Clause 6: Severability and Substitution of Terms

Three hours later Lynn walked Poppy back through the empty corridors, one arm looped firmly through hers. Behind them, the sounds of the feast were fading—senator’s laughter, the clink of final toasts, Titus’s voice thanking someone for attending.

“You were brilliant tonight,” Lynn said quietly. “Every introduction was perfect. Even with Avery showing up.”

Poppy nodded. The movement made her dizzy.

“It’s okay.” Lynn squeezed her arm. “We’ll handle it. Tomorrow. Lucas and I will figure out what they’re planning.”

They reached Poppy’s door. Lynn helped her inside, started unlacing the back of her dress.

“Get some sleep,” Lynn said. “The worst is over. You did it.”

Then she was gone, and Poppy was alone.

Poppy? Echo’s voice was tentative. Are you okay?

For about thirty seconds, she felt fine.

Then her hands started shaking. Not the manageable tremor from before—violent, uncontrollable shaking that made her fumble with the dress laces Lynn had loosened. She gave up, sank onto the edge of the bed still half-dressed.

Poppy, what’s wrong?

Her heart was racing. Too fast. She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to slow it, but that just made her more aware of how wrong it felt. Pounding against her ribs like something trying to escape.

Poppy should I see if I can talk to Jas—

I’m fine.

The room was too hot. No, too cold. She couldn’t tell. Sweat prickled along her spine but she was shivering.

You’re not fine. You’re shaking and sweating and—

I said I’m fine.

Echo went quiet, but she could feel its worry pressing at the edges of her mind.

Her stomach clenched. She lurched to the washbasin, retched, but nothing came up. Just waves of nausea that left her gasping, gripping the edge of the basin so hard her knuckles went white.

Poppy, please. This is really bad.

When she finally straightened, her reflection in the mirror looked wrong. Pupils blown wide, skin too pale, lips almost blue. She looked like something dying.

Is this because of the Blight?

She didn’t respond.

Her bag was across the room. The vials were in the bottom. She’d hidden them well—too well. Her hands shook so badly she couldn’t work the strings.

She sat on the floor, bag in her lap, trying to steady her breathing enough to open it.

This is like the Entity, Echo said quietly, scared. You need it the same way. This is—

Shut up.

The strings finally came undone. She dug through to the bottom and pulled out a vial with trembling fingers.

She looked at her hands, still shaking violently.

This isn’t fine. The feast was over. She’d gotten through it. The performance was done. But she still needed it. This isn’t fine at all.

She uncorked the vial. Her hands were shaking so badly she spilled some on her half unlaced dress. The liquid burned down her throat.

The relief was almost immediate. Within minutes, her hands steadied. Her heart slowed. The shaking stopped. The nausea receded into nothing.

What happens now? Echo asked quietly.

Poppy sat on the floor, the empty vial still in her hand, surrounded by the scattered contents of her bag. The room had stopped spinning. Her reflection in the mirror looked almost normal again.

She didn’t have an answer.

Two nights after the engagement feast, Poppy sat on the roof near the chimney stack. Below, the estate was finally quiet. Titus had left an hour ago after dinner for an early breakfast meeting with his father.

The tiles were freezing, seeping cold through the layers of her skirts, but the air up here was the only thing that felt clean. She had a vial of Blight in her pocket. She hadn’t opened it yet, but her thumb kept brushing against the cork.

She was about to drink it when she heard the scrape of the attic window opening.

“You know, Grandfather paid for there to be furniture inside the house. You don’t have to sit on the shingles.”

Lucas climbed through the attic window with a grace that rivaled a cat’s, clutching two glasses and a bottle of amber liquid that probably cost as much as Vlean’s bounty on Balidsere. He sat down next to her and nudged her shoulder with his own. “Move over. You’re hogging the heat from the chimney.”

“I thought you were asleep,” Poppy said.

“And I thought you’d still be with your fiancé.” He poured the liquid into both glasses, passing her one. “But he left early and you came up here. Again.”

She took the glass without answering.

Lucas took a sip, studying her. “You were brilliant at the feast. Every introduction perfectly timed. Flawless performance managing that seating chart.” He paused. “But something was off. Especially toward the end.”

