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 refused this engagement now, or if he attacked Theodore without absolute proof, it would be the same as burning all this food before his starving people. He would be seen as a selfish ruler.
"Mother does not want to force you, my son," Ameera's gentle voice broke the tension. She touched Alaric's clenched hand on the table. "But the truth is, standing alone right now is no different from suicide. We need an alliance. And Eldenval… they are the only ones reaching out."
"I understand, Mother. Father," Alaric finally replied, his voice resigned yet firm. "I will not refuse. This marriage will proceed for the sake of the North."
Isolde nodded in satisfaction, but his expression darkened. "Regarding Eloise… I know you suspect our guests. I am not blind."
Alaric looked at his father sharply. "If they are the ones responsible…"
"We need undeniable proof, Alaric," Isolde cut in quickly. "Accusing an ally who has just saved our people without real evidence will only spark a war we cannot win. But remember this… if it is proven that any of them touched my daughter, I will personally behead them, to hell with the alliance."
Hearing his father's promise, Alaric's shoulders relaxed slightly. At least his father was still the Lion of the North he knew.
"One more thing," Ameera added with a faint smile. "Rosieta… she is a good girl. Yesterday she personally distributed blankets to the people in the lower village. Many have begun to like her. Try to open your heart a little, my son."
At the mention of Rosieta, Alaric's face softened. The image of the girl crying in his arms in the forest flashed through his mind.
"She is a good girl, Mother," Alaric defended. "She is also a victim of her brother's ambition. I have no intention of hurting her. She is not my target."
Three days passed since that conversation. Time moved slowly and painfully in Vaelcryss.
Alaric lived his days like a puppet pulled by unseen strings. In the morning, he trained with his sword until his muscles screamed, trying to vent his frustration through every strike.
By noon, he played the role of the perfect fiancé. He accompanied Rosieta on walks through the castle garden, listened to her chatter, and shielded her from the cold wind. Rosieta grew bolder in showing affection, often linking her arm with Alaric's in public, creating the image of a harmonious couple admired by servants and soldiers. It also made something in Alaric's heart begin to hiss quietly.
Meanwhile, Eloise's condition remained stagnant.
The girl still lay weak in her chamber. Her face was pale like a corpse, and although she was conscious, her strength was drained. She rarely spoke, only offering a faint smile when Alaric came to visit.
Elodie, unable to bear seeing her twin ill and her brother busy, began seeking escape. She forced Alaric to take her hunting in the forest behind the castle.
"Breathe, focus," Alaric instructed when he saw Elodie's hands trembling as she held the bow.
"I can't focus, Brother!" Elodie cried in frustration, lowering her bow. Her eyes shimmered with tears. "What if Eloise never recovers? What if that poison…"
"She will recover," Alaric cut in firmly, patting his sister's shoulder. "We will make sure of it. Now, aim again. Emotion will not help you hit the target."
Elodie wiped her tears roughly, then drew the bow again. Whoosh. The arrow shot forward and struck the tree trunk precisely. This was how they endured. Turning sorrow into strength.
Late afternoon on the fifth day.
The sky outside had begun to darken, streaked with shades of orange and purple. Alaric sat in his study, cleaning his sword blade with an oiled cloth. His mind was empty, weary of the charade he had to perform every day.
Suddenly, the door was knocked in a distinct rhythmic pattern. Two quick, one slow.
"Enter," Alaric ordered.
The door opened. Sir Baldr stepped in, his face stiff and serious. Behind him, Pascale followed silently, yet his eyes carried an urgency unlike usual.
Alaric set his sword aside. His instinct told him his wait was over.
"Sir Baldr. Pascale," Alaric greeted, his voice low yet filled with anticipation. "You arrive together. I assume you bring something of value."
Sir Baldr nodded, then stepped aside, allowing Pascale to move forward to Alaric's desk.
"Report, Young Lord," Pascale said. His breath was slightly rushed, as if he had just run or was restraining explosive information. "I have observed the target for five consecutive days, as you ordered. Day and night. Especially his interactions with Lady Rosieta."
"And?" Alaric pressed, leaning forward. "Did Theodore try to harm her again? Did you find proof he poisoned Eloise?"
Pascale swallowed. He looked straight into his master's ruby eyes. There was hesitation on the servant's face, as if afraid that what he was about to say would shatter his master's world.
"Pascale, speak!" Alaric barked, his patience gone.
Pascale took a deep breath, then said it.
"My lord… regarding your suspicion about who is evil and who is the victim…"
Pascale slowly shook his head, his face pale.
"You were right."