[order—n.A condition of logical or comprehensible arrangement among the separate elements of a group.]

Marina had never questioned her father. Her siblings didn't tend to, for the most part. David had followed his requests without complaint and no matter how much Amber projected the image that she was a rebel, she conceded quietly at the first sound of her father's voice rising above his normal whisper. Dillon was the only one who had dared speak out against him and had been beaten severely for it throughout their childhood. Her other siblings had no clue, of course, and refused to believe their father was anything less than the model of a helpful father who only wanted the best for his children.

Dillon would limp to their room some nights (protect your sisters, her father had said, when he moved David in with Amber and him into her room), smiling as best as he could before collapsing on her bed. She was the one to hold Dillon through the night and marvel at the fact that no matter how badly injured he was, he never cried. She did her best to help him out, bandaging him up and making sure he felt better as quickly as possible, resting his head in her lap and, when she dared to speak, telling him how much she admired him for having the courage to go against him.

He said she should try it just once to see how amazing it felt, so she could know how bucking his rules felt like, but she was always scared to see how terrible Dillon looked in the evenings, not daring to make a sound as her father did everything short of hospitalizing him for insubordinance. Her father hated her already for being a girl—Amber, at least, didn't disappoint by being a tomboy, but she wasn't able to do it, no matter how hard she tried. Every time her father saw her trying to fight with her siblings, he'd sneer and say she was only useful because of her looks and nothing else.

She couldn't do it herself, but she could stand behind her brother and let him protect her, something he never failed to do.

[duty—n.A moral or legal obligation; a responsibility.]

Walter had never questioned his father. His father had always been a big believer in duty—you did what you had to for family, for the people, for the country's benefit, no matter how hard it was for you. "Drydens never go back on their word, even if it means death" was his explanation for everything that needed to be sacrificed for the country, something that confused him to no end. His father liked giving the same answer for a broad range of questions, so he let it go, assuming that it was indeed the right answer.

He'd drummed the necessity for empathizing with those he would be serving into him since he was young and he'd spent all his time as a child integrating himself into all levels of society at his father's request, making sure people liked him so his reign, however short or long, would be well appreciated, just like his father's.

Abby was the one to question their father's every action to find out what was going on, why he did things. He tended to follow because he knew he'd need the skills he was learning to lead successfully. His father had raised a little band of techies from relative obscurity to one of the most respected comapanies in the whole world with his knowledge of the law and Walter knew he couldn't afford to let him down. He'd spent his whole life training for this one moment and all the others that would follow it and he wasn't about to let anyone down when he did. A Dryden never goes back on his word, even if it means death.

[encounter—n.An unexpected or casual meeting.]

His father coerces him into visiting his cousins for Uncle Ken's ten year anniversary as the head of his company and he comes willingly, knowing that he has to take stock of his competitors and their resources to understand whether keeping the alliance in a wartime situation would be beneficial (undoubtedly so, but he checks for the sake of checking). Uncle Ken solemnly shakes his hand before stepping back and telling him how much he's grown, cursory small talk, and he nods, reminding his often forgetful uncle that he's almost a grown man now and obviously grew since he saw him last.

Someone along the line, someone brings up marriage and his father shrugs with that look on his face that means he knows something no one else does, saying it is something to be considered soon. The way his father says 'soon' is enough to alarm him and his head snaps up and someone asks him if there's a girl he likes and his face turns bright red as he shakes his head no. His father gives him leave to take a break, looking slightly amused at this new display of emotion and he runs down the hall, not aware of his surroundings at all until he nearly runs over a girl, knocking her to the floor.

His eyes go wide and he stands up as quickly as possible, offering a hand to her almost on instinct. "Sorry about that. I tend to… not pay attention." He helps her up and she offers him a shy smile.

"I'm—I—It's okay…" She stammers out, suddenly recognizing him, before running past him as fast as she could. He watches her run, wondering if he will get a chance to properly apologize, and then pushes her out of his mind to focus on other things—chiefly when the council will let him take another bathroom break.

[conference—n.A formal meeting for discussion.]

He paces the length of the rows as the council files in, taking his seat beside his father when the leaders are all seated. The head of the Evans family (Edward, he remembers, along with a whole list of statistics) is watching him in a curious way, so he turns the politeness and the regal bearing up a notch, but not too much to look snobby. His Aunt Lacey notices what he's doing on the two seats down and smiles, passing a note over to tell him to relax. Uncle Devin kicks his foot and he sits straight up, earning muffled laughter from his aunt.

"Councilman Alexandros, please do shut up." Uncle Ken glares at him and he and Aunt Lacey fall silent almost immediately. He looks around the room for some distraction to occupy himself with and sees the girl from before seated behind the Evans councilman, quickly making connections before realizing that she's one of the daughters. Which one was a mystery, but she was one, that was for sure.

