The Gentleman's Agony

The pilot program began in the Eastern Province, a region known for its agricultural production and its relatively progressive attitudes toward social reform. Duke Ravencroft had estates there, and he'd agreed to be the first to implement the Shared Bond system among his household Proxies.

Silas and Elara traveled there by carriage, surrounded by guards and accompanied by a team of magical theorists from the Royal Academy. The journey took three days, winding through countryside that was beautiful in its autumn colors but also marked by the signs of the old system's cruelty.

They passed through villages where Proxies worked in the fields, their Collars glinting in the sunlight, their movements slow and careful as they absorbed the costs of agricultural magic. They saw estates where aristocrats lived in luxury while their Proxies huddled in servants' quarters, barely surviving on minimal rations. They witnessed the casual cruelty of the system—masters casting spells without thought, Proxies collapsing from the costs, no one caring because Proxies were replaceable.

It was a stark reminder of why they were fighting, why the reforms mattered, why they couldn't give up no matter how difficult the work became.

Silas used the journey time to prepare the training materials and protocols they would need. He wrote detailed instructions for establishing Shared Bonds, created safety guidelines to prevent accidents, developed assessment tools to determine which Proxies were ready for the transition. It was meticulous work, requiring him to draw on every bit of knowledge he'd gained from his own bond with Elara.

The magical theorists helped, offering suggestions and refinements based on their understanding of magical theory. But Silas was the real expert here—he was the only person who had actually lived with a Shared Bond, who understood its nuances and complexities from personal experience.

"You're very thorough," one of the theorists observed, watching Silas work. "Most people would have just written a basic outline and improvised the rest."

"Most people haven't spent fifteen years as a Proxy," Silas replied. "I know what can go wrong, what mistakes can be made, what details matter. I'm not going to risk other Proxies' lives because I was too lazy to be thorough."

"That's admirable. But you also need to remember that you can't prevent every problem, can't account for every variable. Sometimes things go wrong despite our best efforts."

"I know. But I can minimize the risks. And I will."

The theorist nodded, understanding that this was personal for Silas in a way it could never be for someone who had never worn a Collar.

Elara spent the journey time differently. She read reports from the provinces, studied economic data, analyzed the political situation. She was preparing for the inevitable resistance, planning her responses to the arguments that would be raised against the reforms.

"The nobles are going to claim that the Shared Bond system is less efficient," she said one evening, reviewing a stack of documents. "They'll argue that distributing costs means less magic can be cast, which means lower productivity."

"That's not true," Silas replied. "The Shared Bond is actually more efficient in the long run, because Proxies don't burn out as quickly. A Proxy using the old system might last five years. A Proxy using the Shared Bond could last twenty or thirty years. That's a huge difference in lifetime productivity."

"I know that. But the nobles don't think in terms of lifetime productivity. They think in terms of immediate results. If they can cast fewer spells per day with the Shared Bond, they'll see it as a loss even if the long-term benefits are greater."

"Then we need to educate them. Show them the data, demonstrate the benefits, make them understand that short-term thinking is costing them in the long run."

"Easier said than done. People resist change, especially when that change requires them to give up immediate benefits for future gains."

"Then we make the immediate benefits clear too. The Shared Bond doesn't just help Proxies—it helps masters. They feel a portion of the cost, yes, but they also gain a deeper understanding of magic, a more intuitive sense of how spells work. That's valuable."

Elara made notes, adding this argument to her growing list of talking points. She was building a comprehensive case for the reforms, anticipating every objection, preparing every response.

It was exhausting work, but it was necessary. Because the reforms would only succeed if they could convince the nobility that change was not just morally right but practically beneficial.

On the third day of their journey, they arrived at Duke Ravencroft's estate. It was a sprawling complex of buildings set in a valley, with fields and forests stretching as far as the eye could see. The main house was elegant but not ostentatious, reflecting the Duke's practical nature.

The Duke met them at the entrance, looking older and more tired than Silas remembered from the coronation. The past three months had been hard on him—he'd been one of Elara's most vocal supporters, and it had cost him politically and personally.

"Your Majesty," he said, bowing. "Welcome to Ravencroft Manor. I hope your journey was pleasant."

"It was informative," Elara replied. "Duke Ravencroft, thank you for agreeing to host the pilot program. I know this is a risk for you."

"A necessary risk. If we're going to change the kingdom, we have to start somewhere." He gestured toward the manor. "I've assembled my household Proxies as you requested. They're waiting in the great hall."

They entered the manor, and Silas felt a familiar pang as he saw the Proxies lined up in the great hall. Twelve of them, ranging in age from late teens to early forties, all wearing the standard gray uniforms and silver Collars. They stood at attention, their faces carefully blank, their bodies held in that particular stillness that Silas recognized from his own years of service.

