That Evening — Shared Dinner

Draven gathered all seven women for dinner. Not in the formal dining hall — that place with its long silences and polished candlesticks felt wrong for this. He’d had a large table brought into his private rooms instead, and the servants had laid it simply. Wine. Bread. Roasted meat and braised vegetables. Food that felt like an actual meal rather than a performance.

Elise. Seraphina. Astrid. Lyra. Elara. Mara. Celeste.

All of them together. Rare occurrence.

It took a few minutes before the awkwardness wore off — the way everyone was quietly aware of everyone else, finding their seats, figuring out where to look. Elara sat next to Mara. Celeste poured her own wine without waiting. Astrid leaned back in her chair with the easy posture of someone who’d decided not to be tense about this.

Once they were all seated and served, Draven set down his glass and looked around the table.

"I wanted to do this," he said, "because I’ve realized something. I’ve been terrible at managing this. At making sure you all feel valued. At balancing time fairly."

No one jumped in immediately. Seraphina turned her wine glass slowly by the stem.

"You’re Duke," she said finally. "We understand you’re busy."

"Being busy isn’t an excuse for neglect." He didn’t say it sharply — just plainly. "And some of you—" he looked at Mara, at Lyra, "—have been feeling forgotten. That’s unacceptable."

Mara looked at the table for a moment. Lyra didn’t say anything, but she didn’t look away either.

"So what are you proposing?" Astrid asked.

"A schedule. One dedicated evening per week for each of you. Guaranteed time. Seven evenings, seven women. Plus spontaneous time when it works. Plus group events like this."

"That’s very organized," Celeste noted.

"It has to be. Or the loudest voices get the most attention and the quiet ones get forgotten." He looked at each of them in turn, not rushing it. "I love all of you. Differently, but equally important. You all deserve my time. My attention. My care."

There was a small silence. Not uncomfortable exactly — more like the kind that follows when something true has been said and people need a second to sit with it.

Then Mara asked, "What about Elise?" She said it carefully, not unkindly. "She lives with you. She gets every night."

Elise was the one who answered. "I live with him, yes." She picked up her fork, unhurried. "But that’s about appearances. About being the Dowager Duchess managing the estate. Our... private time is separate. And honestly? I’m fine with a scheduled evening like everyone else. One night per week. The rest are for you all or for duchy business."

Seraphina looked at her. "You’d really do that? Give up your... access?"

"Yes." Elise set down her fork. "Because this works better when it’s fair. When everyone feels valued." She smiled — not stiff, not performative. "Besides, absence makes the heart grow fonder. Or so they say."

A few of them laughed at that. Even Astrid.

Draven was quietly grateful. Elise being remarkably mature about this was not something he’d fully anticipated, even knowing her.

"So we each get one evening," Lyra said. She was working through the logistics — he could see it in her expression. "That’s Monday through Sunday. When do you rest?"

"I don’t need as much rest anymore. S-Rank stamina." He grinned. "But if I do need a night off, we adjust. The point is structure. Predictability. No one wondering if they’ll be forgotten."

"I like this," Mara said quietly. She wasn’t looking at anyone in particular when she said it — just forward, at the middle of the table. "It makes me feel... secure."

"That’s the goal."

Draven reached for his glass and held it up. Seven pairs of eyes followed the gesture, and one by one they lifted their glasses too — some faster, some after a beat, in the way people do when they’re following a feeling rather than an instruction.

"To us," he said. "All of us. A very complicated, very unusual family. But family nonetheless."

"To us," they echoed.

And dinner continued.

The conversation took a while to find its natural rhythm, but it did. Elara asked Astrid something about the northern roads and they ended up talking for nearly ten minutes about horses, of all things — Celeste joining in with an opinion nobody expected her to have. Lyra and Seraphina got into a quiet debate about something to do with trade levies that Draven only half followed. Mara laughed at something Elise said, a real laugh, surprised out of her.

Draven mostly listened. He refilled glasses when they got low. He asked questions when conversations drifted near him. He ate.

He wasn’t performing anything. That was the thing he noticed about it — there was no version of himself he was trying to hold up. Just the table, and the noise of seven different women all gradually becoming comfortable with one another, or at least comfortable enough.

At some point he realized he’d stopped tracking who was talking to who and was just... present. The candlelight doing what candlelight does. Someone’s laughter cutting across the room. The ordinary, unremarkable sound of dinner.

He thought about what it had taken to get here. The different circumstances that had brought each of them into his life. The different reasons they’d all stayed. He hadn’t planned any of it. He was fairly certain no one could have planned it.

But here they were.

Seven women who’d come into his life at different points, for different reasons. Who’d all stayed. Who’d all, in their way, chosen him — and through him, chosen each other, or at least chosen to make room for each other.

Maybe being Duke meant more than power.

Maybe it meant taking care of the people who mattered.

All of them.

....

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