The hardest part of Tycho’s life was telling his father that he was a man. At least, he thought it was, until Svenn told him that he did, in fact, need a son and not a daughter. It did sting to know that his father thought so little of him, just because he was a woman. But he couldn’t let that weigh too heavily on him. He had a new role as the heir to the title of Jarl.

Naturally, he was pissed off when his father informed him that a marriage had been arranged for him. He would’ve been stuck in an arranged marriage either way, really. Either he’d be handed off to another house to improve his father’s status, or he’d have to take a spouse as the Jarl. He didn’t expect it to happen so quickly, though.

When Anon was brought into Kivistead, his father’s house, Tycho did everything in his power to avoid them. He even went as far as exiting his room through the window to avoid accidentally running into them in the hall. He hardly even knew their full name, or even what they looked like. As long as he didn’t see Anon, he wouldn’t have to come to terms with the marriage, right?

Unfortunately, despite Tycho’s attempts to ignore Anon’s presence, something in Anon’s room caught his attention as he made his way past their room one day. He had to do a double take. Was that a spellbook? So his fiancé was a magic user! They weren’t rare in Saari, but Tycho had never been able to take to the craft, no matter how hard he tried. His father once laughed at him when a fireball backfired on him. For all his brains, Tycho would never be good enough to cast magic of his own.

Looking around to make sure Anon isn’t inside, Tycho carefully opens Anon’s window, climbing into their room. He makes his way towards the desk, his eyes widening in disbelief at the sight of all of their magical supplies. Ingredients for potions, spell scrolls, crystals… the spellbook. Maybe that’s what he needed. Reaching out, Tycho grabs the spellbook and opens it up, feeling the magic pulse through his hands.

He jumps as he hears the door creak open and spins, his cape catching on the desk chair and causing it to topple over. Stumbling back, Tycho yelps as he trips over the chair, cape now flapping up into his face, falling back on his ass and nearly cracking his head against Anon’s bed. He fights with the cape for a few seconds before he finally gets it off, shaking out his curls and braids and staring at Anon, who had just entered the room, with embarrassment.

“…hi,” he squeaks. “I… definitely wasn’t going through your spellbook. If. If you were wondering. Because of course that’s what you were wondering.”