Derek read the intention in Hussein’s eyes. This was not the capital, where a fabricated accusation might destroy a courtier. A landed noble with soldiers and territory was another matter. The Marquis had spent too long thinking in terms of court intrigue.

“Treason? First I must ask whether the Kingdom of the Holy Cross would forgive my crimes.”

Derek understood his position. Viscount Derek was no longer the obscure knight he had been. The King had delegated real authority to him, and Augusta had survived the Holy Cross counterattack. He now belonged to an envied class: landed nobles with power of their own.

The King of the Holy Cross would gladly accept Derek if he defected. Far from Locke's capital, a powerful border lord could change allegiance if pressed too hard. Saint Miller Province would change hands again, and the Northern Province might follow. Faced with that possibility, what choice would the King of Locke make?

Hussein realized it too late. His expression changed for an instant, but he could say nothing.

Derek turned away. “Whip the assassins to death here today. I do not need evidence; that is the constables’ business. Here, I have only criminals. Whoever I feel struck at me is guilty. So I need no confession.”

The Augusta knights did not hesitate. They took up horsewhips. The cracking lashes silenced both the kneeling expedition soldiers and the restless nobles.

But Derek was not finished. “The snow is deep and the ground slippery. One hundred soldiers of the First Northern Expedition Legion slipped and died. For the next week, anyone who leaves camp will slip and die—soldier or Marquis.”

The knights smashed the soldiers’ heads against the ground. Soon the unfortunate men had all ‘slipped to death.’

Hussein’s smile froze. His court experience had become useless. And anyone with sense knew the King would rather believe the men slipped than admit a Viscount had killed them.

The scene was silent except for lashes. Even the assassins forgot to scream. Northern nobles who had protested their damaged shops quietly backed away, their legs weak. Compared with this, a broken shop was tolerable. Let the Viscount smash several more, if only he would calm down.

Derek's usual courtesy had made people forget that he possessed teeth. Politeness from an obscure knight looked like submission; politeness from a powerful viscount looked like grace. Neither prevented him from answering a threat with violence.

Even the King and the great nobles were not bound by a simple relationship of lord and subject. Lesser nobles could be compelled to remain loyal because defection meant ruin. For middle and high nobles, allegiance was negotiated through power and mutual benefit. Conspiracy and betrayal were unavoidable features of their world.

If loyalty were absolute, there would have been no War of Division and no Kingdom of Locke. The first King had broken his own allegiance; Derek could do the same. His memories of another world made him less susceptible to romantic notions of knightly virtue. His loyalty depended on reciprocal benefit.

Understanding the true relationship between King and nobles freed Derek from rules that existed largely to restrain weaker men. Hussein held the higher nominal rank, yet court politics constrained him; he could conspire, but not openly challenge the balance of power.

Derek stepped over the bodies, brains and blood fouling his boots, then deliberately wiped them on the carpet.

“Count Perez, Marquis Hussein, a small accident delayed me.”

Absent the fresh blood at his feet, no one would have guessed what had just happened. Derek had threatened Hussein moments ago; now he smiled like an old friend. His manners were flawless, every expression perfectly controlled.

Hussein’s smile was stiff. Even a man who had seen much at court needed time to adapt to such brutal style, to brains and blood flowing before him. From this moment, he truly understood that northern politics differed completely from the capital.

Yet no one who survived the capital’s political struggles was defeated so easily. Hussein had paid dearly for command of the northern campaign and had come determined to win distinction.

He quickly adjusted his thinking. Until he adapted to the north and learned how to survive here, he could make no large move. Knowing when to advance and retreat was a virtue. Once he understood the rules, though, he would still fight for what was his.

Nobles certainly included fools, but not all nobles were fools, especially men who climbed from courtly mud. Hussein’s smile softened. He even stepped aside and yielded Derek a position, expressing goodwill.

The gesture made several observers reassess him. A man willing to yield today so he could compete tomorrow was far more dangerous than a stubborn fool.

