FL - Chapter 82: A Marriage Alliance

"Us again?" Count Grant furrowed his brow. "We can't even finish our own wars."

"This time is different." Duke Edmund surveyed the room. "When the campaign is over, the southern lands will be divided among us."

Silence held the chamber for a heartbeat.

Then came the clamor, voices overlapping from every direction.

"Now that's a prize worth having!"

"Far better than these godforsaken frozen gullies we're stuck in."

"His Majesty finally remembered to compensate us?"

"Ha! Compensate? This is clearly sending us in as the blade—to carve up those old southern bastards."

"Fine by me—I'll gladly be that blade!"

"Those southern wastes of space—who could they possibly beat? When it comes down to it, we'll be the ones doing the heavy lifting."

"Then let us fight! As long as there's land at the end of it, put me on the very front line!"

Laughter, overlapping voices, and the clink of wine cups filled the chamber. Even the nobles who had sat aloof moments before now leaned forward with naked interest.

Life in the Northlands was simply too harsh.

Just preparing firewood and grain to survive the winter was enough to crush a barony for an entire year. Every snow disaster, every livestock plague, every war—these were the realities they could not escape.

But now the Emperor had spoken. If they supplied troops and won, they could leave the frozen wastes for lands of warm sun and fruit-laden orchards. Such fiefs promised lower defense costs, higher taxes, richer trade routes, and a more valuable population—an inheritance that could sustain a house for generations.

The northern nobles had spent their lives fighting through wind and snow for every scrap they owned. Faced with such a prize, how could they not hunger for it?

The night deepened. The banquet drew to a close in a blaze of high spirits. The nobles departed in twos and threes, laughter and the scent of wine still lingering in the hall.

But Louis was asked to stay behind by Duke Edmund.

Only a few lamps still burned in the chamber now. The light was warm. The Duke's expression was kindly.

"Too many died at Snowhawk City," Duke Edmund said. A weight underlay his voice. "The nobles of Snowpeak County suffered especially heavy losses."

Louis said nothing. He only listened.

"House Firth is finished. Most of their territory has been reclaimed. A few scattered holdings were passed to distant relatives. Snowpeak County now has no head."

The Duke's tone shifted, and a knowing smile touched his face. "I want you to serve as Governor of Snowpeak County."

Louis froze for a moment, his interest impossible to hide.

County Governor. It wasn't just a title.

He would direct military deployments across the county and possess the authority to mobilize its nobles and knights. In wartime, he could conscript commoners, raise defensive lines, and requisition supplies. He would collect Imperial taxes from subordinate towns, villages, and estates—retaining a lawful share for himself—and preside over the county council as arbiter of disputes between nobles.

The office combined the authority of a warlord, an administrator, an arbiter, and a steward forever burdened with everyone else's problems.

The power and profit were substantial. Louis wanted the position.

But he also knew this was no pure gift. It came with corresponding obligations.

"You understand what this means," Edmund said. "You are not inheriting empty land. You are inheriting a disaster."

"I… am willing to shoulder this responsibility," Louis answered quietly.

Edmund nodded and added: "Snowpeak County has suffered catastrophic losses in this war. Many of its people have died. Refugees are scattered everywhere. If you have the capacity, you may try to save them. Of course—all of this is the mess that idiot Firth left behind. I will not fault you if you cannot accomplish it. But I hope that you can."

Louis was silent for a beat. Then he nodded. "I had already intended to do so."

Duke Edmund clapped Louis on the shoulder in approval, though the warmth in his gaze seemed a touch excessive.

Louis could sense something odd in that gaze, but he couldn't put his finger on what. He simply nodded politely and offered his thanks.

What he did not know was that, just that afternoon, Edmund had already written a letter—and quietly dispatched it to Duke Calvin's residence.

The subject of the letter could be summed up in a single phrase: a marriage alliance.

This was no sudden whim.

Edmund had first considered such an alliance months ago. None of his direct heirs had married into a southern house, but he had long encouraged those unions among his wider family. The impoverished Northlands needed access to southern resources, and Edmund had already begun laying the political groundwork for whatever southern lands his house might one day acquire.

A marriage alliance was the most stable means of securing political support.

But such an alliance couldn't be with just anyone. It required a match of equal station—and a candidate whose character and ability both measured up.

And now, among his children of marriageable age, only Emily remained.

She was his beloved youngest daughter: intelligent, gentle, and even-tempered. He had considered marrying her to the heir of a southern ducal house, but the thought of sending her alone so far from home had always stopped him.

Until the Battle of Clearfeather Ridge was won. Until a young noble by the name of Louis Calvin had emerged from nowhere.

So young, yet capable of leading a surprise assault, setting an ambush, annihilating an enemy force—and in a single stroke, accelerating the entire northern campaign. And he was a direct-line descendant of House Calvin. House Calvin, one of the Empire's Eight Great Houses, entrenched in the Southeast Province, controlling multiple vital ports and vast salt fields—one of the most senior and established houses on the Noble Council.

Lineage. Battle honors. Ability. Prospects.

Louis met every requirement.

Nor was the young man impetuous. He carried himself with restraint, knew when to yield, and did not hesitate when force was required. His composure at the banquet and measured handling of every conversation reinforced the reports from Bond and Gibson: Louis possessed a formidable strategic mind and the makings of a great man.

Most important of all—Louis's territory was only a few days' ride from Frostspear City. Even if his daughter were wronged, she could return home at any time.

And House Calvin, for its own interests, would almost certainly agree to the match.

And so the letter proposing a marriage alliance flew toward the Southeast Province.

……

Duke Calvin woke, as he always did, at six in the morning sharp.

He then performed the morning exercise he had maintained for twenty years—one that also helped ensure House Calvin never lacked heirs. After washing and dressing, he strolled into his study.

His steward silently set down a new mountain of correspondence.

Duke Calvin flipped through the pile. Suddenly his hand stopped.

"Hm?"

He plucked out a letter sealed with dark-blue wax, the handwriting firm and angular.

"Edmund? Which Edmund?"

He squinted at the signature, confirming it wasn't some third-rate minor noble who'd addressed his letter to the wrong man. Finally, he verified: this was, in fact, from Duke Edmund, Governor of the Northlands.

"The Duke of the Northlands? Why would he suddenly be writing to me?"

Though he and Edmund were both patriarchs of the Empire's Eight Great Houses, they had almost no interaction under ordinary circumstances.

His head full of questions, he tore the letter open.

"A m-marriage alliance?!"

Duke Calvin very nearly sprayed his tea across the parchment.