They were terrified. He could see it in the tension of their shoulders, the way their eyes flicked nervously around the room. They didn't know why they'd been summoned, didn't know what was going to happen to them, and their experience had taught them that unexpected summons usually meant pain.

"At ease," Elara said gently. "Please, sit down. We're not here to hurt you."

The Proxies hesitated, clearly unsure if this was a test. Finally, the oldest one—a woman in her forties with gray-streaked hair—sat down, and the others followed her lead.

Silas stepped forward, and he saw recognition in some of their eyes. They knew who he was—the Proxy who had bonded with the Queen, who had helped stop the Chancellor's coup, who had somehow survived fifteen years of service. He was a legend among Proxies, though not necessarily a comforting one.

"My name is Silas Vane," he began. "I was a Proxy for fifteen years, bonded to Lord Casimir Vane. I know what you're going through, what you feel every day, what it costs you to serve. I'm here because we've discovered a better way."

He explained the Shared Bond system, taking his time, making sure they understood every aspect of it. He talked about voluntary participation, about distributed costs, about the possibility of magic that didn't require one person to suffer for another's benefit.

The Proxies listened in silence, their expressions ranging from hope to skepticism to outright disbelief.

When he finished, the older woman raised her hand tentatively. "Sir, this sounds... too good to be true. Why would the aristocrats agree to share the pain? They've never cared about our suffering before."

"Because the Queen cares," Silas replied. "And because we can prove that the Shared Bond system is more efficient than the current one. When costs are distributed among multiple people, everyone can handle more magic with less damage. It's better for everyone involved."

"But what if it doesn't work? What if we agree to this and it just makes things worse?"

"Then we stop immediately and go back to the old system. This is an experiment, and you're not obligated to participate. If you want to stay with your current bonds, that's your choice. No one will punish you for it."

The Proxies exchanged glances, clearly trying to decide if they could trust this offer.

"I'll do it," a young man said suddenly. He couldn't have been more than twenty, with dark hair and the kind of earnest expression that hadn't yet been beaten out of him by years of service. "I'll try the new system."

"Are you sure?" Silas asked. "You don't have to decide right now. Take time to think about it."

"I'm sure. Because if there's even a chance that this could work, that I could serve without... without hurting all the time... I have to try."

Silas felt something twist in his chest. The young man's hope was painful to witness, because Silas remembered having that same hope once, before fifteen years of service had crushed it out of him.

"All right," he said. "What's your name?"

"Marcus, sir. Marcus Thorne."

Silas froze. "Thorne? Are you related to—"

"Captain Marcus Thorne, yes sir. He's my older brother." The young man's expression was complicated. "He doesn't know I'm a Proxy. Our family... we don't talk about it."

Silas remembered Madame Thorne's story about her nephew, about the secret relationship that had given Silas leverage over her. And now here was another Thorne, another member of that family, trapped in the same system that had killed Madame Thorne's brother.

"All right, Marcus," Silas said gently. "Let's see if we can make this work."

Over the next several hours, Silas and the magical theorists worked with Marcus to establish the first experimental Shared Bond. It was delicate work, requiring precise magical manipulation and constant monitoring to ensure the bond was forming correctly.

Duke Ravencroft volunteered to be Marcus's partner in the bond, which surprised Silas. Most aristocrats wouldn't willingly subject themselves to magical costs, even distributed ones.

"I lost my son to this system," the Duke said quietly when Silas questioned his decision. "If I can help prevent other families from experiencing that loss, I'll do whatever it takes."

The bonding process took three hours. Silas guided them through it, using his own bond with Elara as a template, adjusting and adapting as needed. The magical theorists took notes, documenting every step, every sensation, every fluctuation in the magical field.

And finally, it was done.

Marcus's Collar shifted from silver to a soft gold color, and Duke Ravencroft gasped as the bond snapped into place.

"I can feel him," the Duke whispered. "His emotions, his thoughts, his presence. It's... extraordinary."

"Can you cast a spell?" Silas asked. "Something simple."

Duke Ravencroft nodded and cast a minor illumination spell, creating a ball of light in his palm. Silas watched carefully, monitoring both participants through his own magical senses.

The cost of the spell hit them both simultaneously. Duke Ravencroft winced, and Marcus gasped, but neither of them collapsed or cried out. The pain was there, but it was manageable, distributed between them in a way that made it bearable.

"It worked," Marcus said, his voice filled with wonder. "It actually worked. I felt the cost, but it didn't... it didn't destroy me. It was just pain, normal pain, the kind that fades."

"How do you feel?" Silas asked Duke Ravencroft.

"Like I've been punched in the stomach. But it's already fading." The Duke looked at his hands, then at Marcus. "Is this what you've been feeling? Every time I cast a spell?"

"Worse, my lord. Much worse. Because in the old system, I felt all of it, not just half."

