I didn't sit next to either of them. Instead, I chose the single-seat armchair positioned between their two long sofas—a neutral ground that kept me at an equal distance from both.
“Archduke,” I said, nodding to Reinhardt. “I heard you’ve been waiting.”
He smiled, a look of easy, practiced warmth. “About an hour, Your Highness. But a man of my standing knows that meeting someone of your importance is worth any delay. Besides, the Duke was kind enough to keep me occupied.”
*I’m sure he was,* I thought, catching the silent, murderous look Eric was directing at the table.
“So,” I said, cutting straight to the point. “Where is my peach tree?”
“Ah, I’m afraid we haven't brought it just yet,” Reinhardt said. “To transplant a living tree, one requires the explicit permission of the landowner. I thought it best to handle the paperwork first.”
I’d forgotten that in the Schwanherd Empire, trees of rare stock were treated with the same legal formality as blooded horses. Exchanging them required transfer documents and a stamp from the Ministry of Agriculture.
“Very well. Let me see the documents.”
Reinhardt rose from his seat and crossed the room. Instead of handing me the papers, he knelt on one knee before my chair, presenting the leather-bound folder with a level of ceremony that was bordering on the theatrical.
“Here they are, Your Highness.”
I took the folder, trying to ignore the absurdity of the gesture. As I flipped through the pages, I felt Reinhardt’s presence beside me—he was leaning slightly over my shoulder, ostensibly to answer any questions I might have.
*What is he doing?* I wondered.
Reinhardt was undeniably beautiful. With his shimmering platinum hair and those gold-flecked eyes, he was the archetype of the romantic lead in every lady’s novel. He was the most sought-after bachelor in the Empire for a reason.
But as I looked at him, my mind involuntarily drifted to the man sitting across the room. Eric’s handsomeness was of a different sort—sharper, more dangerous, and rooted in a rugged, military strength. He was the only man I’d ever seen who could make an Archduke look like a pretty doll.
*And then there was Damian,* I thought, a sudden, sharp pang of grief hitting my chest. My son had inherited the best of both worlds—my eyes and Eric’s jawline. He would have been more handsome than either of them.
I shook off the thoughts and looked at Reinhardt. “Archduke, you can return to your seat. I’m quite capable of reading a contract without supervision.”
He let out a soft, melodic laugh. “Of course, Your Highness. I only wanted to be available should you find the terms... complex.”
“They aren't complex. They’re exaggerated.” I tapped the document with my finger. “Twenty trees? I asked for a single tree, Reinhardt. This is an entire orchard.”
A gift of twenty rare peach trees wasn't just a gesture; it was a public declaration of wealth and favor. If I accepted this, it would be the talk of the capital by sunset. People would say the Archduke was courting the Duchess under her husband’s very nose.
“I have no place to plant twenty trees,” I said, closing the folder. “And I have no intention of turning the Brant gardens into a public spectacle.”
“If you find the estate grounds too small, I’m sure your private villa would be a more suitable home for them,” Reinhardt suggested, his golden eyes shining.
*My private villa?* He was already thinking about my life after the divorce.
“The answer is no,” I said. “I’ll accept a single tree as a token of our childhood friendship. Nothing more.”
Reinhardt let out a long, theatrical sigh and took the folder back. “If Your Highness is so insistent, I suppose I have no choice but to comply. One tree it is.”
“Actually, there’s no need for even one,” Eric interrupted.
I looked at him, my brow furrowing. He’d been silent until now, a dark cloud of suppressed rage.
“Why the sudden protest, Eric?” I asked. “Are you worried your mother won't like the new addition to the garden?”
Before he could answer, there was a knock at the door.
“Enter,” Eric said.
A procession of servants entered the drawing room, each carrying a heavy wicker basket. They set them on the low tables, and the scent of ripe, sun-warmed fruit immediately filled the room.
Peaches, apricots, and plums—dozens of them, perfectly ripe and unblemished.
“We have plenty of fruit in this house,” Eric said, his voice flat.
I stared at the baskets in disbelief. “Eric... it’s only May. Peaches aren't in season for another two months. Did you import these from the southern kingdoms?”
Southern fruit was notorious for spoiling during the long journey and lacked the sweetness of imperial stock. But as I picked up a peach, I realized it was still warm from the sun, the skin fuzzy and the juice already beginning to scent the air.
Reinhardt was looking at the fruit with a look of deep suspicion. “You couldn't have imported these Kurt peaches. They’re too fresh. Where did you get them?”
“From the Glass House,” Eric said, leaning back with a look of cool, arrogant satisfaction. “I’ve converted one of our southern greenhouses specifically for the production of out-of-season stone fruit. My wife mentioned she had a craving, and I saw no reason for her to wait until July.”
I blinked. *A greenhouse?*
In the Empire, glass was a luxury that only the wealthiest could afford for anything other than windows. Most nobles used their small greenhouses for exotic flowers or medicinal herbs. The idea of building a structure large enough to house productive peach trees was an extravagance that bordered on the insane.
“So you see, Archduke,” Eric continued, his gaze fixed on Reinhardt. “Your 'gift' of a dormant tree is unnecessary. My wife already has all the fruit she can eat, straight from our own soil.”
I wanted to laugh, but I managed to keep my expression neutral. *He’s being so petty,* I thought. *He built a whole greenhouse just to ensure no other man could offer me a peach.*
It wasn't a gesture of love—it was a gesture of ownership. He was marking his territory, using his vast wealth to bury Reinhardt’s attempt at charm under a mountain of perfectly ripened fruit.
Reinhardt’s jaw tightened. He realized he’d been outmaneuvered, not by words, but by the sheer, overwhelming power of Eric’s resources.
“I see,” Reinhardt said, his voice tight. “It seems I underestimated the Duke’s... devotion.”
“Most people do,” Eric said.