Night always came early to the North. The days were short because of winter, but the mountain ranges encircling the North made them shorter still.
The place was essentially a basin, yet the terrain was so ferociously rugged that even the sun seemed to flee from it. A warmth had been gathering inside the study. Has it really gotten this late already.
"Prepare a bath. I intend to sleep early tonight."
"I shall see to it at once, Your Grace!"
He spoke quietly toward the door, and the sound of a guard sprinting away followed immediately. Sanitation. It was the North's most persistent weakness. Where was there any washing to be done, in the North?
The problem had grown from having too little time to light fires and too little time to heat water. And one could hardly order people into a frozen river.
So he had simply torn the city apart and rebuilt it. That was what it meant to be Grand Duke of the North. Though, if he were honest — he had simply been unable to bear the smell.
"Alfredo, tell the Minister of the Interior to prepare a report on the North's water and sewage infrastructure as well."
"I shall relay the message immediately."
"Mm. I'd like to hear it at tomorrow's meeting, so even a brief summary will do, understood?"
"Yes, Your Grace."
He occasionally thought himself something like a tyrannical employer. But what was to be done? Noblesse oblige, they said. They had told him they had never served a Grand Duke who worked this hard. Those had been the words of Lord de Wintergard.
The military had it somewhat easier, but the ministers handling domestic affairs were run absolutely ragged. Still — he didn't rotate them out of their posts. He sent wine and gifts often enough. Where else would you find a superior like that?
"Good. Good. Ah, and make sure to tell the maids as well — see that the young lady of House Barth is properly washed. Help the illness pass."
"Hot water has already been prepared."
"Very good."
He made his way to the rear of the castle. It was not open to the public, but it was a place where one could always bathe in hot water.
He might have called it a hot spring, if only it were one — but in truth it was water heated by force with mastone.
The discovery of mastone. This, combined with knowledge from his previous life and the labor of the northern people, had made it possible.
"You should bathe as well, Alfredo."
"I must attend to Your Grace, so I shall wash a little later."
"Ha. Very well."
He lowered himself into the bubbling warmth. It had been nearly twenty years since he had become Grand Duke of the North.
All this time, he had forgotten that any of this was a novel.
From the moment he became Grand Duke — the Academy? He could never have attended. The heroine of a reverse harem? That was equally impossible. How could one fall in love with someone one had never even met?
Twenty years. He had used his knowledge of the novel's world to make the North a place worth living in, and now —
It felt as though something was pulling him along in its current.
"Hmm..."
But being swept along did not necessarily mean ruin was predetermined. In the novel it had been described in a handful of lines, but things were different now.
The North in the novel had been a place of bitter cold, ruled by a cruel Grand Duke.
The Grand Duke with black hair threatened Kartina and the Crown Prince, then vanished — leaving behind nothing but a parting lecture...
Things were different now.
"I can't get a full picture of what's happening inside the Empire. It unsettles me."
"Your Grace,"
"You heard?"
"Yes. My apologies."
The Owls.
Not actual owls — it was the name for a secret organization known only to him. An intelligence network separate from the one Dorgon maintained; one that belonged to him alone.
Even Dorgon did not know the Owls existed. They gathered information distinct from what the intelligence bureau collected.
His ministers had all sworn loyalty to him, it was true — but there was a trauma from his younger years that had never fully healed. Someone's betrayal. The effort to detect it before it happened.
"I said I can't make sense of the situation inside the Empire — how can I afford not to understand what's happening here? Is there anything new to report?"
"Nothing at the moment, Your Grace. We are watching the internal situation of the North at all times."
"If there is any civil unrest, or any corruption among the nobility, report it to me immediately."
"Understood."
It was not that he suspected anyone. But one could never truly know people. When he thought back to the past, the fear only deepened.
The oath to serve Wintergard alone was a double-edged sword.
He knew the moment when one could cease to be a proper Wintergard. It was a very old memory, but he knew it.
"Then let's go."
When his fingertips began to wrinkle, he stepped out of the bath. He dressed in fresh clothes and returned to his chambers.
The documents had been neatly arranged, but one person was absent. Daniela. After he had tidied himself, the door opened. Alfredo and several maids carried her in.
She had been fine in the bath, but the moment she was exposed to the air, her fever had begun to rise again. So they had carried her to spare her the effort. Excellent manners.
"We will lay her down again now."
"Is her hair fully dry?"
"It is, Your Grace."
Daniela was carefully settled onto the bed. She had been lucid just a short while ago, they said — and she still seemed to retain some degree of awareness now.