The Duke's face went pale. "I had no idea. I thought... I thought Proxies were just more resilient, that they didn't feel pain the same way we do."

"That's what you were taught to think," Silas said. "That's what everyone is taught to think. It makes it easier to use us."

The Duke was quiet for a long moment, processing this revelation. Then he turned to Marcus and did something Silas had never seen an aristocrat do.

He apologized.

"I'm sorry," Duke Ravencroft said, his voice rough with emotion. "For every spell I cast, for every time I used you without thinking about the cost, for every moment of pain I caused you. I'm sorry."

Marcus stared at him, clearly not knowing how to respond. Proxies weren't used to receiving apologies from their masters.

"It's... it's all right, my lord," he said finally. "You didn't know."

"That's not an excuse. I should have known. I should have asked, should have cared enough to find out." The Duke straightened his shoulders. "But I know now. And I swear to you, Marcus, I will never use magic carelessly again. Every spell I cast, I'll remember that you're feeling it too. And I'll make sure it's worth the cost."

Through the bond with Elara, Silas felt her emotional response to this scene—hope mixed with grief, joy mixed with anger at all the years this understanding had been denied.

"This is what we're fighting for," she said quietly. "This moment, this understanding, this basic recognition of shared humanity. This is why the reforms matter."

"Yes," Silas agreed. "This is exactly why."

Over the next week, they established five more Shared Bonds among Duke Ravencroft's household. Not all of the Proxies chose to participate—some were too scared, too damaged, too conditioned to believe that anything could change. But the ones who did participate reported the same thing: the new system was better. Not perfect, not painless, but better.

And slowly, word began to spread.

Proxies from other estates heard about the pilot program and began asking their masters about it. Some aristocrats were receptive, curious about this new system that promised greater efficiency. Others were hostile, seeing it as a threat to their comfortable lifestyle.

But the conversation had started. And once started, it couldn't be stopped.

Silas spent his evenings documenting everything, writing detailed reports about the bonding process, the results, the challenges they'd encountered. He wanted to make sure that when they expanded the program, they had a solid foundation to build on.

He wrote about Marcus's transformation—how the young man had gone from terrified and hopeless to cautiously optimistic in the space of a week. He documented Duke Ravencroft's growing understanding of what his Proxies had been experiencing, the guilt and determination that came with that understanding.

He recorded the reactions of the other Proxies who had chosen to participate. Some were relieved, grateful for the reduction in suffering. Others were suspicious, waiting for the other shoe to drop, unable to believe that things could actually get better.

And he noted the Proxies who had refused to participate—the ones who were too damaged, too traumatized, too conditioned to believe in change. They were the ones who broke his heart, because he saw himself in them. He saw the person he would have been if the bond with Elara hadn't forced him to start feeling again.

"You can't save everyone," Elara reminded him one night, reading over his shoulder as he wrote. "Some people are too broken to be fixed."

"I know. But I have to try. Because if I don't try, if I just accept that some people are beyond help, then what's the point of any of this?"

"The point is to help the people who can be helped. To prevent future suffering. To build a better system so that no one else ends up as broken as those Proxies are."

"That's not enough."

"It has to be enough. Because it's all we can do."

Through the bond, Silas felt her frustration and sadness. She wanted to save everyone too, wanted to undo all the damage that had been done, wanted to make everything right. But she was also pragmatic enough to know that some things couldn't be fixed, some wounds couldn't be healed, some people were too far gone.

It was a hard truth to accept. But it was truth nonetheless.

Elara spent her evenings meeting with the Proxies who had chosen to participate, listening to their stories, understanding their experiences. She was building relationships, creating a network of people who could testify to the effectiveness of the new system.

She sat with them in the servants' quarters, sharing meals, asking questions, really listening to their answers. It was unprecedented for a Queen to spend time with Proxies like this, to treat them as equals rather than servants. But Elara didn't care about precedent. She cared about understanding, about connection, about building something real.

"Tell me about your life before you became a Proxy," she said to one woman, a middle-aged Proxy named Sarah who had been in service for twelve years.

"I was a seamstress, Your Majesty. Had my own shop in the Merchant Quarter. Did good work, had regular customers, was saving up to expand."

"What happened?"

"My husband got sick. Needed expensive medicine, magical healing. We couldn't afford it, so we took out a loan. But the interest was too high, and when we couldn't pay it back..." She gestured to her Collar. "The creditors claimed me as payment."

"And your husband?"

"He died anyway. The medicine didn't work. So I lost everything—my shop, my husband, my freedom—and it was all for nothing."

Through the bond, Silas felt Elara's anger and grief. This was the reality of the system she'd inherited, the casual cruelty that had been normalized for generations.

"I'm sorry," Elara said. "For what happened to you, for the system that allowed it to happen, for not seeing it sooner."

"You were just a child when it happened, Your Majesty. You couldn't have stopped it."

