Jordan arrived, looking troubled—very troubled.
"What happened to you, Jordan?" I asked.
"Sister, you need to help me," he begged.
"What did you do?"
He took a shaky breath before replying. "Duke Paris' daughter and I spent the night together. We were only talking and playing games, I swear. But this morning, I woke up with her in my arms. I didn't touch her improperly, I promise, yet anyone who saw us will gossip. Her reputation will be ruined. Please, sister, you must help her."
"You want me to grant you two a marriage? You must be insane," I exclaimed.
"No," he protested quickly, "she'll hate me if you do that."
"So you wake up in an inn beside her after spending the whole night together, and now you're refusing marriage?" I asked, my tone steady but firm.
"Sister, please understand. She doesn't love me—not yet, not the way I love her," he said, voice rising with emotion.
"Then she should have been more careful," I replied. "I'll give you a week. Talk to her and make a decision."
I hugged him gently. "I know this will be difficult, Jordan, but do what you must."
As I turned toward the meeting room, I glanced back down the staircase. Jordan stood there, sad and helpless. I truly think he loves her—but she doesn't feel the same. Poor Jordan, trying so hard to deny what his heart already knows.