I Married the 'Mad' Heir

Ch 53: The Declaration of War

A few days later, in the wooded clearing that served as the guards’ unofficial training ground, chaos was unfolding in a predictable pattern.

Aster stood in the middle of it all, arms crossed over his chest. His face was set in what the men had privately dubbed his ”granite expression.” He watched as two dozen soldiers ran through a brutal obstacle course he’d designed—a series of log walls to scale, mud pits to crawl through, and rope nets to climb.

”Move your feet, Corin! That’s not a stroll in the garden!” Aster barked.

Corin, red-faced and gasping, scrambled over the final log wall and tumbled into the dirt on the other side. He lay there for a second, wheezing.

Loren jogged past him, barely breaking a sweat. He flashed a grin at the prone younger man. ”Don’t die, kid. The captain hates paperwork.”

From the mud pit, Jax let out a booming laugh as he hauled himself out, covered in brown sludge. ”Feels like home!”

Aster’s eyes tracked them all. ”Jax! Stop enjoying yourself and get to the net! Loren, stop showing off and help Corin up! This is a unit exercise, not a solo performance!”

A young soldier named Rylan, who was dragging himself through the mud pit with considerably less enthusiasm than Jax, muttered under his breath, ”Aww, Captain’s so cruel... and so grumpy. If this goes on, he’ll die a virgin.”

The clearing went quiet for half a second. Even the birds seemed to stop chirping.

Aster didn’t turn his head. His voice cut through the air, flat and deadly calm. ”I heard that, Rylan. When you’re done with the pit, you get to run it again. Backwards.”

A collective groan went up from the men. Rylan’s head dropped into the mud with a defeated splat.

On the other side of the clearing, Kaelen was running a separate, more precise drill with a group specializing in hand-to-hand combat. Two soldiers sparred in the center of a ring. One, a burly Beta named Garret, overextended a punch. His foot slipped on a patch of wet leaves.

In a blur of motion, Kaelen was inside his guard. He didn’t strike hard, but he used Garret’s own momentum against him. A twist of the wrist, a shift of the hip, and Garret was flipped neatly onto his back in the dirt, the wind knocked out of him.

Kaelen stood over him, not even breathing heavily. ”Slipping is a luxury you don’t have if someone’s trying to gut you. Again.”

Near the edge of the woods, a small group of soldiers who had completed the initial run were taking a water break. They sat on a fallen log, passing a canteen and whispering.

”...so I told her, the roses were for *her*, not her mother,” one was saying, his voice low. ”She still hasn’t spoken to me.”

”You brought her mother flowers? You idiot.”

”I panicked! They were both standing there!”

Their gossip was cut short by a sound.

*Wiggle. Wiggle.*

It came from the thick line of bushes that bordered the training ground.

*Rustle rustle.*

One of the soldiers on the log, a sharp-eyed man named Finn, frowned and peered into the foliage. ”Hey. You hear that?”

”Probably a fox.”

*Wiggle. Wiggle wiggle.*

Something was definitely moving in there. The bushes shook.

Aster, who had been watching Rylan begin his miserable backwards crawl through the mud pit, turned his head. His eyes narrowed. He took a step toward the tree line.

Then he saw them. Not an animal.

Braids. Two messy, fiery red braids, poking out just above the bush line. They twitched.

Then he saw fabric. The hem of a simple dress. The cuff of a too-short trouser leg.

Four small, determined-looking rear ends were wiggling in unison, trying to push deeper into the bush, but only succeeding in making the entire shrub shake violently.

Aster held up a fist. The universal signal for *stop everything*.

All activity in the clearing ceased. The men on the obstacle course froze. Kaelen’s sparring partners stepped apart. The gossips on the log fell silent.

Every eye turned to the quivering bushes.

Aster walked forward slowly, his boots silent on the forest floor. He stopped about three paces away. He crossed his arms again.

”You might as well come out,” he said, his voice dry. ”Your tactical positioning is terrible. You’re completely exposed.”

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, with a final, massive rustle, the bush expelled its contents.

Four children tumbled out into the clearing in a heap of limbs, braids, and righteous indignation.

Millie hit the ground first, rolled, and popped up onto her feet, brushing leaves from her skirt with furious dignity. Willem stumbled out after her, clutching his notebook to his chest, his spectacles askew. Toben came out backwards, then turned around, his round cheeks flushed. Little Lissy emerged last, clinging to Lady Rag, her eyes wide as saucers as she took in the two dozen large, dirty, armed soldiers staring at them.

The entire Ironwood Guard stood in stunned silence. Blinking. Trying to process.

Children. Here. In their secure training ground. Why?

Millie planted her hands on her hips. She glared up at Aster, who loomed over her. She had to crane her neck all the way back to meet his eyes, but she did it without a hint of fear.

