“And most of all, Your Highness, he has pressed insistently for a marriage between yourself and the Princess of Hanover.”

“…What?”

The hand that had been about to strike a match faltered. The flame sputtered out in an instant.

“He must be mad. That princess is only fifteen, is she not?”

Jupiter let out a dry laugh, lowering his gaze as he crossed his legs with deliberate slowness. In truth, the matter no longer held much weight for him—the outcome had already tipped entirely in Greitz’s favor.

The foolish king of Hanover had lost his lands, the border had been pushed southward, and the nobles of Lien now seethed with outrage. Edelin’s fall had filled them with dread that their own fates might soon follow. The king had lost his vassals’ confidence once again.

To quell the unrest and stabilize his weakened throne, he sought a political marriage with the Empire. It was a desperate ploy—typical of Hanover’s king, Barth II, who seemed intent on pawning off his own children across the continent.

Once again, he chose marriage to cover his failings. And now the decision had been cast into Jupiter’s hands.

“The Duke of Meyer will soon be sent as envoy to Kleve. You’ll be able to hear the king’s full intentions then.”

So they meant to drag even his uncle into the negotiation table. Jupiter imagined how deeply displeased the duke must be.

With a flick of his fingers, Jupiter tossed aside the cigarette.

“Let’s speak of that later. There’s something that must be settled first.”

When the carriage came to a halt, Jupiter reached for his neatly folded jacket. A moment later, long legs stepped down from the carriage.

He adjusted his shirt, fastened the buttons of his jacket, and strode through the open gates with the natural poise of a conqueror—unhesitant, dignified.

A young man waiting anxiously at the entrance stiffened at the sight of him. It was Darius, now the new lord of Edelin. Survivors, weary and drawn, lined the hall on either side in orderly silence.

“Welcome, Your Highness.”

Darius’s voice trembled as he greeted him. Jupiter’s red lips curved into a refined smile—a perfectly measured gesture of imperial formality.

It was the aura of one who had never once looked up at another, a presence so commanding it pressed upon all who met his gaze. Offering nods of acknowledgement with impeccable courtesy, he strode forward to the center of the hall.

At last, his right hand extended—confident and elegant, like an invitation to dance. Darius bent at the waist to take it, his own hand cold to the touch.

But when Jupiter released him, he caught sight of someone behind Darius: a woman frozen stiff, staring straight at him. Her face was pale and drawn, but her vivid blue eyes blazed with life.

Eyes he already knew.

***

On a table hastily prepared within the study lay stacks of treaties for truce and annexation. Jupiter leafed through them swiftly, signing as he went, before lifting a teacup and speaking without warning.

“The matter of your father is most regrettable, Count Weiss. A wasted death. I heard he was a good man.”

Darius’s shoulders stiffened. The sudden invocation of that title pressed on him like a weight upon his skull.

Dragged before him by enemy hands, Leda had screamed accusations in his face, and he had borne them silently. Yet in the end, they had survived. Peace was within reach. There was no justification, no gain, in prolonging the war.

The Empire’s offer was sweet, and he had accepted it. He consoled himself that he had had no choice.

“…Thank you. My father, too, could not have done otherwise.”

His words were strained, barely forced past his throat.

From the open window, the crash of waves poured in. The autumn sea of Edelin exhaled a chill carried from distant horizons. Servants brought in fresh cups of hot tea again and again.

After Jupiter’s condolences and a few perfunctory remarks, a cold stillness settled over the room. Their only exchange was the scratch of pens, signatures affixed to the corners of thick documents piled high between them.

Every clause had been drafted precisely to the Empire’s will. Darius had only to sign without protest.

Page after page turned swiftly. At length, the silence was broken by Jupiter’s aide.

“There is one more provision we wish to add to this treaty: the count’s daughter shall be taken into the Empire.”

Darius lifted his head sharply.

“What do you mean by that?”

“It has been but a short time since the war’s end. Consider it a minimal measure to ensure Edelin’s peaceful incorporation into the Empire without further conflict.”