She realizes he's looking at her and shies away much to her father's dismay as he prods her side, looking almost proud as she unwillingly lifts her eyes from the ground to meet his. He smiles over at her and receives a skilled imitation of one in return and he notes it down, his subconscious recognizing that that information would be useful in the future. He doesn't know why, but he knows it is something to remember, and so he does.

He hears her father chastise her while they are exiting the building and catches her name as the man berates her for being useless. "Marina" is the name he speaks and he files that away with her fake smile and the unfathomable sadness in her eyes. She seems afraid of everything, he thinks. Probably him more than the other people.

[coercion—n.The act of compelling by force of authority.]

They meet once more before he leaves, under careful observation by her father. She smiles as brightly as she can as she inquires after his mother, his siblings, what he does for fun, and he answers truthfully, seeing no reason to lie. Her eyes are bright until she turns away from her father, when that same bottomless fear bleeds in slowly, making it look much worse than it should.

He shifts awkwardly, accidentally smacking his foot into the edge of the table as he tries to stay calm and keep up his façade. Her eyes flicker in recognition at the discomfort he's trying so desperately to hide and he offers her the same broken smile she gave him before as she returns it, bowing her head a little to avoid meeting his eyes as her father smiles at him, his face the poster image for a conniving bastard.

[choice—n.An act of selecting or making a decision when faced with two or more possibilities.]

His father proposes the idea of marriage on the way back from the party, when they both are resting against a tree, having decided to take some time to train on the way back instead of teleporting back like usual. "What do you think?" He inquires in his usual way, sounding more like he was overseeing a clinical experiment than raising a son. "You're due to take your first steps into the corporate world soon, so you may as well. To please the council, that is."

He shrugs. "If you see fit." He knows his father well enough to be sure of the fact that he will choose someone appropriate for him, not a girl who wants to marry into the family simply for status or money. "I would have to anyway, why not now?"

His father smiles and nods, standing up. "Let's keep going."

"Yes, father."

[agreement—n.A negotiated and typically legally binding arrangement between parties as to a course of action.]

The girl—Marina, he remembers, comes to him soon afterwards, under the care of an bodyguard he soon deduces is her older brother from the tight hold he keeps on her that is different from her father's. His is motivated by pure affection and wanting the best for her, while her father uses her for her beauty. He can barely bear to imagine what else has been done to her within that household. The things that no one speaks of are usually the worst.

The man hiding behind the sunglasses glares at him and he suddenly recognizes his eyes and the expression that definitely lurked under the cover of the mask and he nods, completely sure he's correct before he calls out the name he's sure belongs to him. "Dillon?" He scoffs and takes off the mask, slipping it onto the hook in his belt, shooting a polite smile back at him. "Well?"

"It's been awhile." He smiles sheepishly before sticking out his hand.

"It has been. Your cousins miss you awfully much." He shook it. "Your recent visit seems to have only intensified their need to see you more often."

"And just when I thought I had gotten them off my back…" He sighs and Dillon catches the joke, nodding.

"I wish I could, but I'm married to the whirlwind that expressed that sentiment." He shoves his hands in his pockets. "I assume you know why my sister is here, correct?"

"No, actually." He looks almost surprised at the answer and rubs his hands together, trying to find a way to phrase it.

"You and she are to be married in a few days' time." He states it like it's nothing new and Marina stiffens behind him, although he knew that they were both hoping she was out of earshot. "My father, as you know…"

"Insisted on it?" He looks to Marina and takes in her expression, knowing he has hit the nail on the head. "I see."

"You are to take care of her in every way necessary, do you understand? Should you be anything less than perfect to my little sister, I will show you how I earned my mask in every way possible, civility be damned."

"Yes sir." He cringed and Dillon ruffled his hair. "Can I speak to her in private?"

His eyes narrowed as he nodded, slipping his mask back on before going to the doorway. "Remember, I am watching still."

He sat on the bed beside Marina, noticing how she shifted a little farther from him. "You are free to object to this agreement if you do not wish to marry me." She flinched at the word 'marry' and he nodded, understanding her fear. "However, if you do go through with it, you have my word that I will not mistreat you at all. You will have all the time to yourself that you need and if that means until I am dead, so be it."

"You need a wife, though." She didn't lift her eyes from the floor. "My father would kill me if…"

"If you wish to go back to your family, is that not what you would want?" She raised her eyes to his and he nodded. "I see. Then, I believe, the council will have to wait until you are ready to… you know." He turned bright red again. "Until then, I'm sure they will be satisfied to fend off my sister from her constant attempts on their lives."

