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Chapter 571: The Duke and Father

“Edith, you cruel wretch!”

Calvin, Duke of the Northern Region, seized the teacup from the table. His arm rose. His hand trembled in mid-air — and then, slowly, came down. He set the cup back with care. It was crystal, the finest quality, worth two or three gold royals. He couldn’t bring himself to shatter it.

Needing to weigh such small losses made him even more wretched.

Edith’s letter lay open on the table. He had read it twice and still didn’t believe it. His Majesty the new king intended to strip the nobility of its governing power — not a surprise, precisely, but the manner of his daughter’s compliance was. Without hesitation. She had not merely acquiesced; she had written to urge him to do the same, in the tone of a woman dictating terms to a prisoner.

He thought, bitterly, that his own daughter had chosen another man’s side.

A guard outside heard something — the cup’s sharp click, perhaps — and peered in. “My lord? Is everything all right?”

“Get out. Leave me alone.”

The guard closed the door. Calvin breathed steadily until his chest loosened, then returned his gaze to the letter.

He had destroyed the Howes Family and the Lista Family. The Northern Region was finally his, wholly and without rival. If he accepted His Majesty’s terms now, he would cease to be its lord in any meaningful sense — not the ruler who commanded, but one whose commands would from now on require approval. He would return to where he had started. Worse than where he had started.

But if he rejected Edith’s advice?

She had described that outcome as well.

If you choose to do so, Cole and I will be doomed. He’ll be held in prison forever, like the heir of Duke Ryan. As for me — I’ll end up worse. What do you think Prince Roland will do to a defenseless daughter of a duke? I could list the methods without much effort. When he tires of me, I’ll be consigned to his dungeon or his battalion, and your Pearl of the Northern Region will be covered in dust forever.

But stop worrying about me and worry about yourself first. His army will besiege your city. Your feudatories and knights won’t hold half a day. After that, you won’t be allowed to exist as an ordinary man, let alone a duke. How is it? Are you going to make that choice?

He recognized the tone. He had grown up with it — that cold, clinical precision she deployed when a situation was already decided. Whenever failure loomed, Edith described her own fate in that particular flat register, as if she’d made peace with it long before he had. When she wrote that way, he always buckled. He knew she was threatening him. He couldn’t summon the will to scold her for it.

She was his daughter, after all. The only child of his first wife.

And though she exaggerated — somewhat — the core possibility was real.

He had heard enough of Prince Roland to take it seriously.

Calvin set the letter down. His breathing steadied. His anger had become something else: a slow, deliberate calculation. He spread a fresh sheet of paper on the table.

If Edith had already made her decision, there was no reversing it. He would write His Majesty a letter of loyalty. He would recognize Neverwinter’s sovereignty over the Northern Region.

But a duke could still make his final negotiation. He could still secure the best terms available. And the surest binding of two families’ interests was one that had been used since the first kingdoms rose from the plains.

Marriage.

A whole page of Edith’s letter had been dedicated to the machines she’d seen in the city — twice the space she’d given to Roland himself. She had described capabilities that strained his imagination: constructions completed in days, tasks performed without human labor, power that no enemy in the ordinary world could answer. And yet she clearly believed every word she wrote. Edith was not given to enthusiasm. If anything, she underplayed.

Calvin looked at the blank paper and began to write.


By the Redwater River, where the border country flattened into the plain south of Neverwinter, the sun melted into the mountains and left the water running with gold.

Cookfire smoke rose from the construction battalion’s shacks. The smell of porridge reached Snaketooth two hundred yards out, and when he got close enough, he caught something richer underneath it — meat.

“You’re late,” Tigerclaw called, waving from across the yard. “Come up here, quick!”

Snaketooth shifted his sore shoulders and walked over. “We have meat today?”

“Granted by the lord.” Tigerclaw jerked his head toward the pot. “You’d know if you hadn’t been dawdling.”

“What’s it for? The residential district isn’t finished.”

“Not for that.” A man nearby looked up from his bowl. “It’s for the Kingdom Main Street — the whole road from the Border Area to the Longsong Area, finished and open. I heard it takes one day on horseback now. Used to take three.”

Snaketooth nodded. He’d learned the rhythms here: when a major project completed, there was always a bowl of meat porridge. He had been in Neverwinter for two months. In that time, the construction platoon had never canceled a meal or cut his pay. His savings stood at fourteen silver royals, with seven more coming at month’s end. When the total reached one gold royal, he could register for housing at the City Hall and stop being a Rat — a nobody with no address in the ledger.

One house would cost twenty years of this work, even the smallest room. A black-hearted deal by any measure. But there were better-paying positions: furnace workers, bricklayers. He could move up. The calculation was not impossible.

He had not found Paper yet. That was the remaining gap.

“Eat fast when you get your bowl,” Tigerclaw said quietly. “You need a seat.”

“A seat for what?”

“Celebrating the Main Street — there’s a new drama in the square tonight. Something called The City of Love. The Star of the Western Region is performing.” His friend’s expression became complicated. “I’ve been thinking about nothing else since this morning.”

“Go without me. I’m too tired to move.”

“Really.” Tigerclaw let a pause carry meaning. “The locals are saying the lord takes the witches to every premiere of the Star Flower Troupe.” He smiled. “Maybe you’ll see Paper there.”

Snaketooth stopped walking.

He picked up his pace toward the pot.

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