Her blue eyes were drifting in slow, unfocused circles. He settled into the chair and watched her quietly. Daniela pushed herself upright against the pillow, sitting up in bed.
"Well. Hello, I suppose."
"..."
Daniela was watching him carefully, gauging his mood. He rested his arm on the armrest, propped his chin in his hand, and made a show of occupying himself. He opened a book.
He had no particular interest in it, but books were among the things regularly presented to the Grand Duke as tribute. Every time he gave out silk, receiving a single book in return felt like a poor trade — though there were, admittedly, some rather entertaining ones.
But he was only pretending to read.
His attention was fixed on Daniela, lying there in the bed.
"You're... reading a popular novel."
"You don't care for that sort of thing?"
He glanced at the cover. A popular novel. One of the things nobles did not read. In a world where many people could not read at all, the ability to read marked one as something of an intellectual — alongside noble pride, of course.
Or simply wealthy. And where wealth circulated freely, stories like these circulated freely as well. The title was printed across the cover in large, bold letters.
"I was told people in the South read them often — I suppose that's not quite right."
"..."
The conversation stalled strangely. What was wrong with a popular novel? He picked up the book and moved closer to Daniela.
He sat at the edge of the bed and reached a hand toward her. She flinched and drew back, dropping her gaze to avoid his eyes.
"Let me check your fever. Come here."
He had perhaps moved too close without thinking.
Only then did she stop pulling away. He pressed his hand to Daniela's forehead. The heat was still there.
The flush that had bloomed across her face had faded considerably — but it had not entirely gone. The maids must have had quite a time of it. A faint fragrance rose from her.
"You're still unwell. Take your medicine and sleep. You should be better by tomorrow."
He returned to his seat and read the popular novel. In a world without mobile phones or television, books were the only reliable source of entertainment. His gaze wandered between the page and Daniela, back and forth.
"Did you... did you read the letter, Your Grace?"
"Of course I did. Daniela."
"The meaning of that letter..."
"I understand it, more or less."
The soft rustle of a turning page. Daniela's body was beginning to give way. Her fever was climbing. It was precisely then that Alfredo arrived with the medicine — impeccable timing.
"I have brought the medicine, Your Grace."
"Daniela, you must take it. Once you fall ill in the North, the sickness never seems to end."
Something fearful crossed Daniela's expression. Ah. So that was it.
"We don't stoop to putting poison in things like this. Isn't that right, Alfredo?"
"It would be a stain upon the North's honor. Especially toward a guest."
A guest. In the customs of the North, to bring death upon a guest was a disgrace of the gravest kind.
There was a legend he had heard from the Red Horse Tribe, who had once been nomads — that in the North, where one could fall at any moment, the gods watched to see how a person treated their guests. An old story. A very old story.
But like that legend, to hold guests in high regard was the tradition of the North. The nobility did not break this tradition. Especially if a guest were to die by poison — one would have to surrender the seat of Grand Duke. Or someone else would die in their place.
"Don't worry. It really is just medicine."
Daniela carefully brought the spoon to her lips. The medicine slipped slowly down her throat. It was a fever remedy, but it carried a side effect — a wave of drowsiness. Not an unpleasant sleep, but the kind that came over you in a soft, heavy tide.
"In any case, Daniela — the North will receive you as a guest."
"Thank you, Your Grace."
"That said, I very much want to hear what happened. We don't know much about the Academy or what goes on in the Empire."
"That... that is..."
"I already know something of what you've been through."
Perhaps she understood what he meant. Daniela's expression stiffened. Until a moment ago she had seemed nothing but fragile, but now there was a heat in her eyes. Not the heat of fever. Anger? No, it wasn't that. If anything, it felt closer to sorrow.
Regret. Yes — regret was the word for it.
Daniela began to speak, and he found that what she said aligned with what he had been told in his reports. But the rest of the story was more complicated. The Academy was much like the Empire's political arena — more tangled in webs of connection than he had imagined. And so —
"...After the duel, I tried to find somewhere to go. But —"
"But?"
"No one would take me in. Because I — because I was no longer a Barth. I was — I —"
The medicine was beginning to take hold. She had also mentioned that her symptoms were worsening. He moved closer to Daniela, pressed his hand to her forehead, and gently guided her down to lie flat. The fever was threatening to surge.
"It's all right. For now — just rest for a little while. Everything here is fine. Daniela."
"Yes. Yes. I — I am —"
"No. It's all right. It's all right."
Everything will be all right.
Those were the last words Daniela heard. And then —
He had simply wanted to make things all right for her.