The carriage rocked gently as it rolled over the uneven dirt road, its wheels creaking softly in the stillness of the morning. Etien pushed aside the velvet curtain, giving himself a clear view of the outside world. As his gaze landed on the vast Western landscape, he fell silent, spellbound. Expanses of lush green forests stretched endlessly, flanked by towering mountain ranges that held within them the crisp, pine-scented air, sharp yet refreshing. It was a tranquility that felt almost foreign to him.
"This ain't the first time I've been to the West, yet it always feels like the first." Etien murmured, his eyes never leaving the sprawling greenery that unfurled before them on their journey to Viscount Harrington's estate.
Inside the carriage, Bastian gave a slight nod in agreement. When Etien had decided to return to the capital, questioning the Emperor's insistence on choosing the 'perfect' match for him, Bastian had requested permission to accompany the Duke. And now, here they were, riding westward.
Etien had once been fully engrossed in leading Zarakand's reform, often managing affairs from the Carter mansion while the Duke was away in the South. He knew the Duke's reforms wouldn't be completed in a month's time. But this time, he refused to let the Duke march off alone, especially not with the anger practically radiating off him over the Emperor's absurd matchmaking plans.
The whole ordeal should have been a moment the Duke could cherish, meeting someone, falling in love, sharing deep companionship. It should've been something special, something meant to be remembered for a lifetime. Instead, it was a forced arrangement, imposed by someone who had no business meddling in his personal affairs.
"I don't know much about your life in the capital, Your Grace, but I gotta say—I think you've got a point. This place it hits different. Feels like nostalgia." Bastian commented, his gaze tracking the rolling hills and forests outside.
"If winter rolls in, everything will be blanketed in snow. It'll look just like Winterbraun, Your Grace."
"Yeah," Etien agreed. "When the snow comes, it coats everything in pure, untouched white."
As the Duke of the South and ruler of Winterbraun—a land of harsh snow and biting cold. Etien had grown accustomed to stark, silent landscapes, not this vibrant greenery. Even compared to Eryndalith, the capital he'd just left behind, this view felt like a completely different world. Back there, the scorching heat strangled every corner, dust filled the air, and politics poisoned the atmosphere. But here? Here, there was peace.
"Pardon me for being forward, Your Grace," Bastian suddenly interjected, snapping Etien out of his thoughts. "About the Emperor's plans to marry you off to Viscount Harrington's daughter, you could've said no. So why'd you go along with it?" Disbelief tinged his voice, surely, the Duke wasn't going through all this purely out of loyalty.
Etien glanced at Bastian, his long-time butler, a man who had dedicated his entire life to serving the Carter family. Even now, with Etien as the last remaining Carter, Bastian remained by his side, ever watchful.
"Why are you worried?" Etien asked.
"Because this is your personal life, isn't it? No one should be interfering. A marriage hell, any lifelong partnership, should be built on knowing each other, on love. Feels downright selfish to force something like this on you, even if it's coming from the Emperor himself," Bastian argued, hoping his words would push Etien to reconsider. He was certain Glen Lancaster—the Emperor—had said something threatening to sway Etien into compliance.
But instead of acknowledging Bastian's concern, Etien smiled. Arms crossed over his chest, his gaze dipped slightly, and his violet eyes gleamed. It wasn't a warm, reassuring smile, it was tight, restrained, edged with frustration that had been brewing beneath the surface for far too long. And when he finally spoke, his voice was laced with quiet menace.
"I put him on that throne," Etien said, his tone measured, controlled. "And I can tear him down just as easily. So no—I didn't do this out of respect, nor out of fear. I did this to see just how far he thinks he can play with the power I handed him."
Bastian swallowed hard, unnerved by the sheer intensity in Etien's words. There was a reason the noble Carter family from the South had always been feared, their violet eyes were an omen. When those striking eyes glowed, it meant disaster was coming. No one escaped the Carter wrath.
Even Glen Lancaster—the Emperor who carried dragon blood in his veins as the last noble descendant of Trigia, should have been afraid.
"So, let's just enjoy the trip, Bastian. Think of it as a little getaway," Etien said, smirking. "Once we get tired, we'll head back home and sleep like babies in frozen Winterbraun."
Bastian had no choice but to nod. The Duke had decided. So all he could do now was sit back, watch the landscape change, and wonder how long this journey would last.
As they approached the outskirts of a settlement, Bastian glanced at his pocket watch before shifting his focus outside. To his surprise, the people of the Western territory were warm and welcoming, even bowing respectfully as the royal carriage passed.
"Well, isn't that a sight—these folks sure are polite," Bastian mused.
Etien scoffed. "You do realize we've got a royal carriage with us, right? That alone commands respect."
It was amusing, but also undeniable, the Carter family had never truly embraced Zarakand's empire. Every generation before Etien had done the same, viewing the forced inclusion of Winterbraun into the empire as unwarranted. Winterbraun had stood strong for centuries, thriving without the empire's influence. To be shackled to an imperial system that offered nothing in return? It was insulting.
And now, after a hundred years, the Zarakand Empire had done little to bring prosperity. Instead, it had plunged its lands into chaos, burdensome taxes, growing social disparity, corruption. The people weren't flourishing. They were suffering.
