The chamber seemed to tighten with those words.
Alice felt the eyes of every vassal and servant turn to her again, but this time with a different kind of weight. Suspicion lingered in the air, subtle but sharp, as if her father’s single question had given them all permission to doubt her.
Her heartbeat quickened, but her face betrayed nothing.
He knows. Of course he knows. No word or gesture escapes him.
She folded her hands neatly on the table, letting the moment stretch just enough before answering, her tone as measured as her breathing.
"My intentions are exactly as I said, Father. To stand as a Draken means to stand for the North. If my name demands I lead, then I will lead—not through indulgence, but by example."
The Duke studied her in silence, his gaze so piercing that it almost felt as though he were stripping away every layer of her composure to see what lay beneath.
Around the room, the vassals murmured softly, some with admiration, others with skepticism. A few exchanged knowing glances, as though silently wagering how long this newfound resolve would last.
Julies, standing just behind Alice’s chair, clenched his jaw. He kept his head bowed, but his sharp eyes flicked once toward the Duke, then to Alice, calculating.
At last, Duke Draken gave a low rumble of laughter—not mocking, but not entirely approving either.
"Then you would claim responsibility for the sacrifices you propose? You would face the consequences if such gestures prove to weaken rather than strengthen our house?"
Alice inclined her head, her voice steady. "Yes. If this path fails, the burden is mine alone. Let my name bear the shame."
That silenced the murmurs. Even the steward, who had bristled at her earlier interruption, lowered his quill, his lips parting faintly in surprise.
For a heartbeat, the room hung suspended between approval and doubt.
The Duke finally leaned back, resting a heavy hand on the arm of his chair. His expression was unreadable, carved from stone, but his voice carried the weight of a judgment rendered.
"...Very well. I will allow it. But remember, Alice—words are cheap, even when gilded in virtue. The North does not survive on speeches. It survives on steel, on blood, and on the resolve of those who do not falter."
His eyes darkened, colder now.
"If you mean what you say, then prove it. Not to me, not to these vassals—prove it to the North itself."
Alice met her father’s gaze without wavering, though her pulse hammered in her ears.
"I intend to. That was my intention from the start—before I leave to become the wife of the most noble man in the empire," she said calmly.
By "noble man," she meant the crown prince.
The Duke’s lips curved faintly, the closest thing to a smile he ever allowed.
Alice had met his expectations.
But the hall froze in an instant.
The gathered nobles, who had been maintaining their dignity, turned sharply, eyes flashing like drawn blades. Silent debates filled the air as gazes clashed, weighed, and judged.
Her father blinked once at her declaration—so open, so absolute—of having no interest in succession.
"...Words of that weight must not be spoken lightly. There is no falsehood in them, is there?"
"Of course," Alice replied, her voice cool as winter air.
"Wait a moment! Lady Alice, now is not the time—!"
Alice turned her head indifferently.
It was an official who had stood with her earlier against the steward, now speaking with urgent desperation.
To him, she was not a daughter of Draken blood, nor a woman, but a lifeline of power. And now that lifeline was slipping away, he had no choice but to claw at it.
’How pitiful,’ she thought. Their professed loyalty revealed itself for what it truly was—nothing but self-interest.
Just as disdain threatened to ice over her crimson eyes—
"What are you doing?"
The official froze.
Another voice cut through the hall like steel drawn in the dark.
"How dare you interrupt Lady Alice’s words? Can you even call yourself a vassal of House Draken?"
A servant stood in his path.
A man in plain attire, no silks, no jewels—yet his tone carried weight sharp enough to slice through titles and bloodlines alike.
Alice’s eyes softened, if only for a moment.
"How dare a mere servant speak so brazenly!" the official barked, his face red with outrage.
But Julies Evans did not back down. His stance was steady, his voice unwavering. "Who are you to raise your voice against her? It seems the name of Draken means very little to you. Lady Alice is not your tool."
A hush fell.
The sight of a servant rebuking a noble in open assembly would normally have been scandalous. But here and now, when Alice herself had been slighted, his defiance burned like a torch. To some, it looked like recklessness. To others—it looked like loyalty.
’Only for me,’ Alice thought. A warmth tickled her chest, foreign and unwelcome. She lowered her head, bowing deeply, hiding the faint quiver of her lips from all eyes.
’...Hah. Did he plan even this?’
