Deflecting the Emperor's Ploy and Daniela's Secret Dress

When countering a trick, you have to strike it down precisely. The Crown Prince probably wouldn't forgive us. The North might not be in a position to demand forgiveness from anyone or grant it to the imperial family. But he would never forget my actions. That petty vessel of his could only hold so much. Of course, I had no certainty. Who knows—he might not even give it a thought. But the Bosch bitch glued to his side would never forgive us, that's for sure.

The emperor was likely the same. No noble would be thrilled to accept an agreement like this. Even if the southern nobles welcomed it, the North gained nothing. But if I thought a little deeper, it might not be so bad.

"We could go with something like permanently leasing the road to Bart territory."

"Wouldn't that invite interference from the other nobles, Your Grace?"

Leasing the road was easy, but what came after was unpredictable. The North's army was strong. If they marched south along that route, the nobles' lands would be laid to waste. And since it was the emperor's decree, there'd be no one to complain to. We'd have to find another form of payment.

But this proposal was a kind of Zen koan. All that mattered was signaling our rejection of their original offer, no matter what we demanded.

"The emperor didn't have many options. Pushing this makes me think someone's whispering in his ear."

"Indeed, Your Grace. From what I've learned, a few imperial ministers proposed this."

"They suspect us?"

"If I may be so bold, it seems they've realized your anger isn't that intense."

The legitimacy of my rage stemmed from the empire's long disregard for the North, but rumors about Daniela played a part too. The reason this debate wouldn't resolve easily was simple. Normally, they'd squash it or offer treasures to soothe me. But this time, the Crown Prince was involved. A butterfly flaps its wings in a distant land, and it rides the wind to become a typhoon. They seemed wary of the butterfly effect. Some ministers had caught on that my fury might be a facade, but a little prodding at the nobles would change that.

"Bart should step up. Nothing too aggressive—what would work?"

"How about requesting a council of marquesses and above in the imperial palace?"

"Good idea, but we don't need to actually hold it. Just ask to convene one ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and see their reaction."

"As you command."

Dorgon left the Winter's Chamber. I pondered alone in the room. The emperor wouldn't pay up, so someone had stirred the pot. They hadn't read ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠my mind, but I worried they'd only heightened vigilance against the North for no reason. The more I mulled it over, the more military options floated temptingly. Should I tell Leor and James to cross the mountains once? No. Don't. Wars are won by the prepared. The North wasn't ready yet.

Then another path: let Bart shake things up, and we'd exploit the chaos.

"Your Grace, the Grand Duchess seeks you."

"Daniela?"

I rose from my seat. The moment Alfredo finished speaking, I headed for the office. He called after ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠me not to run, but I didn't hear.

For now, I trusted Jackson and Roy to handle the south as best they could.

A purple gown hung in the office. I thought it was on a rack somewhere, but James was holding it spread wide.

"What's this dress?"

"Ah, Your Grace!"

James shouted, still clutching the gown. I was dumbfounded.

"What is this?"

"Since the Grand Duchess has formally entered the Wintergard name, we've prepared a gown just for her."

"Is that why you're here?"

"It wasn't meant to be a secret, but..."

Did they call me here just to show this? Daniela avoided my eyes, looking embarrassed. Maybe the message got garbled. I glanced at Alfredo, who shrugged as if clueless.

He explained: James had sent the gown to Winter Castle ahead of time and shown it to Daniela. It was for a banquet to face the vassals and noble ladies who served Wintergard now that she was newly arrived. James had prepared it on his own without telling me. When I asked why the secrecy, no one answered.

"Did ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠you lie to me, James?"

"Y-Your Grace! I've committed a grave sin!"

"Hey! No kneeling. You'll wrinkle the dress."

I pulled James up quickly. It was a joke, but he dropped to kneel instantly, so I yanked him back. What sin had he committed? It must've been Daniela's request to keep it secret. I understood. Still,

"So this is why she called me out."

I examined the dress closely. Daniela bowed her head deeper.

Was this the romance from those trashy novels? Daniela fidgeted.

"I wanted to surprise you, Your Grace. If we had it made in Winter Castle, you'd find out right away..."

Hmm, fair enough. Everything reports back to me. Didn't those novels have the male lead jaw-dropped at his first sight of her?

Then,

"I'd love to see you wearing it."

"I-I can wear it tomorrow, Your Grace."

"Too far. I want to see you in it now."

Alfredo's face turned peculiar. James too. Why the weird looks, everyone?

"Just wait a little."

"Aw, what a shame."

Why? I wanted to see.

Whatever.

"Absolutely not. This is unacceptable."

Jackson rejected the proposal outright. Even a glance showed it was garbage. Even if they paid the arrears plus interest, new debts would pile up. But this offer was like lumping only the past amounts together and calling it even.

"We've already been told this is the maximum the palace can pay."

"Tell them to rethink it."

"It's hard to pay more, and honestly, we don't even know if their math is legit."

"That's our calculated amount. How about meeting in the middle?"

Middle ground would still be enormous. Nearly fifteen years' worth. Prior support was negligible.

Jackson refused firmly. In the palace side chamber, Jackson and Roy sat ramrod straight. Opposite them, Imperial Treasurer Lord Wilson led the ministers.

"That's impossible too."

"This no, that no. Fine, write off the past debts. Why should we?"

Roy kicked under the table. It jolted. He raised a hand, claiming accident, but everyone knew the intent: cut the nonsense.

I'd thought we'd achieved half our goal until the emperor appeared. But not after.

The ministers nitpicked the proposal to suit their interests.

"Can you offer something else?"

"That needs discussion."

"Aren't we discussing now?"

Jackson spoke, but the ministers ignored him. Attrition. Classic stalling.

Time to throw a tantrum.

"Let's be frank. We're ministers too, same as you, right?"

"Yes."

"Then let's get precise. What can you offer? Is this really everything?"

Their reply rang hollow. The empire's limits were clear. Or rather, not limits—they just wouldn't pay. Drag it out, and we'd have to leave for the North. Come back south? Same treatment. The psychological distance between North and South was vast.

"You think we'll just go home? Never."

"This is still the best."

"This meeting will reconvene soon."

Jackson stood. Roy followed, spitting on the floor. They might think the stall worked, but they were dead wrong. Word came from the North: Bart had agreed to move.

As they exited, Jackson murmured to Roy,

"Once Bart acts, the tide turns."

"The emperor won't show again."

"Make a fuss, and he'll come back."

"Don't worry. I brought an axe on purpose."

"Grab one for me too."

The next day after leaving the chamber, a urgent letter arrived from Bart. Dorgon's note. After hearing we needed to pressure the emperor, Marquis Roland wrote back swiftly, ties severed and all. Ready to go all in.

The content was simple.

The chief minister reading Bart's letter felt veins bulging in fury. Pressure. And leading it:

"Summon His Majesty again, or pay up properly!"

Roy with his axe, Jackson head held high. Their lord.