Sent North to Die
Sent north to die? The woman with her head bowed. In the middle of Winter's Hall, the woman knelt on her knees. Yellow hair, a worn dress. It barely qualified as a dress, really. In the North, linen was just an underlayer. But this woman was wrapped in layer upon layer of nothing but linen. Her quietly trembling body—whether from the cold or injustice, I couldn't tell.
"Here it is."
The guards brought the letter. I sat in my chair, silently watching the woman. She was trying to maintain propriety, but the cold made it impossible. I handed the blanket draped over my shoulders to the guard.
"Give this to her. She's shivering from the cold."
"Yes, Your Grace!"
The guard carefully took the blanket and approached her, draping it over her back. It enveloped her form. That's expensive stuff. Munching on a fruit, I examined the envelope. The wax seal bore the unmistakable crest of House Bart. No signs of tampering.
To the Northern Grand Duke,
Greetings to the Empire's eternal shield. Though I have not shared many words with the North, I send my daughter there, and I ask that you care for her well.
Your deeds are renowned even in the South. Transforming the North into the finest territory is all your doing.
Thus, my daughter—who received the Empire's finest education—should make the perfect match for you. I beseech you to consider her with care.
Should this letter reach you last, you may do with my daughter as you please.
End.
It was short, but staggeringly rude. Rude to me, sure—but above all, to his own daughter. Why treat her like this?
"Hm. I get the gist. But why come all the way here, Lady of House Bart?"
She couldn't lift her head. Maybe it was a Southern trait, this prejudice about the North. Rumors that if you fell out of favor, your head would end up on Winter Castle's walls. Sure, I'd spread some of those myself, but I hadn't been that harsh with Southerners.
"If it's not too rude, may I ask you to raise your head and speak?"
"Do so."
Only then could I properly see the daughter of House Bart. The report I'd received must have been accurate. The woman who'd dueled at the Imperial Academy and lost. The one meant to become crown princess. Daniela. The defeated heroine from the novel.
"That is—"
"You had nowhere else to go. Isn't that right?"
Before Daniela, head raised, could speak, I cut her off. People were starting to arrive for work. The guards assembled one by one in Winter's Hall. They seemed startled to see me seated first but quickly took their places. Daniela bowed her head again. Probably assent.
I mulled over the letter once more. It was undoubtedly from House Bart, but something felt twisted about it.
"The road from Bart territory to the North isn't an easy one."
"Th-that's true, my lord."
"I've some thoughts on this letter. Mind if I share them with you, Lady of House Bart?"
"P-please, do as—as you wish, my lord."
Her trembling seemed to intensify. I dangled the letter from one hand. It was utterly deliberate. It almost sounded like a marriage proposal. But then that last line: Do as you please if it reaches you last. The meaning was clear. I wasn't the first. And the North was her final stop.
"So sending you here means 'go die here,' as the letter implies. Right?"
Daniela just kept trembling. No answer. The guards murmured. In the North, ignoring the Grand Duke's words in Winter's Hall went against etiquette. But I pressed on.
"They must have sent letters like this elsewhere too. Other territories refused, couldn't just kill you, so you wandered... and ended up here. Is that it?"
But she wouldn't have had time to spare. Hence the patchwork linen, flitting from place to place. My guess hit close; the guard who'd found her tipped me off. No proper shoes or clothes. They must have wanted quick results. What to do? Killing her here might keep the novel on track, but she was supposed to die to bandits.
"Hm..."
My deliberation dragged on. At some point, Daniela's form shrank. The blanket sagged. Still trembling violently, but she couldn't stay upright anymore. She'd collapsed.
Should I let her die here? As in the original story. But I couldn't just let a person die right in front of me. I hurried down from the dais. Gently shook her. Pushed the blanket from her face, pressed my hand to her forehead. Burning up.
"Move the lady."
"Pardon? But Your Grace, she's an Imperial—"
I scooped Daniela up. She was skin and bones. Short hair too. I'd heard long hair was a Southern lady's duty. Simple: she'd been cast out.
"Light a fire in the guest room. I'll take her to my quarters first—warm it thoroughly, then let me know."
"Uh? Understood, Your Grace."
Carrying Daniela, I headed to my room. Got a good look at her face. Alfredo had covered her with another blanket but trailed behind me. In my office-bedroom—cozier than any Southern chamber—I laid her gently on the bed. She barely made a dent. Short hair fanned across her face.
"Alfredo, prepare cold water and warm her up."
"Yes, Your Grace."
"When she wakes, give her medicine first, then let her sleep more."
I touched her forehead again. Fever raging. Crimson rash blooming under her ears and around her mouth.
It was a whim. Daniela had lost as the heroine. What happened next in the novel? It slipped my mind. I stepped out, back to Winter's Hall. The guards hushed at my return.
This would spread like wildfire. "House Bart's lady is here, so treat her as a guest. Guards, that's an order."
"How far should we accommodate her, my lord?"
"Make her comfortable. I'll decide her fate later and inform you."
"Understood, Your Grace."
Sudden silence in Winter's Hall. I sat thinking. Examined the Bart letter again. How to interpret it? Political intent clear, yet profoundly lonely.
"If Dorgon is in the castle, bring him here at once."
"Yes, sir."
I needed information now. Expelled from the Academy alone was trouble enough. But this mistreatment screamed intent. The North and Empire were divided by impassable mountains—information was scarce. The North had once been a virtual exile ground. Hard to learn Imperial secrets. But Dorgon was different. My intelligence chief, maintainer of a vast Imperial network.
Dorgon rushed in, having been sorting reports in the castle.
"House Bart's lady came here. Dorgon, I don't grasp the meaning."
"Your Grace, did you receive a letter?"
"Mm, this one. Take a look?"
"Is this a marriage proposal to you?"
"See for yourself, Dorgon."
Dorgon read midway down the stairs. His brow furrowed as he scrutinized it. He handed it back to the guard. The intent was obvious.
"There's purpose, but not that kind."
"She crossed the mountains to the North—surely with purpose?"
"It sounds absurd, but we've intel she's been rejected and hounded everywhere."
"Tell me more."
Dorgon knelt on one knee on the stairs.
"House Bart abandoned her, sending letters far and wide. Likely due to the broken engagement with the Crown Prince—wary of Imperial eyes. Loyalists even seized her dowry and cast her out."
"Vile. At least let her live alone."
"So she crossed thinking she'd die here. Recent roadworks let her come safely."
"Coincidence. Just coincidence..."
Not my fault, right?