Amelia had chosen.
The best path for the family.
And, though she wouldn’t admit it aloud, the best path for herself.
Julies had forced her hand, yes—but he had also forced her to face the truth she’d been avoiding.
At the crossroads she had feared for so long, she now stood firm—because of him.
Her father regarded her for a long moment, his sharp eyes glinting with something she couldn’t quite name.
Finally, he nodded once. "Then it seems the Frost family may yet have a future worth watching."
He turned away again, the faintest curve of a smile on his lips. "You’ve both given me much to think about."
The tension that had coiled in Amelia’s chest finally began to ease—though only slightly.
Her father’s guarded approval had opened a narrow path forward, but she knew she couldn’t stop here. Not yet.
Now came the final nail in the coffin.
"...But I do have a condition," she said quietly.
The Earl turned his gaze back to her, brows lifting in faint surprise. "A condition?"
"Yes." Her tone was measured, steady. "Having joined the competition for succession late, I believe I’m entitled to... compensation."
For a moment, there was silence. Then her father’s low laugh rolled through the chamber—half amused, half incredulous.
"Ha! Compensation, you say?" He turned slightly, his sharp eyes glinting under the amber light. "So, you dare to ask for help while throwing yourself into a succession battle? How very bold of you."
Amelia met his gaze without flinching. "No, my lord. Not help. Recognition."
The subtle shift in her tone carried weight.
"With my connections to the Western Voss Ducal family and my work managing the central social circles," she continued, her voice gathering strength, "you should already know how much I’ve contributed to the Frost family’s influence. Even before declaring for succession, I’ve been working to expand our name."
Her father’s expression cooled, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of interest.
Amelia drew in a calm breath and placed a hand lightly over her chest. "Therefore, for the start of our expansion," she said, "I request that you lend me your troops."
It was a bold statement—so bold that even Julies blinked beside her.
The Earl studied her in silence for a long, heavy moment. The only sound in the room was the faint ticking of the ornate clock on the mantel.
Finally, he clicked his tongue softly. "It’s difficult to say whether your actions will bring fortune or ruin to this family."
Amelia held her breath.
Then—
"However," he said, leaning back in his chair, "you’re not wrong. It’s worth the investment."
He gestured subtly with one hand, and the butler stepped forward, presenting a rolled-up document embossed with the Frost family crest—a proud, roaring polar bear.
With a soft thud, the letter was placed on the table before her.
Amelia’s gaze lowered to it, her heart pounding in her chest.
"This," her father said evenly, "is an appointment letter. You will be given one knight and two hundred private soldiers. From this moment, they will serve under your command."
Amelia reached for the document, her fingers brushing the cold wax seal.
"I will gladly accept," she said, her tone composed and resolute, "and I will ensure your investment succeeds, Father."
No tears of joy. No words of affection.
It was a conversation that felt utterly transactional—like a business deal sealed with iron will instead of sentiment.
But that was what made it perfect.
This was the Frost family—where warmth was scarce, and success was the only true expression of love.
Julies glanced at her from the side, a faint, knowing smile tugging at his lips.
Amelia didn’t return it.
She didn’t need to.
Her actions had already spoken louder than words ever could.
The Earl leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, studying his daughter in silence.
There was a faint curl at the corner of his lips—not quite a smile, not quite approval, but something close.
"I must admit," he said finally, "you’ve grown sharper than I anticipated. To think you’d come to me not with excuses, but with a demand."
Amelia bowed her head slightly, her expression calm but unyielding. "You once told me, Father, that nothing in this world is given freely. So I came to negotiate, not to beg."
At that, a genuine chuckle escaped him. "Good. I taught you well, then."
Julies watched the exchange carefully. The tension between them had shifted—no longer a clash of authority and defiance, but something more intricate. It was like watching two merchants haggle, both fully aware that the deal was already struck before the first word was spoken.
"But," the Earl continued, his tone darkening just slightly, "you must understand what this means, Amelia."