“I was tired.”

“You were perfect,” Lucas corrected. “Too perfect. Lynn noticed too. She said you were… different.”

Poppy drank instead of responding.

“What’s going on, Poppy?”

She stared out at the dark gardens for a long moment. The Blight, of course. Her siblings would have noticed that she wasn’t her normal self. But she couldn’t say that.

“I don’t want to do this,” she said instead. “The spring wedding. Three hundred guests watching. All of Grandfather’s connections. Helena’s approved families.” She took another drink. “I don’t want this huge celebration full of people I don’t know and that I can’t even have my friends at.”

“Then don’t,” Lucas said simply.

Poppy looked at him. “It’s not that simple.”

“Isn’t it?” Lucas gestured to the sprawling estate below them, the lights of Civen flickering in the distance. “Look at this place. It’s a stage. Mom, Dad, Grandfather… they’re all just playing their parts. If you marry Titus here, in this way, you’re just writing him a character sheet. ‘Jason Titus Marianus, Consul to the Freelands, Husband of Penelope Anne.’ Is that who he is?”

Poppy thought of Titus in his room in Maplewood. The quiet. The books. The way he cooked breakfast without calling a servant. The way he’d stared at her grandfather without blinking.

“No,” she whispered.

“And are you Penelope?” Lucas asked. “The girl who managed that party perfectly tonight? Or are you Poppy, who’s been hiding on a roof for the last hour?”

The attic window creaked open before Poppy could answer.

Both of them turned to see Lynn pulling herself up onto the roof, looking genuinely surprised to find them there.

“I didn’t think anyone still came up here,” she said, hesitating at the window’s edge.

“We never stopped,” Poppy said quietly.

Lynn’s expression flickered—something that might have been guilt, or regret, or both. She climbed out fully and stood awkwardly for a moment before Lucas passed his glass to her.

She took it, surprised. Sat down on Poppy’s other side, far enough to maintain distance but close enough to share the chimney’s warmth. “So. What are we solving up here? Besides our collective emotional damage?”

“Poppy doesn’t want a spring wedding in Civen,” Lucas responded, as if commenting on the weather and not one of the family’s largest political maneuvers to date.

“Good,” Lynn said immediately. “Those things are torture. Who wants to get married while three hundred people judge your every move?” She looked at Poppy more carefully, noticing the tear tracks. “Sorry—I didn’t realize this was a serious conversation.”

“It’s fine,” Poppy said, wiping her eyes. “Lucas was just asking me which version of myself I actually am.”

“Ah.” Lynn took a sip from the shared glass. “The eternal question.” She glanced at Lucas, then back at the glass. “Penelope and Poppy. Lucius and Lucas. Rosalynn and Lynn.” She let out a long breath. “Sometimes I wonder if any of us are the same person we’re supposed to be.”

Lucas went very still.

“For what it’s worth?” Lynn continued, looking at Poppy now. “I watched you tonight. You were incredible. But you also looked like you wanted to set the whole atrium on fire.”

“I hate this,” Poppy admitted. “I hate performing. I hate the way Helena looks at me. I hate that I feel like I’m holding my breath every second I’m in Civen.”

“Then stop,” Lucas and Lynn said at almost the same time.

They looked at each other, surprised.

Lynn continued, “You’re the one who ran off to the Freelands to build something of your own. You built a business. You built a life. Why are you trying to get married in the place you ran away from?”

“Because I’m scared,” Poppy whispered. “What if Grandfather—”

“What if you spend your entire wedding day performing for people who will never accept you anyway?” Lucas interrupted. “What if you go through this entire thing and realize you’ve just signed away everything that makes you you?”

Lynn leaned forward. “I looked in a mirror once and could only see what they’d made me. Not who I was. Just… Rosalynn. Grandmother’s perfect heir.” She met Poppy’s eyes. “Don’t make the same mistake I almost did. Don’t let Grandfather decide who you are.”

“Titus doesn’t need you to be Penelope,” Lucas added, taking Poppy’s hand. “He’s never asked you to be Penelope. That’s Grandfather’s requirement, not his. And if you’re going to marry someone, you should probably marry them as yourself.”