She genuinely smiled and it was a small miracle in its own quiet way. He could barely resist the urge to watch her in surprise as she spoke again, finally looking comfortable. "Amber's like that too."

"I see. I believe she and my sister got along swimmingly the last time she was allowed to visit." He sighed, remembering how Abby had threatened the youngest Merrick boy into submission when they had gone to console Uncle Ken after the loss of his youngest. "Unfortunately, she isn't going to be allowed back for quite some time."

Marina nodded, shyly retreating back into herself once she realized she had smiled in front of him. "I understand if you do not wish to speak more." He moved his hand onto hers, surprised when she didn't flinch as much as usual. "I will visit you later, if you wish it to be so. I will see you at dinner, otherwise." She bowed her head again and he nodded, waving to Dillon before exiting the room.

[servitude—n.The state of being a slave or completely subject to someone more powerful.]

Dillon recognized Marina's discomfort the moment Walter'd left the room and went to her side, gathering her up in her arms the same way she used to do for him when they were children. "He is not the worst match Father could have found for you." She buried her face in his shoulder, balling up the fabric of his uniform in her fists.

"I don't want any match…" She tried her best not to cry and he rubbed her back. "I just… I want something more… like you have…"

"I tried to get it for you." He kissed the top of her head. "I tried to have them sign you over into my care to avoid this marriage entirely, but I'm sure you know what Father had to say about that…"

"He didn't…" She looked up at him, visually checking as much of him as she could for injury.

"No, he didn't." He ruffled her hair. "I'm strong enough to get away now and you know that."

"Mm, Dillon…" She tried to push her hair back into place. "Why do you make so much trouble…"

"I get paid to do so." He grinned and she pushed him, not affecting him at all. "I concede, I concede." He threw himself back onto the bed dramatically, splaying his hands wide for her benefit. "And now I must die." He made the most ridiculous face she had ever seen on him and laughter escaped her for a minute before she slapped a hand over her mouth, looking horrified.

"Dillon…"

"Nothing's wrong with a little amusement here and there, Marina. I didn't think you were getting much of it at home. Now come here." He held his arms out and she readily held onto him. "Night, Rina. Sleep well."

"Night, Dillon." She snuggled into his chest, hoping everything could just stay like this for a day. By this time in two days, she would be a married woman and her brother would be on his way home, leaving her husband to take his place in her bed. She'd spent the last fourteen years knowing her brother was only a heartbeat away, but now three and a half days travel would be between them. She waited until she knew he was asleep to cry and he unconsciously held her tighter as if he was thinking the same thing.

[marriage—n.The formal union of a man and a woman, typically recognized by law, by which they become husband and wife.]

She stands stock still beside him, looking completely inhuman as her dead eyes stare straight forward, only speaking to say "yes" like she is required to. She balks at the words "kiss the bride" and he simply pecks her cheek, causing an uproar among some of the civilians. He takes her hand, noticing how stiffly she's holding herself, and leads her to their area of the house. He shows her around, noticing how she relaxes when all the voices and faces are not where she can see them.

Her hands shake at the sight of the bed and he shakes his head. "Not unless you want to."

"But… they'll…"

"Ask?" He catches her eyes and she nods, looking mortified that he'd picked up on her train of thought. "If they ask, I'll throw them off. You've had a long day, so you're free to go rest now. We are to appear in public as a couple tomorrow afternoon, but you are free to do what you want until then."

"…Thank you..." She looked him straight in the eye, but he could tell doing so bothered her.

"It's my duty to treat you well, isn't it?" He notices a second too late that the words have harmed her and hangs his head. "Sorry… I don't know my way around this either…" He recognizes it's too late to apologize and mutters one last 'Sorry' before leaving the room as she throws the clothes they made her wear for the wedding, wishing for the millionth time that she could be like her siblings and burn it to shreds.

[relationship—n.The way in which two or more concepts, objects or people are connected, or the state of being connected.]

She appears with him in public when she's required to, all carefully placed smiles and affectionate when necessary, having spent her waking hours perfecting her technique enough that everyone but him was fooled. She holds his hand and lingers a little too long to provide the public proof that they had created a successful marriage out of the mess her father had given them. He throws himself into the pretense as well, hating the moment they arrived home when she would suddenly deflate, obsessively cleaning up messes and straightening furniture to avoid him.

She floats through the room with the same ethereal grace that he's come to appreciate and even if it is being employed to keep him away, he still finds it beautiful. He works at his desk when he isn't required to sit in on his father's meetings and she makes them a separate dinner some nights. He remarks that she is a good cook and she says nothing, only breaking the fragile eye contact they'd made for just a second.

