The Shield of the North
The end of the empire. The North.
Snow fell in serene silence, blanketing the castle walls in pure white. From a distance, it looked like nothing more than a beautiful snowfield. But in the North, white was never a sign of peace. It was the color that erased footprints. The color that covered the scent of blood. The color that blended enemy banners, wolf pelts, and frozen armor into the same pale shade.
The North’s winter always arrived like that—wearing the face of beauty while dragging the cruelest season behind it.
Adeline von Ehrenhart sat in her office, reading a single letter. The edges of the paper were worn and frayed to a pale fuzz. The creases had grown thin from being unfolded and refolded countless times. Dozens. No—far more than that.
Adeline pressed the corner of the sheet with her fingertips.
To Her Grace the Grand Duchess,
If you wish to negotiate with the imperial family, use the name of the Fourth Prince, Edwin.
A second son of a baron died in a villa on the outskirts of the capital. The official record will call it an accidental death. It was not.
Prince Edwin has long been prone to mistakes. A stray shot on the hunting grounds. Deleted ledgers from gambling dens. Missing servants. The silence of lesser nobles. The imperial family will want to bury this incident quietly as well.
Bring up his name. I hope you seize this chance to obtain what you desire.
How did he know?
It had been the exact moment when nomadic tribes launched a massive raid on the North, when the imperial family’s support and supplies were desperately needed. The imperial court, which had always viewed the North’s growth with displeasure, began tampering with the supply lines. They wanted the North to lose. Even if the North won, they wanted it to bleed heavily for the victory.
Afterward, the imperial family could say with elegant composure that it had all been the result of the Grand Duchess of the North’s reckless decisions. They could pretend to hold her accountable while carving away at the North’s power.
That was when the letter arrived. It was the only leverage she had, so she immediately began gathering information exactly as the letter instructed. Everything in it was true.
Soon after, a letter from the Grand Duchy reached the imperial palace, and proper supplies began to arrive not long afterward. Thanks to that, the North achieved a resounding victory.
“I’ve been so curious about who you were…”
Adeline pulled another sheet of paper from her drawer. A small practice notebook. It belonged to the idiot prince—the one the imperial family called their shame—full of clumsy handwriting exercises. Even if someone tried to hide it, habits couldn’t be concealed. The faint traces left behind told the truth.
On one side was the short negotiation note that had saved the North. On the other were the awkward letters of the so-called idiot prince. And both had come from the same person’s hand.
The corners of Adeline’s mouth slowly curved upward.
“I’ve finally found you.”
The imperial family held a banquet to celebrate the North’s victory. As a reward, they offered her the right to ask for one thing she desired. What she wanted had already been decided.
She let out a very soft, low laugh.