I lowered my eyes, pretending to study the veins in the marble floor while I thought.
If Alice truly wished to seize the duchy, the path was clear.
Draw the ancestral sword a time—and no one could deny her claim.
Her talent, her poise, her bloodline... all of it made her a natural ruler.
But Alice was not a creature driven by simple ambition.
That was the difference between her and the wolves waiting beyond the meeting hall.
"...If it were me," I said at last, keeping my voice neutral, "I’d avoid forcing a choice. I’d let the vassals exhaust themselves watching for signs of succession. And when their attention finally turns elsewhere... I’d strike only if absolutely necessary."
Alice tilted her head, a faint smile ghosting across her lips.
"A patient hunter’s answer," she murmured.
"Patience keeps you alive," I replied. "Especially when the prey isn’t a thief but your own kin."
Her eyes softened for a heartbeat, the faintest flicker of warmth behind that crimson hue.
Then, just as quickly, the mask of the duchess returned.
"You see it clearly, Julies," Alice said quietly, her voice carrying the faint chill of northern winds. "But rest assured... I have no intention of becoming a hunter in my own home."
I studied her profile in the flickering lamplight.
The way she stood—back straight, chin lifted—was neither submissive nor defiant.
It was the posture of someone who understood power, who could wield it with ease, yet refused to let it define the entirety of her being.
And yet... she was already walking a path where power demanded blood.
She didn’t want to become a hunter, but the dukedom would not forgive hesitation.
"What would you like to do, Lady Alice?" I asked carefully.
"Honestly," she exhaled, her breath misting in the cold air, "it’s burdensome."
The faint sadness beneath her cool voice betrayed what her eyes refused to show.
Her answer was exactly as I expected—Alice was not someone who would slaughter her kin for a title.
"My brother is a good sparring partner," she continued softly. "And along with my father, he’s one of the only two blood relatives I have. I don’t particularly want to compete with him."
She must have known the truth as well as I did.
If they fought over the dukedom, one of them would not survive.
And Alice, for all her icy composure, had a heart far too loyal to make that choice lightly.
"It won’t be easy," I murmured. "As long as that sword exists, the power-hungry will continue to swarm. They’ll never stop circling."
"That’s why I asked for your advice," she said, her gaze cutting toward me, clear and unwavering. Then, almost imperceptibly, a sharper edge entered her voice. "And just so you know, don’t ever suggest I give up the sword. It’s already mine."
The way she said it left no room for argument.
Even amidst the weight of family and blood, Alice’s resolve burned like tempered steel.
It was unmistakably her—unyielding, proud, and dangerous.
The room seemed to tighten around her words, the lamplight flickering as if it too understood the gravity in Alice’s quiet declaration.
I inclined my head, acknowledging what needed no further debate. "Of course," I said evenly. "The sword belongs to you. That isn’t something anyone can take."
Alice turned toward the tall window, the moonlight tracing a silver outline across her shoulders. For a moment, she was silent, her eyes following the faint glimmer of frost forming along the glass. The cold northern night seemed to seep in with her thoughts.
"The sword is a symbol," she said finally, her voice low but steady. "But symbols are dangerous. People kill for them. They kneel for them. They betray for them."
I watched the faint reflection of her crimson eyes in the windowpane. There was a loneliness there—a quiet burden that not even her poised mask could completely hide.
"And yet," she continued, turning back to face me, "if I surrender it, if I pretend I have no claim, those same people will use it to devour what little peace remains. My father’s reign would end in chaos."
Her words carried no pride, no hunger for the title—only a cold understanding of necessity.
"That," I said softly, "is the price of being born a Draken."
Alice’s lips curved into a faint, almost bitter smile. "A price I never agreed to pay, yet here I stand, holding the bill."
Then turning her head towards me, she asked.
"So, any suggestions my personal attantendent?"
I thought for a moment, then a quick and nice idea formed in my mind.
I stepped closer to her, lowered my head slightly and whisper.
"How about doing this My Lady?"
She silencely listen my words and soon a small smriked formed on her lips.
"That’s a good strategy. Let’s see, I’ll try your advice."
