Page 19 of A Match Made in Slumber

The clerk’s quill scratched out a final note before he paused, dabbing the end of the feather on his chin. "And what have the contracting parties decided regarding their post-marital surnames? Will you be maintaining separate lineages or uniting them?"

We both stilled as our eyes met. It didn’t even occur to me to discuss such a matter, even if we’d had the time.

"We could use both." Kill’em’s gruff voice broke the awkward pause. "It is a done thing where I’m from. Fountenblym-Reñyés. It has a solid ring to it. Sounds like the name of a fort.”

"In fact," I started quietly, glancing down at my thumb and keeping my gaze glued to the purple ink stain on it, "if-if you don't mind, Kill’em, um, I’d rather just take yours."

I swallowed the lump in my throat. Getting rid of my family name wouldn’t wipe the horrors of my childhood from my memory, but fuck it. The chance to strip it away had finally come along, so why not bury that thorn deep in the archives?

A heavy, warm hand settled over my trembling fingers.

“Elian and Keălhem Reñyés.” Kill’em’s decisive tone left no room for any qualms. "He will take my family name."

The clerk, unmoved by our exchange, nodded and scribbled the amendment onto the document. He picked up a heavy iron stamp next. With a definitive, echoing thwack, he brought it down onto the contract, sealing the ink into the fibres of the page.

"Congratulations. You are legally bound under the Doctrine of Union Restoration. Have a happy marriage," the clerk muttered, sliding the stamped parchment across the desk without a shred of animation. "If the commander wishes to receive a certificate of residency for the purpose of taking up employment, you will need to file a 4-GH Form with one of the High Arbiters. They will also allocate you an appointment for your Spousal Audit.

“Our audit?” My head began to throb. Thank the goddess Settie had agreed to look after my booth until lunchtime. It seemed jumping through legal hoops would be a job and a half.

“Please discuss any details with your High Arbiter. Neeeext!"

I snatched up the paper, the ink still tacky beneath my fingers.

Keălhem

“Sit, please,” Cholerius said. His voice carried the crisp precision of an aristocrat who’d never needed to raise his tone to be heard. Being one myself, I knew the type well.

I took the chair to the right of the desk, whilst Elian slid into the one beside me. As an officer in the Royal Elven Forces, I’d spent half my life dealing with arbitrary regulations, convoluted supply logs and the endless wheel of military bureaucracy. I knew clerks, paper trails and red tape. Quill-pushers were the same no matter the plane of existence. The best way to deal with them, blackmail aside? Grit one’s teeth and endure them.

That said, I couldn’t help but approve of Cholerius’s desk. The cherrywood surface remained organised in impeccable order, stacked with impressively aligned ledgers, pristine inkwells and a single silver tray. On that tray sat a porcelain bowl filled with ripe, zesty pomegramons—the hybrid variety cultivated exclusively by Fern, as I found out the previous day.

“Well, Elian,” Cholerius began, his gaze drifting towards the fruit. For a fraction of a second, the frostiness on his sharp face thawed, replaced by a flicker of emotion before his composure refocused. “I have heard about the course of legal defence you settled on. Very crafty. That loophole… I must admit Verity knows his statutes. What a pity he has no interest in becoming a High Arbiter. A waste of rare talent.”

The compliment, delivered with a dry, bloodless cadence, might as well have been an execution order. Both contained equal enthusiasm.

Elian cleared his throat. “Right,” he said. Looking rather nervous, he presented our stamped and registered paperwork.

Cholerius picked up the contract and scanned the purple thumbprints with a critical eye. “Hm. This is all in order,” he confirmed, sounding mildly disappointed by the fact. “I shall keep your counsel informed regarding the remaining two charges, but for now, you are free and unrestricted. Please exercise moderation and restraint in your magical actions from now on.”

He reached into a drawer and slid a sheet of lined parchment towards us. “Commander, if you intend to help out at your husband’s stall, you need to apply for a permanent residency permit by submitting this 4-GH Form.”

Husband.

The word struck me right in the chest, sending a strange, heavy bolt of heat straight to my core. It was the first time anyone had used that title aloud in reference to Elian. A fierce, unexpected surge of pride and excitement bloomed beneath my ribs. By my side, Elian made a skittish move, then stiffened. His cheeks turned a spectacular shade of crimson as he exchanged a brief, startled look with me.

“It will be granted automatically based on your contract of matrimony,” Cholerius continued, unaware of our internal crisis. “A mere formality, but the application must be completed, signed and filed today. I prefer my records seamless.”

No shit.

“I’ll do it,” Elian blurted. He reached for the quill and pulled the form towards himself.

I offered him a small, grateful nod. Given that I couldn't decipher a single letter of Everend’s squiggly alphabet, his taking care of it made a practical sort of sense. Yet, as his fingers flew across the page, a quiet thought took root in my mind: I would need to learn how to read and write if I were to survive here. I still viewed my presence in this world as a temporary deployment, but my brain was somehow already mapping out a longer tactical timeline.

“Now for the final administrative hurdle,” Cholerius said, straightening the silver tray underneath his clearly cherished pomegramons that didn’t need straightening one bit. “We need to appoint a date and time for your Spousal Audit.”

There went that absurd terminology again. “What is that?” I demanded, leaning forwards.

Cholerius offered a thin, rationed smile. “Due to the specific loophole you have utilised under the Doctrine of Union Restoration, the municipal authorities must be thoroughly satisfied that this is a genuine relationship, not a fraudulent sham calculated to evade your punishment. We shall require absolute proof of a shared domestic reality. Co-habitation, the division of daily household chores, an intimate knowledge of each other's habits, history and… personal preferences.”