Poppy looked between her siblings, both telling her the same thing.

“I want to do it in Maplewood,” she said quietly. “With people who actually matter.”

Lynn grinned. “Even better. Grandfather will have a heart attack.”

“Mother will faint,” Lucas added.

“And we’ll have to deal with the fallout,” Poppy said.

“Worth it,” Lynn and Lucas said in unison.

They looked at each other and laughed—surprised, genuine laughter that echoed across the rooftops before fading into comfortable silence.

Lynn stared into her glass for a long moment. “Just…” her grin turned slightly mischievous. “Warn me before you run, will you? So I have time to slip out the back before the screaming starts.”

Lucas snorted into his brandy. “You’re going to abandon us again?”

“Strategic retreat,” Lynn corrected. “There’s a difference.”

“Is there though?” But Lucas was smiling, and there was no real heat in it.

“Yes. This time I’m telling you about it first,” Lynn shot back.

The laughter faded. Lynn stared into the glass for a long moment.

“Lucas,” she said finally. Her voice was quieter now. “About what I said before. About leaving.” She finally looked at him, really looked at him. “I couldn’t do it anymore. That might make me weak or selfish but I was lost. I couldn’t stay, Lucas. I was…” She curled into herself slightly. “Gods, I don’t even know how to explain it.”

Lucas didn’t say anything. Just waited.

Lynn straightened, forcing herself to meet his eyes. “I know leaving like that hurt. But it was what I needed to do. I was holding on by my fingertips to a ledge of broken glass. It was leave or… become something worse.”

The silence stretched. Poppy held her breath.

“I know,” Lucas said finally. His voice was quiet. “I’m still angry about it. But I get it now. After the last three years…” He took a drink. “I get why you ran.”

Lynn’s eyes were watering. “I’m sorry I left you here alone.”

“You didn’t,” Lucas said, glancing at Poppy. “Not entirely.”

Poppy tilted her head back, emptying her glass in one swallow. “So glad I’m getting married just so you two could work out your issues.”

Lucas snorted, refilling it without asking.

They sat there in silence for a while, drinking expensive brandy on the freezing roof, while below them the wheels of the Katullin family continued to turn.

Poppy found Titus in the library at the Marianus estate the next evening. He was reading through the final contract amendments, making the occasional note in the margins. Most pages went untouched—there wasn’t much left to negotiate at this point.

“Hey,” she said from the doorway.

He looked up and smiled. “Hey. I didn’t expect to see you today. How are you feeling?”

“Surprisingly good, actually.” She came in and closed the door behind her. “Can we talk?”

“Of course.” He set his quill in the inkpot, giving her his full attention. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I just—” She sat down across from him. “I’ve been thinking about the wedding.”

Titus’s expression didn’t change, but she saw him go very still. “Okay.”

“The spring ceremony. Three hundred guests, senatorial families, all the traditional contract signings and feasts.” She twisted her hands in her lap. “I don’t want to do it.”

“Alright,” Titus said simply.

She blinked. “Alright?”

“We don’t have to get married if you don’t want to.” His voice was carefully level.

“No—that’s not what I—I want to marry you.” The words came out fast, almost panicked. “I just don’t want to do it like this. I want—” She took a breath. “I want to do it in Maplewood. With people who actually matter.”

Titus leaned back in his chair, studying her. “What brought this on?”

“My sister and brother.” She managed a small smile. “After the party, we were all talking. Lucas and Lynn both told me I was being an idiot for trying to marry you as Penelope instead of Poppy.”

“Smart siblings,” Titus said.

“They have their moments.” She looked down at her hands. “This whole thing. The spring wedding, the guest list, the seating charts. It’s for Grandfather. For your family. For maintaining alliances and making political statements.”

“It is that,” Titus agreed quietly.

“I know it’s ridiculous,” Poppy continued, the words coming faster now. She stood up and started walking back and forth in front of the desk. “I’m a Civenite. This is tradition—the contracts, the feast, the formal ceremony with witnesses from established families. Maplewood is barely a town. Most people think I’m insane for spending time there at all. And I don’t know why I’m so attached to it when it’s just—”

“Poppy.”

