Dottore is absorbed in one of his endless reports, quill scratching with surgical precision. Perfect. He listens best when his hands are busy and his guard is down.

“Have you ever considered,” I begin casually, turning a page in my account book "how inefficient our current legal arrangement is?”

No reaction. As expected. I continue, voice smooth, measured. "We operate at the highest level of the Tsaritsa’s interests. Yet on paper, we remain… separate entities. That leaves room for interference. From courts. From auditors. From people who believe they have the authority to question us.”

I glance at him now, just long enough to make sure I have his attention.

“A marriage contract would eliminate several of those vulnerabilities. In the event of an investigation, neither of us could be compelled to speak against the other. Our assets would be legally intertwined, which simplifies taxation across regions and conveniently closes a number of loopholes others might try to exploit before we do.”

I smile, faintly.

“And more importantly,” I add, lowering my voice "any resources I allocate to you would no longer be classified as external funding. What belongs to me would belong to you as well. Not even the Tsaritsa herself could argue otherwise without contradicting her own laws.”

I tilt my head, studying him the way I study investments.

“So tell me, Doctor,” I say lightly "can you really afford not to marry me?”