate was far enough, but apparently she was still within its telepathic range.

“Of course not,” Poppy said, taking the remaining chair.

“I thought it would be lovely for us all to meet properly,” Helena said, pouring tea with practiced grace. “We’re going to be family, after all. And your mother has been so generous in coordinating the Vecia Sol arrangements.”

“It’s been effortless, truly.” Hermena accepted her cup. “You’ve been so helpful with Poppy these past few days. Already showing her how the household runs, what’s expected. I’m flattered that you’re accepting my daughter as family before the ink even dries on the contract.”

The subtext was clear to Poppy: she had just walked into an argument under the guise of formality.

“Nonsense.” Helena poured for Poppy. “I remember how overwhelming this transition can be. I wanted to make sure she felt supported.”

Poppy accepted the cup and brought it to her nose. Underneath the bergamot and honey, something bitter. Almond.

Vermin Bane.

She glanced at her mother. Hermena had already identified it, was watching Helena over the rim of her cup with a pleasant expression.

The library at the Katullin estate. Grandmother Ateia sitting across from her, spine straight, expression neutral. Four teacups between them.

“Which cup, Penelope?”

Poppy was six years old. Her hands trembled as she lifted each cup to her nose, trying to parse the subtle differences in scent.

“I… I think this one?”

“You think, or you know?”

“This one.” More certain now.

“Now drink it.”

She glanced at her mother. Hermena’s eyes flicked to Poppy’s cup, then to Helena, then back to Poppy. She raised an eyebrow slightly in question.

Poppy took a deliberate sip.

The taste of honey and lavender flooded her mouth, making her think she may have gotten it wrong. Suddenly her stomach clenched and her vision blurred; her magic surged, scarlet and instinctive, wrapping around her and breaking down the poison before it could cause any damage.

“Good,” Ateia said. “Now drink again.”

The dosage was too high, the blend poorly balanced. Her magic worked almost instantly to neutralize it, burning through her already depleted reserves. Three days of barely sleeping, of Blight doses to smooth the anxiety, of performing for Helena every afternoon. And now this. She kept her expression pleasant, but her hands wanted to shake.

“This has a lovely taste,” Poppy said innocently, glancing back to her mother and nodding. “What blend is this?”

“A family recipe.” Helena’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m so glad you like it.”

Hermena took a measured sip of her own tea, her expression pleasant. “How thoughtful of you to share something so personal, Helena. Though I do hope you’ll understand that the Katullin family has certain… traditions about hospitality. We took great care to be sure our children would be able to handle any situation.”

The words were light. The threat underneath was steel.

“Of course,” Helena said smoothly. “As do we. Family is everything.”

“Indeed.” Hermena set down her cup with a soft clink. “And family reputations are so delicate, aren’t they? One wrong word in the right social circle, and even the most established houses can find themselves diminished.”

“Absolutely.” Helena’s fingers tightened slightly on her cup. “Which is why it’s so important that we all meet and discuss certain things.”

She turned back to Poppy with an almost maternal expression. “I remember when I married into this family. It was… overwhelming. The expectations, the scrutiny, the constant performance.” She set down her cup with a delicate clink. “I had no mother to guide me through it. My family was—well, they weren’t positioned to help me navigate senatorial society.”

Poppy nodded politely, taking another sip.

“I had to learn everything the hard way. Every misstep was noted. Every mistake remembered. And marrying a man who already had a son—well, that brought its own challenges. Proving myself worthy not just as a wife, but as a mother to a child who wasn’t mine.” Helena’s voice took on a wistful quality. “It took years before I truly felt like I belonged.”

“That must have been difficult,” Poppy said.

“It was.” Helena leaned forward slightly. “Which is why I want to help you. I know what it’s like to feel like you’re constantly being tested. Like you have to prove yourself worthy.” Her voice dropped. “Not everyone can handle that kind of pressure.”

Hermena made a small sound that might have been amusement.

“Poor Drea, for instance. She tried so hard, but she simply wasn’t prepared for what being part of this family required. The pressures, the expectations.” Helena’s expression was sympathetic, but her eyes were cold. “It’s tragic, really, what happened to her.”

Poppy thought of the twins sliding notes under her door. Of Juliana and Livia who barely remembered their mother. Whatever Drea had done, she’d also been their mother. And Helena was using her death as a threat, wrapped in sympathy.

“I’m sure I’ll manage,” she said, taking another sip of poison.

“I can see that.” Helena watched her drink. “You’re handling this remarkably well. Not tired at all?”

“Should I be?”

“No, of course not.” Helena refilled Poppy’s cup from the same pot. “I just mean wedding planning can be so tiring. Drea used to faint from the pressure, truthfully. Such a fragile constitution.”

Poppy accepted the second cup and drank it as steadily as the first. Helena’s expression shifted, reassessing her.

“Well,” Helena said finally. “I think we understand one another perfectly.”

“I believe we do,” Hermena agreed.

“Wonderful.” Helena’s smile was cold and correct. “Then let’s discuss the seating arrangements. The Volkov family will need to be near the front, given their trade connections…”

Just like that. From attempted poisoning to flower arrangements, as if they’d been discussing the weather. Poppy reached for a cake—notably unpoisoned—and pulled out her notes. This was the game she was used to; everyone played, everyone smiled, and no one acknowledged what had just happened.

“The Karelian delegation,” Poppy said, studying the seating chart Helena had sketched. “They’ll need to be positioned carefully. They had that dispute with the eastern trade routes.”

“Exactly.” Helena looked pleased despite herself. “You’ve done your research.”

When Poppy and Hermena finally left, walking out into the winter air, Hermena linked her arm through Poppy’s.

“She’s testing you,” Hermena said quietly. “Waiting for you to crack.”

“I know.”

“Don’t.”

“I won’t.”

Hermena squeezed her arm. “Good girl.”

They walked to the waiting carriage in silence, Poppy’s things already loaded onto the back. The Marianus estate disappeared behind them as they headed back toward home and Poppy let herself slump against the seat cushions.

“How long are you staying at the estate?” Hermena asked.

“Until the contract negotiation.” The words felt heavy. “Grandfather wants me visible. Available for planning.”

“Of course he does. Titus knows?”

“Yes, I told him yesterday I would be leaving with you.”

Hermena nodded her acknowledgement, pulling a book out from a nook in the cushions. Poppy watched the Civenopolis pass through the window, the afternoon light making everything look softer than it was. Her magic reserves were depleted from neutralizing the poison, and exhaustion pulled at her like a current.

We’re going back home again? I thought you were living here.

Poppy was silent for a long while.

I don’t know where we live anymore, Echo.

⊱⊰