The Pressing Need for a Northern Heir
We need to produce a legitimate Northern heir!
"By now, they've arrived at the Bart family, right?"
"Yes. We just received word."
"Good thing it's close. Well, it was worth pushing the pace."
As I listened to the report from my staffers, I let a faint smile creep across my face. The North's merchants and magic stones had finally reached the Bart family. Sure, there were still some minor hiccups, but Jackson would sort them out.
"That's surprising, though. I figured Jackson would just hold down the fort in the center."
"It's the first time, so he said he went to inspect things personally."
"Good, good."
Promoting Jackson to head of the central bank had been a smart move, but it left him buried in work. He had to align the gold coin values between North and South, standardize the worth of available resources, and bridge the massive information gaps. In a way, his plate was overflowing.
"If he needs more hands, tell him to let me know. I've made arrangements to send personnel anytime."
"Lord Jackson also requested permission to establish a bank within the Bart territory."
"You mean one run by the North?"
"Yes, Your Grace. The biggest issue in our dealings with the Bart family has always been discrepancies in value."
The more our currencies mismatched, the greater the gold drain from the North. And who knew how long it would take for North and South values to converge? That's why I figured we needed a Northern exchange bank in Bart territory to dual-track the system for now.
"Excellent idea. Make it happen."
"Thank you, Your Grace. And also..."
This was about support for the resources and goods we'd shipped North. We'd gotten some of the Bart gold mines in return, but it wasn't enough to cover current losses. To facilitate trade, the North had agreed to extend short-term loans, and now came the haggling over terms.
"Tell them we'll stick to the initial 9.5 percent interest I set, and adjust the duration accordingly."
"They're saying that's too high—complaints are pouring in."
"I know. But this is our first deal. Let them know we'll quickly ease risk premiums after this one."
"They seem to be hoping for at least 5 percent."
"Not yet. No changes. 9.5 percent is already generous."
I had no intention of budging on that. My original plan was over 10 percent, but that would've been too steep—better no deal at all. For the sake of upfront investments, I'd already slashed it low. At 9.5 percent, it was practically interest-free. I planned to lower rates gradually, but 5 percent was way too cheap.
"Stabilizing values is priority one right now. Trade with the North has to align with our gold standard anyway. And make sure to warn off anyone thinking they can gouge us with shady fees—they'll see blood if they try. Relay that explicitly."
"Understood, Your Grace."
"And tell Jackson to hang in there a bit longer."
The staffer left. I'd been hoping to sneak off for some scheming fun with Daniela, but work wouldn't let me go. Even she had suddenly gotten tied up. Simple reason: some dinner gathering with the marquesses' wives and the Grand Duchess.
They came up with the darnedest things. No choice but to dial back the pace for now. Fine, whatever!
"Your Grace."
"Father-in-law. What brings you here?"
"Hahaha, I came to pay my respects after hearing the good news."
Marquis Roland von Bart burst into the room unannounced. He'd clearly gotten the report on the caravan reaching Bart territory. Enough magic stones to last them nearly a year, plus the Northern troops starting to set up camps.
"I wanted to thank you once more."
"If I think of it as an investment in your lands, Father-in-law, it's not a loss—but honestly..."
It wasn't like I felt any warm fuzzies. He'd basically sent Daniela north to die, no denying that. But she didn't reject him outright, and I understood he was just a man bounced around by power plays. So, understanding was all I could muster.
"Just treat Daniela right. And no more weird letters."
"I-I'm sorry, Your Grace."
"Remember, the Grand Duchess's seat belongs to Daniela, not the Bart family."
"Understood, Your Grace."
We needed to keep outside influence at bay. The Bart family was too far physically to meddle in Northern politics anyway, and they lacked the clout to crack the system I'd built. Unless a vice-duke popped up, but not yet.
"I don't fully trust the Bart family yet."
"We'll do our utmost. Give us a chance, Your Grace."
"We shall see, Father-in-law."
The brief pressure play ended. I trusted the Barts enough, but not that much. Not yet.
Marquis Roland left. Alone in the room at last, I flopped onto the bed. Time for a breather.
—
"Hohoho—having such a beauty here makes it perfect."
The marquesses' wives. Their influence rose and fell with their husbands' titles—wealth, vast lands, mighty armies. At these gatherings, different women took the lead each time, shifting with Southern politics.
But now a catfish had slipped in. A massive one.
"We have a newcomer today. Grand Duchess Daniela."
"Hello. Hello."
Daniela exchanged greetings and took her seat. Youngest here by far, but her rank was unmistakable. The one and only duke on the continent, independent no less—top of the pecking order.
"Ahem, it's been too long. Glad to see you."
The power plays began. Everyone knew about her broken engagement to the Crown Prince. Daniela glanced around cautiously. The current ringleader was the matriarch of the Colum family, biggest faction here. No need to steal her spot—Daniela wouldn't be in the South often anyway.
"So, how have you been faring, Your Grace?"
"Keeping busy, surprisingly. More to do than I thought."
"Mm, first time in such a position, there's always a lot on your plate."
"Actually, I have so many questions I'd love to ask."
Daniela deftly sidestepped the subtle jabs, humbling herself to defuse the tension. To build ties with these marquesses' wives, she played naive, feigning ignorance on purpose. Youngest here, after all. If that Bosch wench had been present, she'd have gone for blood—but absent, no need. Better to win them over.
"Haha, ask away anytime. We'll fill you in."
"Thank you."
Hohoho—the laughter swelled. You couldn't ignore rank forever. Daniela plied them with questions, soliciting opinions.
"That's tricky, yes. Hohoho—"
"The men handle that, anyway. Hohoho!"
Daniela was fitting in. But talk inevitably turned to heirs. Crucial for noblewomen, vital for every house. Who would succeed the line?
"No worries on that front?"
"Pardon? Oh?"
"Hahaha! You look flustered. Still so young—you wouldn't know these things yet."
"I-I've read about child-rearing, but..."
"Reading's nothing like doing it."
All these women had heirs or grown sons. Daniela alone lacked a successor.
"I-I'm actually quite worried about it myself."
"Oh? Even Your Grace has concerns?"
"W-well, the Grand Duke's age means pressure to produce a vice-duke soon."
The marquesses' faces turned grave. The burden of birthing sons hit home. Especially with no heir—it spelled chaos ahead.
"I've tried..."
"Ah, not yet...."
"Sigh, this is serious."
Auntie-talk kicked off. Daniela listened intently. Secrets to sons.
"This is key."
"W-wait, it's moving too fast."
"No son? At least have kids."
"I'll keep that in mind."
The aunties droned on. Lessons in boy-making: best positions, prayers—everything hammered in. Soon, Daniela's mind echoed with nothing but son—son—.