Derek never relied on an opponent’s stupidity. Indeed, he hoped Hussein would be clever. Struggle should not become Saint Miller Province’s main theme. The greatest enemy was the Holy Cross, next the Barbarian Kingdom, and only then each other.

Loyalty could change, but without enough reward no one abandoned such a costly bargaining chip. Anyone unable to see that should leave early rather than drag down allies. Perhaps Hussein had not understood before; now, perhaps he did. His conduct at the table would show it.

The atmosphere was silent. Nobles and officers from both regions, who had been hostile moments ago, no longer felt like fighting. Once the three great men sat, no one dared make a sound.

Count Perez held the highest status: a landed noble with real power, above a court marquis whose rank lacked an independent base. Yet everyone knew Hussein's task included restraining Perez. From the capital's perspective, Derek's growth might at worst create another count in Saint Miller Province. Further growth by House Perez could turn its county into a state within the state—or allow it to claim a duchy outright. The King would have gained a province only to create a rival principality.

Do not speak of law. If House Perez had the strength, it could surely find ten thousand legitimate reasons to inherit a ducal title.

But the King's interests were not necessarily Hussein's. He had risen through royal favor, yet ultimately wanted power of his own. The central nobles now stood behind him, pulling his loyalties toward their faction.

Perez was more cunning than Derek and understood faster. The fracturing of royal reinforcements pleased him. Hussein’s separation from the capital faction needed support. Their earlier conflict was real; their present common interest was real too.

“Viscount Derek, let us step back a little. We cannot press them too hard.”

Perez moved the boundaries he and Derek had marked slightly inward. Their opening claims had been deliberately excessive. Combined with the unclaimed space already left on the map, the concession created a respectable tract of territory with little immediate wealth.

Southern nobles had low political standing, but they had brought abundant supplies and troops. They could not be pushed into openly breaking. Let them burn with resentment, but not enough to turn hostile. They were used to losses; one more loss would do.

Derek learned from the old man and accepted. As a reward for Hussein’s voluntary approach, the Marquis’s share did not need to be cut; it was already smaller than expected. Everyone was happy.

The available spoils had not changed; the satisfaction had merely shifted away from the excluded southern nobles and toward the three men at the table.

Then they would continue acting hostile. Hussein left with his soldiers’ bodies. He would certainly publicize the threat of northern knights, reorganize his army, and gather support. Derek would show no courtesy and might cause minor conflicts. To outsiders, they would look irreconcilable.

The King, the capital nobles, and even the southern nobles would be reassured and distracted. There would be no visible flaw, because the arrangement depended on tacit understanding. The blood was real, the clashes real, and the hatred among lower nobles real.

After Hussein and the First Northern Expedition Legion departed, Derek and Perez relaxed. Their alliance rested on interests, but the language of family made negotiation easier.

“Tiona will come to Saint Miller City soon. You can meet then,” the old count said, reclining comfortably.

Derek had met the young lady before and knew something of her. Major nobles meeting before marriage was normal; interests commonly made marriages, but without any affection at all, trouble could result. Derek smiled appropriately. “I greatly look forward to Lady Tiona’s arrival.”

Perez said he would prepare property in Saint Miller Province, including a manor and an entire village as dowry. It was an enormous gift; his other granddaughters had not received one so grand. House Perez had just gained much in Saint Miller Province and could not separate those gains from Derek, so there were many considerations.

They spoke easily of household matters, but Derek knew Perez would not waste words. Soon silence fell, and after a time the old count asked casually, “I hear you have an exceptionally skilled blacksmith.”

There it was. As his arms trade grew, attention had to come. But Derek now had enough strength to protect himself.

“Yes. I was fortunate enough to discover a gifted blacksmith. If you wish to buy weapons or armor, my lord Count, I can supply them at cost.”

Cost price was merely a phrase, though there would certainly be a discount. Perez watched him for a while, then relaxed.

“Good. I want one hundred complete suits of heavy armor first.”

Derek cursed inwardly. What was the old count planning? Was he truly preparing to rebel?