”You!” she declared, her voice ringing clear in the quiet glade. ”Captain Aster Vance!”

Aster raised one eyebrow. ”Yes?”

”We,” Millie announced, sweeping a hand to encompass her comrades, ”the South Courtyard Council, are hereby declaring war on you!”

A gasp rippled through the assembled soldiers. Not a gasp of fear. A gasp of pure, bewildered delight. Grins started breaking out on muddy faces.

Aster looked down at the tiny, furious girl. He didn’t smile. He treated her declaration with the gravity it was clearly intended to have. ”War. On me. Specifically?”

”On you and your whole... your whole army!” Toben chimed in, puffing out his chest.

”May I inquire as to the cause of this war?” Aster asked, his tone formal.

Millie took a deep breath. ”Because you stole our friend!”

Aster blinked. ”Stole your...”

”Brother Abel!” Willem piped up, adjusting his glasses. He opened his notebook. ”We have observed a significant reduction in his availability for courtyard strategic consultations and cookie-based diplomacy since his engagement with your military faction. The data is conclusive.”

”He plays with *you* now,” Millie accused, pointing a finger at Aster’s chest. ”With your wooden castles and your soldier games! He used to play with *us*! We had him first!”

Understanding dawned on Aster’s face, followed by a flicker of something that looked suspiciously like amusement, though he kept it carefully contained. He glanced over at his men. Loren was biting his fist to keep from laughing out loud. Jax was beaming like he’d just been given a puppy.

”I see,” Aster said, turning back to the children. ”So this is a territorial dispute. Over our mutual ally.”

”Exactly!” Millie said. ”And we want him back! So... so we challenge you! To a contest!”

”A contest,” Aster repeated slowly.

”To prove who he likes better!” Toben yelled, caught up in the drama. ”The winner gets Brother Abel!”

”Toben, no,” Willem said, exasperated. ”We can’t ’get’ a person. It’s about spheres of influence and scheduled visitation rights.”

”A contest,” Aster said again. He rubbed his chin, pretending to consider it. Around him, his men were leaning in, utterly captivated. ”What are the terms of this contest?”

The four children huddled together for a quick, whispered conference. Lissy whispered something into Millie’s ear. Millie nodded firmly.

She turned back to Aster. ”Three challenges,” she stated. ”Chosen by us. You have to send your... your champion. To face our champion. Tomorrow. At the old apple orchard by the south wall. At noon.”

”And if we win?” Aster asked.

”Then you get to keep playing with him on Tuesdays and Thursdays. And we get Mondays and Wednesdays. And Fridays we share.”

”And if you win?”

Millie’s green eyes gleamed. ”Then you give him back. And you only get to see him if we say so. And you have to give us all your ginger biscuits for a month.”

Aster looked around at his men. He saw the eager, entertained faces. He saw Kaelen giving him a slight, almost imperceptible nod. This was good. This was harmless. This was... fun.

He looked back down at the fierce little general before him. Slowly, he extended his right hand.

”The Ironwood Guard accepts your declaration of war, South Courtyard Council. Terms are agreed. Three challenges. Tomorrow at noon. Our champion will be there.”

Millie stared at his big, calloused hand. She wiped her own small palm on her dress, then reached out and shook it with surprising firmness. ”It’s a deal. Don’t be late.”

With that, she turned on her heel. ”Council! Retreat!”

The four children scrambled back toward the bushes, disappearing into the foliage with slightly more coordination than they’d shown arriving. The rustling faded away, leaving the clearing in silence once more.

For a long moment, nobody moved.

Then Loren lost it. He doubled over, howling with laughter. ”Did we just get formally challenged to a duel by a bunch of toddlers?!”

”They’re not toddlers,” Jax said, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye. ”They’re a council. A scary one.”

”They want our biscuits,” Corin said, grinning.

Rylan, still covered in mud from his pit-crawl, called out, ”Who’s our champion, Captain?”

All eyes turned to Aster.

Aster’s granite expression finally cracked. A slow, genuine smile spread across his face. He looked toward the manor, then back at his men.

”Well,” he said, his voice warm with humor. ”I think it’s obvious. We fight for our captain. So our champion should be our captain.”

The men erupted into cheers and applause. The idea of Abel, their beloved, confused, gentle giant, being the champion in a war between soldiers and children over who got to play with him... it was perfect.

”Tomorrow at noon,” Aster said, raising his voice over the noise. ”At the apple orchard. I expect every one of you to be there. In full dress uniform.”

”Dress uniform, sir?” Kaelen asked, one eyebrow raised.

”Absolutely,” Aster said, his smile widening. ”If we’re going to war, we’re going to do it with style. And we are *not* losing our biscuit rations.”

The training was forgotten. For the rest of the afternoon, the only thing the Ironwood Guard drilled was how to look impressively serious while preparing for the most important diplomatic mission of their careers: a play date war.