Eventually, Etien made a drastic decision, he took up arms, launched a revolution, and toppled the previous empire, a rebellion that ultimately crowned Glen Lancaster, the last descendant of Trigia, as the new Emperor.
The carriage, adorned with Winterbraun's silver lion emblem, rolled to a slow stop in the stone-paved courtyard of Harrington Mansion, settling beside Viscount Harrington's sleek black carriage, which had arrived earlier. Through the frosted stained-glass window, Etien observed the grandeur of the old baroque estate, majestic with its pale stone walls and intricate gold-trimmed woodwork depicting the Harrington lineage.
"Not a bad place for a vacation stay," Etien mused to Bastian, smirking, his sharp gaze betraying a strong distaste. Bastian, recognizing the Duke's obvious displeasure, chose silence, merely closing his eyes for a brief moment.
"You're right, Your Grace. Quite the fine estate for a Viscount," Bastian responded, offering a neutral remark.
As soon as the coachman pulled open the carriage door and lowered the velvet-lined steps, Bastian stepped out first, adjusting his coat against the breeze before standing tall beside the door, waiting for his master. Etien descended with his usual composed grace, wrapped in the deep-blue fur mantle of Winterbraun, the silver lion pin fastened to his chest, a subtle but unmistakable declaration of his noble identity.
Glen followed suit, stepping down from his own grand carriage. The black stallions that had pulled it since yesterday snorted softly, but the coachman quickly soothed them, stroking their backs.
Word of their arrival had clearly spread well in advance. The mansion's inhabitants had rushed outside long before the carriage wheels reached the city's center, waiting in anticipation. Now, they stood lined up in welcome, including Viscount Harrington's daughter, poised just behind her mother.
She was the embodiment of noble elegance, draped in a robe à la française—a style reserved for high aristocracy. The deep moss-green satin hugged her frame, embroidered with white thread in the shape of grape leaves and wild roses trailing along the hem. Beneath it, a structured pannier upheld the voluminous skirt, sculpting the distinct wide-hip silhouette, a cinched waist, and a gracefully low neckline softened by delicate lace cascading from her shoulders down her chest.
The fitted sleeves tapered before flaring at the wrists, layered with fine lace ruffles, while her corset shimmered with small gemstones that caught the light with every movement. Her long, straight hair remained free-flowing, save for neatly woven side braids, lending an air of understated refinement. Every motion she made felt effortless, as if she were simply a natural extension of the grandeur surrounding her.
For a fleeting moment, Etien wondered if the Emperor's choice wasn't entirely terrible. But as he glanced at Glen standing beside him, grinning with satisfaction, an unsettling feeling crept in, a sensation akin to plummeting into a pit of humiliation.
"She's beautiful, isn't she?" Glen whispered.
"Looks aren't everything, Your Majesty."
"Aren't they, though?" Glen mused. "Wouldn't it be ideal to have a stunning wife, someone to showcase at those high-society events across the country?"
Etien gave him a sideways look, shaking his head slightly. "You must remember I never attend those gatherings, don't you, Your Majesty?"
Glen's smile remained, unbothered, dismissing the truth with easy indifference.
Their exchange was cut short by the Harrington family's formal welcome.
"Welcome to Harrington Hall, Your Majesty, and you too Duke Etien of Winterbraun," Viscount Harrington's wife greeted them in a voice that was both soft and commanding. Silvana followed suit, dipping into an elegant bow, adjusting the folds of her gown with barely a visible motion.
Danniel Harrington, the Viscount's eldest son and a former ally of Etien during the revolution, bowed as well, a sign of respect and loyalty to the Emperor and the Duke he had long admired.
"Welcome back to our estate, Duke Etien. You as well, Your Majesty," Danniel said with unfaltering courtesy.
"It is truly an honor to receive you in our humble hall once again, Duke Etien," Silvana added.
"So you're already know each other?" Glen's curiosity flared.
Silvana answered smoothly, her voice composed, graceful, and brimming with aristocratic poise.
"During the chaos of rebellion, with countless uprisings, Duke Etien took refuge in our family's mansion deep in the mountains. Yet, despite that, we never had the chance to meet each other. Though I've heard much about the Duke's strength and grandeur from my father, today is, in essence, our first introduction, Your Majesty."
Glen nodded, considering her words. "That does seem to be the case. As I remember, the only member of the Harrington family we interacted with during our time here was Danniel."
"You remember correctly, Your Majesty," Danniel confirmed. "Duke Etien never had the opportunity to meet the rest of my family. War consumed us all. We barely had time for tea, much less social calls. So now, let's do what we couldn't back then, Your Majesty."
"Hmm, tea and easy conversation? That sounds inviting—don't you think, Duke Etien?" Glen mused, throwing a knowing glance at him.
Etien exhaled slowly, the weight of expectation pressing on him. "You're right, Your Majesty."
Conversation could have stretched on indefinitely, but Viscount Harrington and his wife promptly intervened, ushering Etien and Glen inside to continue their discussions over an elaborate feast prepared in their honor.