Chapter 2
Lincia was the third princess of the Durand Empire.
Above her were two older sisters and three older brothers.
Her place in the line of succession was far too distant.
Besides, Lincia preferred art over tedious politics, and she liked painting far more than meeting people.
The only reason she, uniquely among royals, enrolled in the Academy was so she could draw without restriction.
She also longed to step beyond the walls of royalty and face the wider world.
At one time, Lincia had planned that, after graduating from the Academy, she would travel from place to place, sketching the world as she saw it.
But after the sudden passing of the late emperor, everything began to change.
He had never named a proper successor.
Lincia, still studying at the Academy at the time, grew fearful that she might be caught up in the power struggle, and so she delayed her graduation.
During her time there, she expressed her disinterest in power in the quietest way possible: she did nothing, made no friends, sought no allies.
And truthfully, no one wished to befriend a royal who had already lost her thread to the throne.
At last, when she could no longer delay graduation, Lincia returned to the palace.
Before her elder brother, now the new emperor, she bowed low and pressed her forehead to the floor.
In doing so, she hoped she might at least preserve her life.
Lincia was the empire’s only surviving princess.
A piece on the board for marriage trade—so long as she had that worth, she might live.
For a brief time, she enjoyed a fragile peace in the palace.
Then came upheaval.
Prince Julius, the fifth son born of the empress, seized the throne.
The palace power shifted entirely.
Julius purged the empress’s former faction with ruthless precision.
Lincia thought for certain she would not escape death this time.
Yet again, she survived.
There was no reason for Julius to spare her, the daughter of the former empress.
Leaving a legitimate child alive could only sow seeds of future peril.
But one year passed, then two, and still she lived.
Whenever Julius occasionally invited her to tea, she stiffened in terror—but he never went out of his way to torment her.
Aside from one incident when she had been forced to drink poison, her days passed quietly.
As the years slipped by, society gave her nicknames.
The Poisoned Chalice of the Imperial Family.
The Half-Blooded Princess.
They were closer to ridicule than to titles, yet she was content simply to survive.
Some tried to use her as a foothold to claw back imperial power, but she ignored them all.
There was no bond of kinship strong enough to inspire thoughts of vengeance.
Lincia had lived her life far removed from politics.
She had no desire to be emperor, no ambition for power.
Rather than risk her life on such uncertainties, it seemed better to remain where she was—even if one day she was sold off as a bride.
“Sister, your marriage has been arranged.”
Lincia was twenty-four when her marriage was decided.
Her age had long passed the norm for marriage, and she had expected that one day Julius would simply kill her.
Until now, she had lived only because she retained value as a potential bride, yet as her marriageable years slipped by without a suitable match, that worth diminished.
“I understand.”
She accepted without protest.
Even though she was being handed off to a man whose face she had never seen, she felt relieved.
Marriage meant she could pay for her life with something other than her blood.
“You don’t even want to know who your husband is?”
“…Anyone is fine.”
“Good.
I hope you behave there just as you have here.
Do nothing.
Remember that your life is mine to spare.”
Lincia nodded meekly, even at his threat.
And so she was sent away—and met Harvich.
He was curt, yet he was the only man who had ever helped her back at the Academy.
Even she, naive as she was in politics, understood what her presence meant to the Grand Duchy.
Was she the price of his aid?
For Harvich, it was nothing but a loss.
“Next time, I’ll be the one to help you.”
“I’ll be of use to you.”
She remembered, with burning shame, how in those days—when she could not even guarantee her own survival—she had boldly spoken such words to him.
She had never imagined that her childish promise, flung out in ignorance, would return to her in this form.
And even now…
“If the child does not resemble me, then it would be better for you not to bear it.
I am not so much a fool as to keep at my side a wife who carries another man’s child.”
The pregnancy had come as much of a surprise to Lincia as to him.
The knowledge that she had burdened him pained her heart.
***
“All preparations are complete, Your Grace.”
A council meeting had been called unexpectedly.
The reason: the duchess’s pregnancy.
The chamber buzzed with unrest over the unforeseen complication.
The planned uprising was near at hand, and no one had considered the duchess’s condition.
Harvich pressed a hand to his temple as a pounding headache set in and made his way to the council room.
The chamber was packed with retainers who had rushed to attend.
Judging from the charged atmosphere, several rounds of fruitless debate had already taken place.
The moment Harvich stepped inside, every gaze turned to him.
“The day of action is nearly upon us.
And now, at all times, she becomes pregnant?”
It was Hugh Grentia, captain of the knights, who voiced his hostility toward the duchess’s news.
“Is it not far too convenient?”
The proclamation of Cassius’s independence as a duchy was imminent.
Funding was secure, and supplies were gathered in preparation for war.
Now all of it was at risk of unravelling.
“Your Grace, you are far too soft on that woman.
Regardless of her estrangement from the current emperor, the fact remains—she is imperial blood.
Do you think the emperor will welcome the rise of an independent northern power?”
Cassius was a harsh land.
Winter reigned year-round, crops rarely took root, and hunger was a constant threat.
To survive, they hunted—and to hunt, they trained.
Thus their forces grew strong, and the empire grew wary.
Proof enough was the empire’s refusal to amend the damned law that only the imperial court could supply food to Cassius.
But the empire’s support had dwindled with each passing year.
Eventually, the hunger became so dire that starving peasants ventured into the wilds and lost their lives in desperate hunts.
The imperial family had blamed civil strife for their neglect, but that was their concern, not the North’s.
The only reason Harvich had ever aided Julius’s coup was a simple one: Julius alone had spoken of the north’s famine.
With Cassius’s military strength behind him, Julius had taken the throne with ease.
And for two years thereafter, the north had received a steady supply of grain.
No longer did men have to risk their lives in a barren wilderness stripped even of beasts.
Yet just as they had grown used to such peace, the shipments began to dwindle again.
The supply returned to what it had once been.
It might not have been a problem before—but the people had already grown accustomed to plenty.
The blow was severe.
Had they not prepared for Julius’s inevitable betrayal, many more would have died.
“Does this not break our agreement?”
“Do not be so hasty.
The trade caravans meant for the north have all gone bankrupt.
What could I do?
Still, I’ve prepared a gift for you—consider it compensation.
A token of sympathy, if nothing more. Whether it soothes your loss, I cannot say.”
Julius had smiled as he said it.
A mocking smile, like a master discarding his hound.
“Could it be that our plans have been exposed to the empire?”
One of the retainers’ questions drew Harvich from his brooding.
He lifted a hand, quieting the chamber, and then took his seat.
“For now, we halt all action.”
