The Weight of Wintergard
I couldn't give a proper answer during the negotiations. I couldn't declare outright that she was Wintergard. It wasn't about saving face or anything like that. Etiquette wasn't the issue either. It was a problem of the heart. My consideration might have ended up being a burden to Daniela. The name of the Northern Grand Duke wasn't something to be tossed around lightly. Perhaps I'd been the one taking it too casually. But I'd never once thought its weight was light enough to let just anyone bear the name Wintergard.
"You couldn't answer, could you?"
When Daniela stepped outside, I didn't stop her. No, I chose not to. It was something even I needed to think over. What did I want with Daniela? At first, I'd welcomed her as a guest. I'd figured she might be useful somehow. Naming her Wintergard had been out of pity for the disgraced lady cast out by the Bart family. Probably. Otherwise, she and I might have started pondering it from some point along the way.
"Oh, will you sleep somewhere else tonight, then?"
"Yeah, do that."
"B-Begging your pardon, but... did you two fight?"
"Yeah."
"D-Did you really fight?"
"Not sure. It's my problem."
Leor gave no reply either. The night dragged on. Everything felt tedious. I couldn't show it openly, so I threw myself into work. I gave feedback on the staff's reports and kept pushing forward. I ignored their wary glances as best I could.
We entered the Bart family castle that morning. Early, as planned. There were a few to welcome us, but not a large crowd.
"Let's go in."
Leor and the staff went ahead into the castle, and I brought up the rear, taking my time. Daniela had already gone inside and was out of sight. The castle was decently maintained. I'd heard it was a gold-rich territory even in the south, but it wasn't quite what I'd imagined.
"Where did Daniela go?"
"I-I'm not sure, Your Grace."
"Tell the guards to keep a close eye on her."
"Y-Yes, Your Grace."
I gave Leor brief instructions and followed the staff. The first place we entered was the Bart family's pride and joy: the Golden Hall. Golden lion statues gleamed so brightly they hurt the eyes. I'd thought Winter Castle's halls were well-appointed, but a place that mined gold was on another level. At the far end of the room rose a dais about four steps high, with a single chair atop it. Someone in resplendent attire stood at the base of the stairs. Tall stature. Short beard. But those blue eyes and neatly trimmed golden hair gave him away as the Marquis of Bart—Roland von Bart.
I followed the staff up the stairs and took the seat. As the highest-ranking noble, it was only right that I claim the head chair.
"We welcome the great Northern Grand Duke, Theodore von Wintergard."
"No need for that. I'm grateful for the warmer reception than I expected."
"Thank you for gracing us with your presence at tonight's banquet. Had I known you'd come, I would have prepared something even more splendid. I apologize if I've fallen short."
"I was cautious on the journey here, wary of any missteps myself, Marquis."
Standard polite exchanges. The Bart family's guards and mine alternated in a ceremonial watch. It was all prearranged, they said. The ceremony meant little, really—just empty pomp.
Once it ended, I rose from the chair and headed out. A private audience with the Bart marquis. Private in name only; his staff and one guard captain accompanied us. Close enough for whispers, if needed.
"Thank you for coming again, Your Grace."
"Enough of that. Let's get to business."
I cut straight to it. We could have chatted idly, but there was too much to align from here on. I'd planned for Daniela to join and help smooth things over. But I wasn't in the mood now. I knew it was my failing not to separate personal from professional. Still, it let me focus even harder on the work.
"You wanted to see me because there's good reason, right?"
"Yes, Your Grace."
"Then tell me what it is."
I'd heard the rumors about the Bart family, but the internal crisis was worse than expected. The broken engagement was a boon. But the blame for it was starting to circle back to them. House de Bosch. Once a minor house of no note, they were seizing the opportunity to leap ahead. Whispers even swirled that ownership of the Bart family's gold veins would be redistributed—and that House de Bosch was already earmarked as the new owners.
The Bart family's influence had grown ambiguous since the engagement fell apart. Ambiguous meant no one had their back anymore. A marquis's title held power, but once the imperial family meddled and houses banded into factions, they had few safe choices. They could form their own faction, but crossing the imperial family would cost them the gold veins. Sticking with the throne meant inevitable betrayal. They needed a backer. Ideally, one the imperial family couldn't easily dismiss.
"So, you'd like me to be that backer?"
"Not exactly, but if it came to that..."
"I don't care for pretense, Marquis von Bart. I prefer plain talk."
"Understood."
I nodded. Of course, we couldn't just seize the gold veins outright; processes would be needed. And we had to block them. If crushing them wasn't feasible, make it impossible to yield easily.
"Distance limits my influence here. And the imperial citizens call us the 'Kingdom of Exiles.' Even so?"
"At this point, we have few options."
"Then come to me when I'm your only choice."
As I stood to leave, Roland shot up in a panic. His staff followed, and the southerners looked flustered. We had nothing to lose.
"Forgive me, Your Grace. Please hear me out once more."
"You don't seem to grasp what it means that I've come this far."
I sat back down. Slouched into the chair, really—one leg hooked over the arm, the other hand drumming the table.
"Do you get what it means that I've come all this way?"
"Forgive me, Your Grace."
"I live in my own house. I don't travel. The outside world's full of annoyances. Gives me a headache."
"Yes, Your Grace."
"If word gets out that the Barts are courting us, even the imperial family won't let it slide easily."
"We're prepared for that."
Now I had the upper hand. I played the madman, bluffed a bit. It might not have landed perfectly, but at least we weren't on their terms.
"Let's make it clear, then. How much do you need?"
"Hm, not money so much as something else."
"Troops?"
I'd anticipated it. When standing alone, the Barts needed a sturdy shield. But recruiting now would draw eyes. The nobles or throne would accelerate, carving them out. So,
"Might I ask for a bit more, Your Grace?"
"Let's hear it."
"What House Bart wants is the continent's strongest force—along with northern resources. Magic stones, quality iron. Fast horses, and so on."
"I see. And what do we get? Your gold?"
"Yes."
No appeal there.
"How long do you think you'll hold those veins? If another house takes them, we get nothing."
"That's why... our proposal is..."
It was a partial split. They'd fund troop deployments fully, repay resources over time indirectly. House Bart's offer held zero charm.
"Let me give you a better idea."
"What is it?"
"The north covers everything upfront. In exchange, we split ownership of your gold veins exactly in half."
"Th-That..."
"House Bart gets northern troops and resources in promise. We take half the vein ownership—and half the gold from it."
Murmurs rippled. This was the dilemma the staff had mulled. Deploying troops or exporting resources didn't matter. What counted was the pretext. A formal voice to the Barts and Empire, maximizing northern leverage. And the Barts had an irrefutable claim.
"That way, if the throne seizes ownership, we'll have grounds to speak up automatically."
"A preemptive claim?"
"Exactly. Take it from the Barts, and the north asserts its rights."
We couldn't claim it all from them outright, so prior contracts would be reviewed. It would take time. Forcing it would pit them against the north. Plus, they couldn't ignore northern troops stationed there. Carve from what the Barts hold? Absurd math. We'd taken half already—now settle for 25%? No. If the throne transfers ownership to honor old deals, northern forces roam freely in the south. No noble wants that. Nullify everything? Cross the north again. Whatever they did, we'd have a say. The Barts, bound by contract, could only buy time.
"Of course, they'd have to be mad to nullify our deal outright and transfer ownership."
"...Yes."
"So, let's do it. What say you?"
The Bart staff whispered. The rest was for them to decide. But a better pretext would soon emerge at the banquet—one neither the Barts nor the north could ignore, unforeseen even by factions or the throne.