"Maybe not then. But I can stop it now. I can make sure no one else loses everything the way you did."

"Can you? Because Your Majesty, with respect, the system is bigger than any one person. Even a Queen."

"Maybe. But I have to try. And I have people helping me—Silas, Duke Ravencroft, General Blackwood, you and the other Proxies who are willing to testify about what you've experienced. Together, we might be able to change things."

Sarah looked at her for a long moment, and Silas saw something shift in the woman's expression. Hope, maybe. Or at least the willingness to believe that hope might be possible.

"All right, Your Majesty. I'll help. I'll tell my story, testify about the old system and the new one, do whatever you need. Because if there's even a chance that this could work, that other people might not have to go through what I went through... then it's worth trying."

"Thank you," Elara said. "Your courage means more than you know."

Over the course of the week, Elara collected dozens of stories like Sarah's. Stories of debt and desperation, of families torn apart, of lives destroyed by a system that treated people as commodities. Stories that made the abstract concept of "Proxy suffering" into something concrete and personal and impossible to ignore.

She compiled these stories into a report, adding them to Silas's technical documentation. Together, they were building a comprehensive case for the reforms—not just the practical benefits, but the moral imperative.

"This is powerful," Duke Ravencroft said, reading through the report. "These stories—they make it impossible to pretend that the old system is acceptable. Anyone who reads this will have to confront the reality of what we've been doing."

"That's the idea," Elara replied. "We need to make the suffering visible, make it real, make it impossible to ignore. Because as long as people can pretend that Proxies don't really suffer, they'll keep supporting the old system."

"Some people will still support it anyway. There are always those who prioritize their own comfort over others' suffering."

"I know. But we don't need to convince everyone. We just need to convince enough people. Build a coalition large enough to implement the reforms despite the resistance."

"That's going to take time."

"Then we'll take the time. However long it takes, we'll see this through."

On the last day of their visit to Duke Ravencroft's estate, they held a public demonstration of the Shared Bond system. Nobles from neighboring estates were invited to observe, to see for themselves how the new system worked.

The turnout was better than Silas had expected. About thirty nobles attended, along with their Proxies, all of them curious about this new development. Some were genuinely interested in reform. Others were there to find flaws, to gather ammunition for their opposition.

Silas didn't care which category they fell into. He was going to show them the truth, and they could make of it what they would.

The demonstration began with Marcus and Duke Ravencroft casting a series of spells, showing how the costs were distributed between them. The nobles watched carefully, noting how both participants felt the effects, how the pain was manageable rather than overwhelming.

Then Silas invited questions.

"How do you know the Proxy isn't just pretending not to suffer?" one noble asked. "How do we know this isn't just an act?"

"Because I can feel it through the bond," Duke Ravencroft replied. "I know exactly what Marcus is experiencing, and he knows what I'm experiencing. There's no room for deception in a Shared Bond."

"But that means you're feeling pain. Why would you willingly subject yourself to that?"

"Because it's the right thing to do. Because I've spent twelve years using Marcus without thinking about what it cost him. And because the pain I feel is nothing compared to what he used to feel under the old system."

"That's very noble, but it's not practical. If we all have to feel pain every time we cast a spell, we'll cast fewer spells. That means lower productivity, less magic, a weaker kingdom."

"Actually, the opposite is true," Silas interjected. "The Shared Bond system is more efficient in the long run. Proxies last longer, recover faster, and can handle more magic over their lifetime. Yes, you'll feel some discomfort in the short term. But you'll gain greater magical capacity in the long term."

"I'd like to see proof of that."

"Then participate in the pilot program. Establish a Shared Bond with your Proxy, track the results over six months, and compare them to your previous magical output. I'm confident you'll find that the new system is superior."

The noble looked skeptical, but he didn't argue further.

Other questions followed—about the bonding process, about the costs, about the legal implications. Silas and Elara answered them all, providing data, sharing testimonials, making their case as clearly and compellingly as they could.

By the end of the demonstration, five nobles had expressed interest in participating in the pilot program. It wasn't a majority, but it was a start.

"This is working," Elara said as they prepared to return to the capital. "Slowly, but it's working. We're changing minds, building support, making progress."

"Yes," Silas agreed. "But we need to be prepared for the backlash. The people who oppose the reforms aren't going to give up just because we've had some success. If anything, our success will make them more desperate."

"Then we'll deal with the backlash when it comes. For now, let's celebrate the victory."

Through the bond, Silas felt her optimism and determination. She believed they could win, believed that the reforms would succeed, believed that the kingdom could be changed.

He wanted to share her optimism. But fifteen years as a Proxy had taught him to be cautious, to expect the worst, to prepare for betrayal and violence.

And his caution was justified.

Because the backlash was coming. And it would be worse than either of them imagined.

End of Chapter 15