Rewrite That Witch
CH451 · Rewrite
☕ Support

Chapter 451: Aspirations

Rene Medde walked out of the Earl’s mansion and squinted at the light. He drew a slow breath — the first in half a month that did not carry the smell of stone and stale rushes. Snow. Cold air. Soldiers in uniform standing at crossroads with their rifles at attention, not rifling the dead, not stripping the fallen of their boots.

A few blood-smears dotted the white ground. No bodies. No scattered clothing.

He had been right about these troops. They were unlike any he’d seen.

“Is Petrov all right?” He turned to Iron Axe. “How is — how is Longsong Stronghold?”

“Everything is all right.” The tall man spoke as he always did: clean and spare, a word where others would have given ten.

Jacques’ plan failed, then. Rene felt the knot in his chest loosen by a degree. If the Stronghold was intact and the Honeysuckle Family unharmed, Petrov would speak for him. Jacques he did not mourn. That idiot had nearly dragged the entire Elk Family into a grave, and whatever had happened to him was his own business.

“Brother —” Aurelia touched his arm, voice soft enough that Iron Axe wouldn’t catch it. “What on earth did Jacques do?”

Rene hesitated. Shook his head. “I don’t know.”

She gave him the look that said: you are lying.

He smiled, helpless. He truly didn’t know how to answer. He had seen the planning; he had not seen the result. Saying Jacques had intended to rebel was one thing. Explaining the shape of the disaster was another.

“Do you really want to come with me to the castle?” he asked.

“Of course.” She was watching Iron Axe from the corner of her eye. “I’m very curious about what gave these men grounds to break into an earl’s mansion in broad daylight. I think Milord Petrov wouldn’t simply sit back and allow it.”

Rene understood. She was worried about Petrov. She’d been worried about him since the first night.

“All right,” he said. “If you ask him in person, he may tell you.”

The snow-covered roads took an hour on horseback. They reached the Stronghold castle at noon, Iron Axe leading the way past sentries placed every few steps on the third floor — a floor Rene had never been invited to visit.

When he entered the study, he found Petrov standing beside the desk with his hands at his sides, not seated, not presiding. A gray-haired man occupied the chair, turning a quill pen between his fingers, watching Rene and Aurelia with the mild attentiveness of someone who had already been told what to expect.

Recognition arrived before thought.

Rene went down on one knee. “Your Highness. Rene Medde is here to salute you.”

Aurelia made a small surprised sound. Rene touched her skirt once, firmly, and she dropped beside him.

“We’ve met,” the prince said, a note of amusement in it. “In Longsong Stronghold — the castle’s basement, as I recall. And according to Iron Axe, you’ve just been let out of a basement again.”

Rene said nothing. The prince did not seem to want him to.

“Please rise.” Roland set the quill down. “Before I ordered the attack on the Elk territory, Petrov assured me repeatedly that you had no part in Jacques Medde’s rebellion. He appears to have been right. But — how did you end up in the basement?”

Rene cast a brief look at his friend — gratitude, and something he couldn’t name — and told the prince what had happened. The prince listened without interrupting.

“I see.” A pause. “A shame. Had you been able to stop Earl Jacques, Longsong Stronghold might have been spared.”

Aurelia stiffened. “What — happened?”

“Jacques Medde colluded with the Maple Leaf, Wolf, and Wild Rose families, and together they attacked Longsong Stronghold two days ago.” The prince’s voice was even, unhurried. “The attack caused mass casualties among innocent people. Two blocks were burned to the ground. To force the Honeysuckle Family’s surrender, they threatened Petrov’s family.”

Rene felt heat rise in his throat. Even in noble warfare — even when the aim was destruction — you did not reach for a man’s family. “How could he—”

“Many parties were involved in this rebellion, and I promise you that none of them will escape the law.” Roland’s hand came down flat on the desk. “I came to this Stronghold to clean the entire Western Region. Not one rat slips through.”

The sweat came without warning. Rene’s back was damp beneath his coat.

“Your Highness, I—”

Roland raised a hand. “The Elk Family’s innocent members will be spared — I don’t punish people who played no part. But I do have a question.” He studied Rene for a moment. “Jacques Medde is dead. Are you willing to inherit the title of Earl and serve me, as Hull does?”

There was only one answer. Rene knelt again — a proper knight’s bow, spine straight, head down — and pledged.

He was surprised to find himself calm. Not numb, not performing: calm.

He had never truly hated this prince who carried his father’s death on his ledger. In battle, anything can happen to anyone. It was Duke Ryan and the five families who began the war — not him. After it ended, he didn’t grind the defeated into the mud. He exchanged captives for ransom. Had Father survived the field, he’d have come home. The war had been started by others. The prince had simply won it.

And Jacques — what Jacques had done was neither righteous nor purposeful. It was malice dressed as ambition.

For Aurelia. For the household and the tenants and everyone else wearing the Elk name who had done nothing wrong. He pledged, and he meant it.

“In the following days you and your sister may stay in the castle.” The prince nodded once. “Petrov will arrange your rooms. There are still some holdouts fighting in the suburbs — wait until it quiets before returning to your territory.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Petrov followed him out of the study.

They stood in the corridor. Rene looked at his friend and felt all his careful self-possession come loose at once. “I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Petrov put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t.”

Rene studied him. There was something different about Petrov now — something worn smooth, the way iron is after it’s been used rather than after it’s been polished. A steadiness behind the eyes that had not been there the last time they stood together. Not the calm of a man who has never been rattled. The calm of a man who has been rattled badly enough to learn its shape.

He is becoming a real leader, Rene thought. And felt, against all expectation, glad.

Discussion

Suggest a change