“—like I get disemboweled on a monthly basis there, which isn’t exactly romantic wedding venue criteria—”

“Poppy.”

“—and I don’t even know if there is anyone there who is legally allowed to perform marriages for Civenite nobility, and like we don’t need a ceremony but I feel like our friends will want one because they have traditions and things they will want to do—”

“Poppy.”

“—and half the buildings are still being rebuilt and technically we’d be getting married in the fae realm, does it even count if you get married in another plane—”

“Poppy.”

She stopped, chest heaving slightly.

“Do you want to get married in Maplewood?” Titus asked.

“Yes.”

“Then we’ll get married in Maplewood.”

She stared at him. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.” He stood and came around the desk, leaning on the edge so he was closer to her. “I don’t care where we do this. I care that you want to marry me. The rest is just details.”

“It’s not just details,” Poppy said. “The contracts need witnesses of appropriate standing. There are legal requirements—”

“Which Maplewood can meet,” he said, like he’d already checked. “I can have witnesses. I can have paperwork. I can have someone authorized.” He reached out and took her hand. “Your grandfather already approved the marriage. The contracts are basically done. Everything else is ceremony, and ceremony can happen anywhere.”

“Your stepmother will be furious.”

“My stepmother is always finding reasons to be dramatic. She’ll survive.” Titus squeezed her hand. “Your mom will probably throw something.”

“Definitely.”

“But you want to do it in Maplewood,” Titus said. It wasn’t a question.

Poppy nodded, throat tight.

“Then that’s what we’ll do.” He pulled her closer. “I’m not marrying your family, Poppy. I’m marrying you.”

She looked at him—at this man who’d spent months letting her set the pace, never pushing for more than she was ready to give.

“I just want it to be ours,” she said. “Not Grandfather’s political theater. Just us. In a place that’s actually mine.”

“Then that’s what it’ll be.” He kissed her forehead. “Should we tell them now or wait until we’re already gone?”

Poppy laughed, surprised. “You’re suggesting we just leave?”

“I’m suggesting you have two weeks to argue with your entire family about why you’re changing plans, or we go to Maplewood, get married, and send them a very nice letter afterward.”

“That’s insane.”

“Is it?” He raised an eyebrow. “Which sounds worse—two weeks of your grandfather trying to change your mind and your mother having hysterics about cancelled arrangements, or just… doing what you want and dealing with the aftermath like you normally do anyway?”

Poppy laughed. She couldn’t help it.

“When do we leave?” she asked.

Titus grinned. “Now?”

“Now.” The word came out half-question, half-laugh.

“Why not?” He was already straightening up. “Something came up with business in Maplewood. It’s very urgent, messy, and requires my immediate attention.”

Poppy blinked. “You’re lying to Abraxus Katullin? To your family?”

“I’m prioritizing my wife,” Titus said it like it was the simplest thing in the world. “We’ll send word once we’re there. Let them be angry.”

For a second, Poppy just stood there, Abraxus’s voice still ringing in her head about assets, leverage, and consequences, the litany that always surfaced when she stopped moving.

And then there was Titus, standing there like it was just inconvenient weather.

The mask she’d been wearing for months finally slipped. She stepped toward him too fast, knees buckling with the sudden release of it, and he caught her without hesitation.

Of course he did. He always did.

His arm was solid around her, steady, familiar. The relief hit her chest so hard it actually hurt. It was seductive, that feeling. The feeling of being held by someone who could look at the bagman in her closet and simply evict it.

But as she buried her face in his shoulder, breathing him in, a cold prickle of instinct worked its way up her spine. He hadn’t paused. He hadn’t negotiated. He hadn’t solved the problem; he had just erased it.

She pulled back just enough to look at him, searching his face for something—hesitation, calculation, doubt. She didn’t find it.

“You’re a terrible influence, Jason Marianus,” she whispered.

“I’m learning from the best, Poppy Katullin,” he countered, an unfamiliar conspiratorial smirk crossing his face. He took her hands, anchoring her. She squeezed them and the relief stayed.

So did the strange, quiet awareness that things moved more easily around him than they should.

“Let’s go,” she said, pulling him toward the door. “Before you change your mind and decide to be responsible.”