Darius’s gaze darted to Jupiter. But the prince was calmly perusing the remaining documents, his expression detached, as though the matter had nothing to do with him.

“And what, pray, does such a measure have to do with my sister? Explain yourself.”

Darius’s voice shook, rough with iron. He had not had the composure to clear his throat.

“I only mean to say that Edelin’s loyalty to the Empire cannot yet be trusted.”

“Surely my signature on these papers is proof enough of loyalty?”

“Signing documents a few days after the war’s end is not the same as proving one’s heart. For the time being, the young lady will reside in the Empire. We promise her safety will be fully protected.”

“What law is this? You promised the survivors could remain in the castle!”

Darius’s body shook with shock. He could scarcely keep himself upright.

“Lady Leda Weiss will henceforth live within the Empire. A minimal stipend for her upkeep will be provided according to the regulations of the Imperial Household. The minimum period of residence will be three years, with the possibility of extension depending on circumstances. Should there be marriage, illness, or death, she may leave the Empire. Any seditious act will be punished under Imperial law. Her future placement may change at any time, though in such a case she will be notified and her consent obtained.”

“……”

It was a poison clause—flexible, without firm term or place, written to bind without binding. Paper crumpled in Darius’s grasp with a harsh rustle.

“If you do not wish to agree, you may refuse. In that case, every document you have signed will be tossed into the sea.”

The aide’s voice was cold and even. He turned his gaze away from Darius, staring straight ahead.

“What do you intend to do with Leda?”

Darius sprang up, lunging toward Jupiter, his breath coming faster and rougher. The guards along the walls stepped forward at once, restraining him.

“Do you mean to drag a noblewoman away by force? To turn her into a prisoner of war thrown into the enemy’s hands, to be violated and disgraced under the guise of some convenient excuse? What is it you truly intend to do with her?”

As Darius struggled against the guards, Jupiter set his quill roughly into its stand, rose from his chair, and gave him a look of disdainful amusement.

“Hearing you still call Greitz an enemy convinces me all the more that the young lady should remain in the Empire.”

Darius’s eyes darkened as he glared at Jupiter’s retreating back. Darkness had already fallen beyond the window.

Revised documents dropped with a thud before Darius, who sat collapsed upon the floor. A chill wind swept through the chamber, scattering the pages across the stone like dead leaves.

***

When Darius told her, Leda showed no sign of agitation. Brother and sister could not bring themselves to meet each other’s eyes. Lowering his head, Darius forced out the words with difficulty.

“Leda, you don’t have to go. I swear it. I’ll find a way…”

“I’ll go.”

The unexpected assent slipped from her lips like a sigh, hollow, echoing through the still room. Her voice was empty, as though her very soul had been stripped away.

The blue eyes that once shone with such lively brilliance were dimmed. Darius wished desperately that she would rage instead—that she would curse, shout, and resist.

“I know there’s no other way. We’ve already lost Father and Mother. We’ve lost so many. I can’t bear to lose more.”

“But you don’t have to be the one to sacrifice yourself, Leda.”

Taking her was never part of the original agreement. It had been added suddenly, out of nowhere. What they wanted from her, what they hoped to gain through her—Darius could not even guess. That ignorance unsettled him all the more.

What shook him further was the faint, inexplicable thrill he had felt when Jupiter mocked him on his way out. The strangeness of it filled him with dread.

“Will you go out there and fight in my place, then?”

Leda’s face turned cold in an instant. The sting in her words cut him deeply, and though he understood, he could not answer.

“You’re a coward, brother.”

Darius accepted the rebuke in silence. Slowly, he dropped to one knee before her. Guilt, shame, worry, and fear all swirled together in his mind. He longed to cling to her hand, to press his forehead to it in atonement, though he knew forgiveness would never come.

“Yes. You’re right. I am a coward.”

“I’m glad you admit it, Darius. Or rather, Count Darius Weiss.”

Leda’s smile was bitter, yet she did not push him away. She no longer had the strength to. And Darius, in the end, found no words to defend himself.