Foolish Feats of Faux Fortune

Arthur had decided that the most logical course of action was, of course, to invent a fortune. Not a small, easily disproven fib, mind you, but a sprawling, multi-faceted empire of imaginary wealth. He’d spent the better part of the previous night, fueled by lukewarm water and sheer desperation, sketching out schematics for ‘Arthur’s Astonishing Automata Emporium’ and ‘Arthur’s Arcane Appurtenances and Acquisitions.’ His logic, which was often as convoluted as a goblin’s tax return, dictated that if he could *convince* the Duke and Duchess that he was drowning in gold, they’d be so overwhelmed by his sheer financial prowess that Seraphina’s ‘mistake’ in falling for him would seem like a minor, easily rectified oversight.

His first attempt involved a rather ambitious display of ‘investment opportunities.’ He cornered the Duke in the expansive, sun-drenched conservatory, a room so filled with exotic plants that Arthur half-expected a miniature jungle jaguar to leap out at him. The Duke, a man whose posture suggested he’d swallowed a particularly stiff, jewel-encrusted sword, was tending to a rose bush with the same intensity one might reserve for defusing a magical bomb.

“Duke Alistair, sir,” Arthur began, his voice cracking slightly, betraying the tremor in his hands that he tried valiantly to conceal. He held a crumpled piece of parchment, meticulously drawn with what looked suspiciously like a child’s rendition of a steam engine. “I… I have been considering expanding my… my artisanal clockwork endeavors.”