She met his gaze steadily. "That I’ve declared myself a contender."
He nodded. "Exactly. From this moment, you will no longer be shielded as my daughter. You will be measured as a rival to your siblings. Every action you take will reflect not only on yourself but on the Frost name."
"I understand."
"You will have no help from me beyond this point. No protection from my authority. If you fail, you will fail alone."
"Then I will not fail," she said quietly.
Her voice carried a quiet conviction that made even her father pause.
Julies, beside her, said nothing—but his expression softened slightly, pride flickering in his eyes.
The Earl shifted his gaze to him. "And you, Julies Evans. You stand beside her in this venture. Do you truly understand what you’re involving yourself in?"
Julies inclined his head slightly, the faintest trace of amusement in his tone. "I do, my lord. But I’ve never been afraid of high stakes. Especially when the potential returns are... worthwhile."
The Earl’s eyes narrowed, weighing the young man’s words. "You speak like a trader."
Julies smiled faintly. "I suppose I am one. Though I prefer the term opportunist."
The Earl’s chuckle was low and rich. "You’re audacious, I’ll give you that. Amelia will need that sort of nerve."
Then, unexpectedly, his gaze softened—just for a heartbeat.
"You’re my daughter, Amelia," he said, his voice lowering. "So you should already know what this family values above all else."
"Results," she replied instantly.
"Good. Then bring them to me."
He stood, signaling the end of the meeting. The butler stepped forward to escort them out, but the Earl raised a hand to stop him.
"One last thing," he said, eyes returning to Julies. "If you plan to stand beside my daughter in this... then remember—ambition without loyalty is just greed. And greed," his gaze sharpened, "has no place in my house."
Julies met his stare without flinching. "Understood, my lord. But loyalty, like everything else, is earned—through action, not words."
A slow smile tugged at the Earl’s lips. "Then show me."
The heavy doors opened, and the cold air of the corridor swept in.
As they stepped out, Amelia exhaled softly, tension bleeding from her shoulders.
"You just had to provoke him, didn’t you?" she muttered under her breath.
Julies smirked. "I told you. I’m good at negotiating."
"That wasn’t negotiation," she said dryly. "That was suicide dressed as charm."
"Maybe." He glanced at her, eyes glinting with mischief. "But it worked."
She sighed, clutching the appointment letter close to her chest. "For now."
And as the door shut behind them with a quiet thud, the Frost estate—cold, vast, and silent—suddenly felt a little less still.
Something had begun to move within its frozen walls.
----
"Lady Alice, I report success in securing the support troops."
— Things have gone well, came Alice’s calm, measured voice through the communication orb.
"Yes," Julies replied, his tone light but respectful. "Lady Amelia was a great help. Without her, the negotiations might’ve taken far longer."
— Ami did... There was a faint pause, a rare softness threading through Alice’s voice. Yes, I must express my gratitude to her personally.
A small smile tugged at Julies’s lips. "I’ll be sure to let her know. She’ll appreciate hearing it from you."
— Then, let’s meet in the cave—the vampire’s hideout.
The connection dimmed, the orb’s glow fading into silence.
Julies slipped it back into his coat pocket, the echo of Alice’s voice lingering in his mind.
The snowstorm outside had calmed, the sky painted in shades of pale silver and blue. In the distance, the faint outlines of Frost’s banners fluttered against the wind. The reinforcements had already begun to march—Amelia’s influence, swift and absolute.
He exhaled a slow breath, watching it curl like smoke in the cold air.
It’s time.
The preparations were complete. Every piece was in place.
’Now, to deal with the real threat,’ he thought grimly.
The infiltrated demon.
Not Velra.
The Parasite.
His gaze hardened as he mounted his horse once more, the frost crunching beneath the hooves. The wind carried a faint whisper, as if the land itself was bracing for what was to come.
He tightened his grip on the reins, his voice low.
"Let’s end this."