Her subtle withdrawal from the line of fire, followed by Julies’s sharp defense, was a perfect counterstroke.
To the room, it looked like he had stood as her shield, while she displayed the grace of restraint. The balance between them made a seamless display of authority.
It was a bold move for a servant, but it turned the tide. And Alice—daughter of Draken blood—had not flinched.
Duke Draken’s eyes narrowed slightly, gaze returning to Julies Evans.
A servant—yet not one easily dismissed.
The silence that followed was thick enough to cut with a blade.
The Duke’s hand, resting against the carved armrest of his chair, flexed once. His gaze bore into Julies, steady and unblinking, weighing every ounce of his audacity.
For a servant to openly rebuke a noble in the great hall of Draken—such a thing should have ended with shackles, if not execution. Yet Julies stood there, head neither bowed nor raised in arrogance, his back straight as iron.
Alice, still lowering her head, did not move. She let the tension hang. Every second that passed painted Julies less as a reckless fool and more as a man willing to burn himself for her sake.
Finally, Duke Draken spoke.
"...You are bold for one so low-born."
His voice was calm, almost quiet, but each syllable rang like a hammer on steel. Nobles and servants alike froze.
Julies lowered his head slightly, not in submission, but in acknowledgment. "I am only bold when my Lady is insulted, Your Grace."
A ripple of murmurs swept through the hall. Some scoffed, dismissing him as a fool who would soon regret those words. Others, though, eyed him with a trace of respect. Courage, even from a servant, was a rare thing—and in Draken, where strength was revered, it carried its own weight.
The Duke leaned forward. His eyes, sharp as a hunting hawk’s, pinned Julies in place.
"You speak as though her honor is yours to guard."
Julies’s lips tightened, but his voice remained steady. "It is. I serve Lady Alice, not for profit nor for favor, but because I chose to. If her honor is tarnished in my presence, then it is I who have failed."
The hall stirred again—shock, disapproval, curiosity.
Alice finally raised her head, crimson eyes half-lidded, watching the interplay with a faint, unreadable smile. Inside, however, her heart beat faster.
He dared to say that here, before Father...?
The Duke’s gaze flicked briefly toward her, searching, weighing. Then back to Julies.
"Julies Evans."
"Yes, Your Grace."
"There is something you need to know right now. Somthing very important."
"...."
Julies didn’t said anything and just looked at Duke with slightly lowerd haid.
"Since Alice has given up her ceremonial rights, she no longer needs an attendant. From this moment, you are no longer Alice personal servant."
"...What?"
In the North, words spoken are as precious as gold. The Duke decided to teach his growing daughter about their weight.
Moreover, ’Remember this moment, Alice.’
No strategy is perfect without flaws. Just as history is written by the victors, the moment you lose momentum, you have no chance to recover.
It was time to teach her, more akin to a knight than a young noble lady, about the filthy social circles of the capital and the life of the nobility.
The Duke’s gaze lingered on Alice only for a heartbeat, sharp as a blade, before shifting back to Julies.
"Julies Evans."
"Yes, Your Grace."
His voice carried the weight of judgment, of something final.
"There is something you must hear now. Something very important."
"..."
Julies lowered his head slightly, his silence heavy, his posture deferential.
"Since Alice has renounced her ceremonial rights, she has no further need for a personal attendant. From this moment on, you are released from her service."
The words struck like a hammer.
"...What?"
It was all Julies could manage, his voice quiet, almost lost in the vast chamber.
In the North, every word spoken carried the weight of an oath, as unyielding as stone. The Duke knew this better than anyone. That was why he spoke them now, deliberately, leaving no space for misinterpretation.
He wasn’t merely dismissing a servant. He was making a lesson of it.
’Remember this moment, Alice.’
His daughter’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but she said nothing. She understood what he was doing—this was no whim. This was a trial.
No plan is flawless. No position, however strong, is untouchable. And once you falter, once you lose momentum, society’s wolves tear you apart without hesitation.
It was time she learned, properly, what it meant to stand among the high-born not as a sheltered girl of the North, but as a predator among predators.
The capital’s glittering salons, the endless banquets, the smiles that hid daggers—these would test her more cruelly than any battlefield.
And so the Duke, her father, stripped away one of her shields.
He would forge her into steel the only way the North knew how: by exposing her to the cold.