The sky above Vaelcryss slowly changed color, from pale white to bruised purple. The weak sun sank behind the mountains, bringing back the bone-piercing cold. In front of the main stables, Alaric dismounted from his black stallion. The horse’s breath billowed thickly in the frozen air. With practiced ease, he helped Rosieta down. She landed gracefully, her cheeks flushed—whether from the cold or from the thrill of the hunt, he could not tell. “Thank you for protecting me today, Lord Alaric,” Rosieta said as she straightened her riding dress. Her gaze lingered on him, difficult to read. “I will not forget your bravery against that bear.” Alaric gave a brief nod and handed the reins to a rushing stablehand. “Get some rest, Lady Rosieta. The evening banquet will begin soon. The Northern night is not kind to those who are not used to it.” “Of course.” Rosieta smiled faintly—a sweet smile that never reached her eyes. “Until we meet at the table, my lord.” Alaric watched her back unt

While the night wind howled beyond the outer balcony, the atmosphere inside the Great Hall remained warm, filled with the glow of thousands of candles and the scent of spilled wine.Theodore Caelthrone, a crystal goblet in his right hand, let his gaze roam across the room. His honey-brown eyes—so like his sister Rosieta’s—came to rest on one table. There sat the two daughters of House Hildebrand.Without hesitation, he approached. His steps were light and silent, like a great cat stalking prey—or perhaps only seeking a game.“A beautiful night for the two loveliest flowers of the North,” Theodore greeted them, stopping beside the empty chair next to Eloise.“May I join you? The elders’ table is far too dull for youthful conversation.”Eloise looked up, her calm eyes meeting his without interest.“You may sit anywhere in this hall, Lord Theodore. This is a castle, not a prison.”“Such a sharp reply,” Theodore chuckled, not offended in the least. He pulled the chair beside Eloise and sa

The study door closed with a soft click, sealing the lock.The noise of the banquet and the music from the Great Hall vanished at once, replaced by a suffocating silence. The room was cold, lit only by the trembling glow of an oil lamp. Its walls were lined with thick books and military strategy maps—the place where Alaric usually planned the future defenses of his land.But tonight, his defenses were breached not on the battlefield, but within his own home.Alaric threw himself into the wooden chair behind his desk. He braced his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands. His shoulders were rigid, bearing the sudden weight crashing down on him.“Explain,” Alaric ordered. His voice came from behind his palms—muffled, yet sharp.Sir Baldr stood straight before his lord’s desk. The old knight’s face showed no emotion, but his eyes held deadly seriousness.“The situation is dire, Young Lord,” Baldr reported without preamble.“When I arrived, Lady Eloise was already unconscious

The northern wind blew softly, yet it was enough to make anyone shiver. Alaric walked in silence through the open castle corridor, his footsteps heavy. Beside him, Rosieta struggled slightly with her long gown, yet she refused to slow down.“I will escort you to your chamber, my lady,” Alaric said flatly. His guard was still as high as the walls of Vaelcryss. He could not forget last night’s events, and trust was never cheap to him.Rosieta stopped abruptly. She turned to face him, her lips slightly pouting—an expression carefully designed to look cute yet demanding.“No,” she refused sweetly. “I’m bored in my room. The servants are stiff and dull. I want to spend more time with you, Alaric.”Before Alaric could object, Rosieta glanced back at her personal attendants following behind. “You may return. Prepare lunch and deliver it to the place I mentioned earlier. I wish to be alone with Lord Alaric.”The servants bowed obediently and departed without a sound. Rosieta turned back to Al

The silence in Lord Isolde’s study felt heavier than a suit of iron armor. Only the crackle of burning wood in the fireplace filled the pauses between the father and son’s conversation. Isolde slid a thick parchment scroll toward Alaric. “Look, my son,” Isolde’s voice was deep, authoritative, yet laced with fatigue. “This is the logistics list sent from Eldenval this morning. Even before the marriage is made official.” Alaric glanced at the list. His eyes widened slightly. Thousands of sacks of grain, dried meat, barrels of wine, and chests filled with thick wool clothing. The amount was enough to feed all of Vaelcryss for two winters. “Our food crisis is postponed, Alaric,” Isolde continued, staring at his son with his single sharp eye. “The people will not starve this year. And all of it is thanks to the ‘goodwill’ of House Caelthrone.” Alaric fell silent. His jaw tightened. He understood the implication behind that paper. This was not merely aid. It was checkmate. If he refuse