Marry Already, North!
The North—where winter's chill kills people. There was even a joke that no matter how bad the cold snap hit the South, it couldn't compare to the North's early winter. Northerners were especially tough; they bragged they could sleep bare-chested even in the dead of winter without catching a cold. Not quite. I felt cold.
"Didn't they say Northerners are so resistant to cold they never get colds?"
No sooner had I woken up than snot started dripping from my nose. The temperature outside was nearly minus eleven degrees—a relatively warm day for midwinter in the North. It could easily plunge to minus twenty or lower.
Alfredo placed a cup of hot tea by my bedside. Last night, we'd partied all through the night. Nobles didn't do fancy champagne or wine soirées up here; they didn't suit the North. Instead, we'd had brutally strong liquor alongside a massive wild boar hauled in from the mountains straight into Winter Castle.
Fragments of last night's events scattered and then resurfaced in my mind. It had been an unprecedented festival at Winter Castle. Warmth spread inside and out. Cheers echoed nonstop: "Glory to the Northern Grand Duke, who successfully completed the city improvements and road projects!"
All the Northern nobles had gathered to revel. Of course, to Imperial eyes, it probably looked barbaric.
"Eh, today is a truly joyous day. You know that, right?"
Woooah—! From nobles to common soldiers, everyone roared with hope that we could finally conquer the cold. How many had died or fallen ill because of it?
I could've spouted modern jargon like "improved Northern heating efficiency systems," but I kept it simple and isekai-appropriate: a victory in the war against the cold.
"Today was made to celebrate a day when even the drunkest won't freeze to death. So, fill your glasses!"
Cheers—!
Even the nobles were scarred, burly men, laughing and shouting as they started drinking. The music overflowed with testosterone-fueled drums and wild instruments.
We were sharing roast wild boar and singing of the North's hope when—
"That said, Your Grace!"
A noble sloshed with drink shot to his feet. It was Lord de Wintergard, who had served my father and grandfather here in the North. His face was beet red, his white hair and beard at odds with his vigorous energy. His words cut clearly through the laughter and chatter.
"Old fogies like us, or the young nobles here—we could die without regrets now! Beating the cold... truly..."
He was overcome with emotion. I saw tears welling in those rugged man's eyes. Some nobles nodded, their faces touched.
"But us old-timers still have worries!"
"Oh?"
"Namely, that the great Grand Duke has no heir! It's a dire problem!"
I couldn't ignore Lord de Wintergard's words from my seat at the head table. He was holding a full-blown memorial rite. Petitions like "We're terrified the Wintergard line might end!" were always coming in.
Well, in this isekai world, my age wasn't just old—it was ancient.
"The Grand Duke is already thirty, yet not even a single concubine! This old man fears for the North's future...!"
The booze suddenly lost its appeal. I set down my glass with a sigh. The songs trailed off, the festive mood turning icy. The reveling nobles' faces filled with concern. I hadn't realized how deeply the North feared the Grand Duke's house falling.
Especially since I was so old—at least by isekai standards. No heir meant the end of the North. Such talk stirred anxiety among the nobles.
"No political marriage, not even a common mistress—we nobles fear for the future!"
"Ah, calm down, my lord. That matter, I..."
"Other houses' sons are already producing heirs! How long...!"
Hah, this wasn't wrapping up anytime soon. Following Lord de Wintergard, another noble stood. An elder like him, whose son I'd even appointed as a general to subdue the nomads. I'd been so moved at the ceremony.
"You feel the same, Lord Reward?"
"Indeed, Your Grace. The North knows only the name Wintergard. Even if some other man or bloodline came, we'd choose death first."
"That's a bit extreme. There are other Wintergards besides me..."
A sharp glare hit me. The nobles knew. The other Wintergards weren't up to snuff. And with that bold stance, more nobles rose.
The North serves only Wintergard—more precisely, only a true Wintergard. That's what they wanted to say.
"I, I get it."
"Your Grace, this humble Lord Reward suggests seizing this chance to choose a proper woman and secure an heir...!"
"Where do you find a proper woman in this day and age?"
That one remark ignited war. Every Northern noble erupted, proclaiming their own daughters the finest women. Politics, perhaps.
Of course, marriage opportunities weren't lacking for a noble. They were always tools to bolster power, drawing in other houses' strength. But I'd ascended the Northern Grand Duke seat too young and fast; I lacked the momentum, and the North had united under the banner of serving Wintergard. Political marriages never crossed my mind.
And above all, I was too busy. Not with political power, but solving economic woes.
"Calm down, my lords. I've heard your opinions loud and clear, so I'll decide soon to find a fine lady."
"Your Grace, if you skip marriage again... the heir...!"
"Calm yourselves. As you know, wolves choose one woman and love her for life. I'm reviving our house's lost tradition, so worry not."
"We're just thinking it's too late!"
"Hahaha..."
I laughed awkwardly, but it didn't settle them. Announcing Bildo's road construction completion finally restrained them somewhat.
But that night, I drank a bit too much... Actually, even in the modern world, I'd never properly dated—how was I supposed to marry and whatnot? I felt so wronged. Truth was, no one had caught my eye yet.
"Alfredo, any schedule today? Urgent stuff."
"Nothing particular. Ah, I heard the Empire's loyalty oath documents are coming today."
"Not urgent, then. The Empire sends papers too late."
"Ha, indeed."
I finished the warm tea in bed. With the major project done, an oddly serene quiet enveloped Winter Castle.
Not one to laze in my room, I headed out, draping a blanket over my shoulders like a cloak as I wandered from my office-bedroom.
"Your Grace, what about breakfast?"
"Skip it today. Look after the others first. My stomach's off."
"Shall I prepare some medicine?"
"What medicine? Ah, if there's fruit, just that."
"Right away."
I entered the palace's main hall—properly called the Hall of Winter. Modest compared to the Empire's gaudy palaces or other dukes', but vast, with precisely placed seats. It hosted official events and general government meetings.
The head seat loomed atop about ten steps. I climbed, sank into the steel chair, and clutched my head. Bracing for the Empire's oath document, maybe.
"Hey, Alfredo! Fruit taking long?"
I called loudly, but no reply. The palace was usually bustling; a quiet call would've brought someone running. But after last night's massive bash, it was hushed. Rare.
Maybe because I'd told them to rest off the hangover.
"Your Grace! Grand Duke!"
Someone came panting, breathless. I shouted I was in the Hall of Winter. Far off, the main doors creaked open. A Grand Duke's guard in uniform. Name... liquor-fogged memory failed.
"A guest has arrived, sire."
"Who?"
"Well, that is..."
"If it's the Empire's papers, say I'll receive them. Tell them to come in, no worries."
"It's not that, sire, it's..."
A woman from the Bart family, bringing a letter.
I stared blankly at the guard's face. Alfredo arrived with fruit, setting the bowl beside the chair—ripe winter fruits. Amid their odd silence, he coughed.
"Why would the Bart family send me a letter?"
"I wouldn't know, sire."
"Feels off somehow, doesn't it?"
"Shall I send her away?"
Hmm.
"Let her in. Gotta find out what it is."