Alice lingered by the window a moment longer, her breath faintly fogging the frosted glass. The silver moonlight caught the curve of her smile, sharpening it into something sly—an expression that made even the cold northern night seem warmer, more dangerous.
"Julies," she said at last, her voice a soft ribbon that cut through the quiet, "you never fail to surprise me. I expected caution, but not... creativity."
I allowed myself a small bow, just deep enough to acknowledge the praise without overstepping. "My duty, my lady, is to keep you three steps ahead. A Draken should never play a game she hasn’t already won in her mind."
Alice turned back toward me, the subtle gleam of amusement in her crimson eyes carrying a sharp intelligence. "Three steps, hm? I wonder how many steps you’ve already taken without telling me."
The question was half-teasing, but there was a flicker of genuine curiosity beneath it. I met her gaze evenly. "Enough to ensure that when you decide to move, the board is already yours."
For a heartbeat, silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken understanding. Outside, the northern wind howled against the shutters, a reminder of the cold, restless world waiting beyond these walls.
Alice finally exhaled, a quiet sound that held both resolve and resignation. "Good," she said simply. "Because the next move will draw every vassal’s eyes. They’ll think they can read me. They’ll think they can corner me."
Her fingers grazed the edge of the window frame, the faintest tremor betraying the tension she kept hidden from everyone else. "Let them think," she murmured. "Let them whisper and scheme. I’ll give them something to chase while I tighten the noose."
I felt the corners of my own mouth lift. "Then my suggestion stands. Let them tire themselves on shadows while you decide where the true strike will land."
Alice’s smirk deepened, a flash of playful menace lighting her face. "Exactly. A patient hunter doesn’t just wait, Julies. She sets the bait, then watches the prey trap themselves."
"Exactly, My Lady."
Finally, A board is set for her.
Now all she has to do is make her move.
----
A grand tapestry of ice-capped mountains hung across the wall, dignified without a hint of gaudy excess.
The long meeting table beneath it bore the marks of countless debates—scars in the polished wood where generations of fists had struck in argument.
Today was no different.
"We’re already short on military supplies! Recruitment is slow, and at the very least, the soldiers guarding our borders should not be left hungry!"
"And where, exactly, do you expect the money for those supplies to come from?" the steward snapped, his quill trembling in his grip. "The treasury isn’t a bottomless well. This is precisely why field officers can’t be trusted with finances—tsk!"
"At least those standing on the front lines shouldn’t starve!" the knight commander shot back, his chair scraping harshly against the stone floor.
"How much has already been bled dry by the relief efforts after the last blizzard? Perhaps the commander would prefer the people themselves starve instead?"
The chamber echoed with sharp voices, overlapping like clashing blades.
It reminded Alice of the noisy markets she had only read about in books—places where commoners haggled and barked, each convinced of their own righteousness.
For a moment, she simply watched, caught between fascination and faint disbelief.
The knight commander—usually a figure of quiet steel, who spent his days honing his blade and offering crisp words of instruction—was red-faced and nearly shouting.
The steward, whose reputation for meticulous bookkeeping had made him a household name among the maids, now wielded insults as deftly as a duelist.
All the polish of noble decorum had been stripped away, leaving raw human tempers on full display.
But then—
"Enough. This discussion ends here."
The deep, steady voice of her father cut through the chaos like a drawn sword.
The room fell silent at once, the storm of words dying mid-breath.
"I’ve reviewed the reports myself," he continued, his tone carrying the weight of command. "Demon incursions along the northern border are becoming more frequent. Military replenishment is not a matter for debate—it is a necessity."
"...Then we’ll reallocate funds from other departments," the steward said at last, lowering his eyes.
The knight commander allowed himself a quiet, victorious exhale, but said nothing more.
Though the steward’s final glance toward his opponent was sharp enough to draw blood, he offered no further protest.
The decision was made, and in this household, the duke’s word was law.
Alice watched it all unfold, the quiet authority of her father settling the room with a single sentence.
This was her first vassal meeting, and yet she could already feel the cold weight of power—how a single voice, when backed by strength and responsibility, could bring even the loudest argument to heel.