Who Wants a Little Grand Duke?
Who wants a little grand duke? A meeting was dragging on deep into the session up North. What should have wrapped up in no time was stretching out far longer than expected. Meetings without the Grand Duke usually felt utterly pointless, but this one featured discussions that could carry on just fine in his absence. Of course, it wasn't any outright demand—but something absolutely essential.
"Then how should we set the wedding date?"
"Wouldn't it be best to make it as soon as possible?"
"We know that much."
From the North's administrative ministers on down to the big-name Northern nobles, everyone had gathered. The one leading the meeting wasn't a bureaucrat like Hexon or Bildo. It was Alfredo, the chamberlain who oversaw every inch of Winter Castle.
Alfredo's role as butler in Winter Castle didn't mean he lacked standing. Quite the opposite—when you stacked up years of service to House Wintergard against the nobles present, Alfredo came out overwhelmingly ahead, or at least a close second in most cases.
"Since they're already sharing a room, maybe we don't need to rush it that much."
"Come on! Alfredo! That's no good. Absolutely not."
"Right? Probably."
Having a child without a proper wedding could stir up its own share of trouble. Most Northerners would celebrate, sure—but those few twisted souls were the real problem. After the Wintergard Rebellion, the Wintergard bloodline had withered to the brink of extinction, making it critically important. And barring a handful of exceptions, only one true Wintergard remained.
"The Grand Duke's age is now..."
"Over thirty, so he'll turn thirty-one next year."
"This is bad. Really bad."
The more they dwelled on it, the bigger the headache. Young lords from other houses already had kids—and those kids were growing into adults. Leor Reward and James de Wintergard were no different. They had children or sons coming of age, yet the one and only Wintergard showed zero interest.
"Let's recap. What do you think, Hexon?"
"I see it as a major crisis. Always have."
"How about we lean into it this time—make a strong pitch and push?"
"That's a solid idea."
Alfredo took in the other ministers' views. Nobles and officials alike shared the same worries. The harshest opinions came from the older crowd or those who'd served past Wintergards—Lord de Wintergard especially.
"You all know what I'm talking about. The old Wintergards."
"Ahem. The Wintergard house..."
"We all know no one dares breathe a word of it in front of the Grand Duke, so I'll lay it out now."
There had been a brutal war over the grand ducal seat—the most taboo event in Northern history, the Wintergard Rebellion. Before Theodore took the throne, his father Ardorno Wintergard had clashed with his uncle Walter Wintergard. And it didn't stop there. Walter had wiped out his other brothers, uncles, nephews—
"Enough, Lord de Wintergard."
"A tragedy. Hexon and Alfredo were there—you know."
"Brutal enough you could hardly watch."
"Not a child or ordinary woman left alive."
Not that every Wintergard had vanished entirely. But calling any survivors normal was a stretch, and their ties to Walter put them beyond redemption as proper heirs. Then there was the grudge—that bottomless resentment. How could anyone overcome it?
"Countless dead, cities in ruins. I call it the dark age."
"Everyone does."
"When the late Duke Ardorno tried to revive the North, sad things happened."
"Ahem. Maybe skip the history."
The other ministers shifted uncomfortably. It wasn't preachy nagging—it was straight-up trauma. The Walter-Ardorno war meant corpses every other day. When Walter finally fell and was executed, Ardorno passed soon after. Then came the Grand Duke's first decree: never speak of the Wintergard family or the rebellion again. Theodore was just ten—the day after his coronation.
"From there, the North boomed. Even as a boy, he led charges himself, smashing Walter's remnants. And that's not all?"
"We know the rest. Skip it."
"Ahem. So us old-timers should take the lead."
They were already prepared to lay down their lives. Hold the wedding. Build a family. But was it really that dire? Newer ministers didn't quite get it. Larry, the fresh-faced one, felt the same.
"But with all the North's issues, do we really need to prioritize the Grand Duke's wedding?"
His voice was naive, but Larry had to ask. Deals with House Bart were just kicking off—people shuttling south. Army expansion was grinding everyone down, and nomad threats couldn't be ignored.
But—flinch—sharp glares pinned him.
"Can you believe this punk?"
"Forget the rest! Those are chronic problems!"
"Kid's dead set on screwing us. What a pain!"
Don't come closer. Larry's words forced the elders to hold back. But since some quietly agreed, an answer was needed. Alfredo stepped in—the man closest to the Grand Duke.
"Then let me ask... our very young bureaucrat."
"Yes, sir."
"If the Grand Duke dropped dead tomorrow, who would we serve?"
"Th-that..."
Who? No one. Any new Wintergards? Rebel blood? Traitors? Claims too weak. Might as well bow to some fresh southern house. But then the territories would splinter overnight. The Wintergard name weighed that heavy in the North.
"No brothers, no sane collaterals—none."
"The whole system's built around one man."
Every department, the new central bank, diplomacy—all hinged on the Grand Duke. Old and young ministers agreed: he'd never made a wrong call. Even if he had, he'd always consulted his retainers first. That's how the North ran.
"Getting it now?"
"Y-yes."
"Especially if he dies suddenly—"
The ministers aligned. But the real terror: what if the Grand Duke died out of the blue?
"What happens then?"
"Bloodstorm. Some of us here wouldn't make it. Could spark another Wintergard Rebellion."
"..."
"Other stuff can wait. The country's on the brink."
The prime virtue of a pre-modern monarch: secure your line, solidify the system. Theodore was flawless—save one glaring flaw. No legitimate, obvious heir in the North!
"So, fetch an axe?"
"Planning to beg for death right here?"
"If it gets the job done?"
"Hmm..."
Final verdict: House Wintergard had no true heir. Theodore Wintergard had to pull out all stops for one. Train them up, teach them the ministers' ways.
And so—
"I'll swing the axe."
"Alfredo?"
"I've served Wintergard longest. Even if it means leaving the rest to you, I have no choice."
"Alfredo! You—"
"My mind's made up!"
Larry stared, flustered. But picturing life after the Grand Duke's death? Dizzying. Blood washing blood in war, rebellion. Nomad resurgence!
Hexon hauled out a huge sheet of paper and started scrawling, stamping his print.
"What's all this?"
"Accept our resolve, Your Grace!"
Back from a very satisfying meeting down south. Deals with House Kadla looked promising, and I'd thoroughly flattened the Crown Prince's nose. True, things with Daniela hadn't advanced much. Still, steady progress.
"Hurry up and get an heir...!"