His mother visits with her often while she is alone at home, worriedly stating to him that she rarely leaves their rooms and that she doesn't speak to anyone much. He brushes it off, telling his mother that she is not yet used to living here and that she misses her parents, hitting the right ratio of truth and sentimentality to appease her.

He doesn't mention to his mother that he hears her crying every night after she thinks he's gone to sleep. His insomnia keeps him awake during the night and he's learned to sleep when he sincerely wants to, but he's spent every night since their marriage awake, ready to help her if she just said the word. She never does and she lies awake most nights, not knowing that he's doing the same just feet away.

[change—n.The act or instance of making or becoming different.]

He stops her after she puts dinner on the table one night. "Marina… we need to talk."

"Did I… did I do something wrong?" The fear in her eyes intensifies and he gets the feeling that she feels like she's drowning.

"Not at all. I just wanted to speak to you about how you've been feeling lately. My parents are concerned about you, as am I." He takes her hand. "You can go back home, if you want. On a permanent basis, that is."

She shakes her head. "My father would…" She looks him over, deciding if he's trustworthy enough to hear the end of that sentence.

"Would hurt you, wouldn't he?" He frowns as she nods, shifting her eyes to the floor. "I won't allow that to happen to you, whether you remain my wife or not."

"Thank you." She looks terrified and hopeful at the same time. "No one's… ever said that… other than Dillon…"

"I mean it. No harm will come to you under my protection, just as I promised your brother. If you wish to leave, I understand. You are free to go." He sets her hand down gently, steeling himself for the moment when she would stand and walk through the door. She gets up, confirming his fear, but walks over to him and motions for him to stand up. He does and she wraps her arms around him, the first real hug they have had in six months of marriage.

"I—I don't want to. Leave you, I mean." She buries her head in his chest, finding that he was just as warm as anyone else. He's a little taller than her brother and his shoulders are smaller, but he's just as human as anyone else. He isn't as bad as I thought, she thinks, and hugs him so tight she thinks they'll break when they let go.

[amelioration—n. The act of relieving ills and changing for the better.]

She slowly stops crying in the night and he sleeps a little better until one night when she's shaking and holding herself, calling his name instead of her brother's and he gets into her bed without thinking and holds her close. "Don't worry…" She balls her fists in his shirt and he smiles, holding her close against him. "You are safe here."

She nods, embarrassed that she called for him and that he's in her bed to boot. "Would you like me to leave?" He releases her from his embrace the moment he notices she's away, looking embarrassed himself. "I can go."

"…I think… we should… Stay?" He notices that she looks a little less scared of him now and smiles.

"If you'd like me to." She nods and he pulls her back into his arms. "I rather like this." She mumbles an agreement into his shoulder and he smiles, hiding his face in the top of her head.

[affection—n. An gentle feeling of fondness or liking.]

They warm up to each other significantly more after that night and Marina quickly gets used to sleeping with him in her bed, their bed now. She smiles more in the safety of their rooms, taking the opportunity to express what little affection she could offer while they were alone.

He holds her closer than usual in their public appearances, glaring harder at the men who stall when she walks by and she notices for the first time what he is getting angry at, leaning into him the minute she sees anyone looking at her that way.

They kiss properly for the first time on a day they later realize marks the first anniversary of their marriage, laughing as they realize they skipped out on the social event held in their honor. His parents give them a look when they walk in, assuming they had done much more than they had and he just holds her, leaving them to think whatever they wanted.

[love—n.An intense feeling of deep affection.]

"I love you." The words slip out of his mouth before he can stop them and he hangs his head, waiting for her imminent rejection.

"I… I love you too." His head snaps up in complete confusion and she smiles, putting a hand up to the side of his face. "You were worried, huh?"

He stammers out a reply that is barely coherent and she laughs, quickly hiding her face afterward. "When you're with someone so beautiful, you often lose your way with words."

Her eyes go wide and she looks up at him. "You… think I'm pretty?"

"From the first moment I met you." She nuzzles his neck and he squeezes her tight.

"No one's ever said it like that…"

"Then I'm proud to be the first."

[happiness—n.A state of well-being characterized by emotions ranging from contentment to intense joy.]

She holds the little boy that they've finally created after years of trying and smiles at him. "Look…" He puts an arm around her and looks into his son's eyes, replicas of his own save the fact that they were much darker. "There's our little executive." She laughs and the boy gurgles, snuggling into her.

"There he is." He nods in agreement and kisses her forehead. "Maybe we'll have another one, after this."

"Maybe." She motions for him to get in bed with them and he does, pulling Marina into his side. "I love you."

He thinks of the years they spent avoiding each other and how difficult it was for the both of them to say it and looks at little Dickie and wonders how it was so hard. "I love you more."