FL - Chapter 28: The White-Haired Beauty

Only the fireplace disturbed the silence. Louis stood beside the bed and studied the frail girl.

Her skin was paler than an Imperial's, with the cold undertone of the north. Short silver-white hair framed deep-blue eyes. She was slender, yet the tension beneath her skin suggested a predator ready to spring. Even weakened, she met the world with guarded dignity rather than submission or open defiance.

"What is your name?"

She did not answer.

"Where are you from? Where were you going?"

She remained silent, her face as still as the firelight on it.

The older woman patted her hand. "Don't be afraid, dear. We are good people. The lord saved you; he will not harm you."

Sif weighed her options. A false identity might be exposed, while evasions would invite suspicion. Better to know nothing and say nothing.

Louis considered her, then reached his own conclusion. "Amnesia?"

Sif blinked. She had not expected him to explain it for her. She lowered her eyes without confirming or denying it.

"Then stay here until you recover." Louis looked at her white hair. "We will call you Little White."

Rage flashed through Sif. *Little White?* She was the Cold Moon Tribe's princess, raised to carry its future. This southern barbarian had named her like a pet.

Her nails dug into her palm. *Do not let him see.*

"Can you read?" Louis asked.

Still caught in her anger, Sif nodded—then realized her mistake. In the Cold Moon Tribe, only nobles learned the southerners' language and script. Her answer might reveal too much.

She watched Louis for a reaction. He seemed not to notice. "Then you will be my secretary. You will record things and handle small tasks. Nothing dangerous."

Secretary was an unfamiliar word, but it did not sound like prisoner or slave. It was safer than interrogation, and she had no better choice.

She nodded. This was not surrender. It was patience.

"Rest first," Louis said. "We can talk when you are stronger."

Sif watched him leave, unable to read his intentions. He had shown neither obvious malice nor true kindness. Still, one purpose remained unchanged: survive, then take revenge.

Outside, Louis smiled. Making Sif his secretary was a sound decision. The Intelligence System had already told him exactly who she was.

Her former identity did not matter. At present, she was no one. If an opportunity arose to use her status, he would not need her permission. As long as she remained within his territory, she was under his control.

Her cautious secrecy amused him: like a stray dog too frightened to bark, watching everything with its tail tucked tight. Her literacy was an unexpected bonus. Hilko's burden of paperwork could finally ease.

And a white-haired beauty in the office would certainly improve Louis's mood.

He headed for the craftsman's workshop to discuss the castle with Mac.

Crimson Tide Territory was expanding quickly. The simple semi-sunken homes and tireless labor of the slaves had produced rows of orderly dwellings. Knights now had private rooms, soldiers shared in pairs, freemen lived three to a room, and slaves six. Families could apply for separate quarters. In the impoverished north, it was an extraordinary blessing; winter would not leave a single resident freezing in the snow.

Housing was not enough. With the territory's foundations stabilizing, Louis would redirect half its craftsmen and laborers to build a proper lord's castle.

(End of Chapter)