I could practically feel the smoke rising as Orion slammed the brakes on further discussion. Not that I expected a man parroting his ministers to have any brakes at all.
Orion gave a polite nod that screamed "You may leave now."
I returned the courtesy with a nobleman's smile, the kind that said "Sure, but I'll be back to cause more trouble soon."
"Then we shall not take more of your valuable time, Lord Orion," I said, offering the parting words every court-trained noble was expected to say. Sylvia followed with a formal curtsy and a soft, "Rest well, Father."
Clara stood exactly where I'd last seen her, hands folded neatly before her and gaze sharp as ever. The moment our eyes met, she gave me a questioning look.
I gave a small shake of my head.
She dropped her gaze without a word and began walking behind us, her steps so silent they barely echoed off the marble floor.
Sylvia didn't speak, and I didn't either. The silence wasn't uncomfortable… just thoughtful. She walked beside me like a proper hostess escorting her guest. Chin raised, posture poised, but there was a stiffness in her stride.
When we finally reached the guest chambers, I paused by the door, offering a small nod.
"Good night, Lady Sylvia," I said, already turning the handle.
But something tugged, faint, barely there.
Her fingers, just two of them, pinched the edge of my sleeve.
I stilled.
Sylvia didn't speak immediately. Neither did I. We stood like that for a beat, wrapped in quiet tension, until her voice finally broke the silence.
"…Lord Hugo," she said softly. "My father isn't usually like this. Please be considerate in your decision."
Her voice trembled. Crying? No chance...right..?
Maybe I shouldn't have warned her so bluntly back in the garden. Maybe she took it a little too much to heart.
I turned to her fully.
"Lady Sylvia," I said, keeping my tone measured, "I am not here to judge anything. My role is to mediate the discussions between the Elvian envoy and Lord Orion. I allocate funds, oversee the plans, and represent Falcon as the investor. That is all."
Her brows twitched slightly.
"I assure you, I will carry out my duties properly. But the outcome of this entire endeavor, the results your father delivers… that's what will decide his future with my father. After all, it is my father who holds the seat of the Falcon Lord, not me."
She went quiet. The pinch on my sleeve loosened. Her two fingers slipped away like the last drops of a sunset.
She lowered her head.
"You are right, Lord Hugo. I… I wasn't think—"
"—As such... as the daughter of the man himself," I interrupted, "Lady Sylvia has the duty to assist her father in ways that strengthen his position. Prosper his alliances. Uphold his name."
She looked up. Wide-eyed. Confused. As if trying to process what I meant.
So, I spelled it out.
"In practice," I said, "you're still my fiancée. It would be a pleasure to be of help."
Now, I don't know if it was the words or the way I looked her in the eye when I said them, but she blinked twice and stared like I'd just handed her a key to something she didn't know was locked.
I followed it with, "I'll give Lord Orion one more chance."
I said it with a bit more arrogance than necessary. The kind that usually makes people narrow their eyes, but Sylvia didn't. She just nodded.
I added, "There's another court session tomorrow morning. If the plan remains unchanged… then let's make our own move, Lady Sylvia."
Then I leaned in just a little.
"Of course, that's only if you can put your trust in my plan."
She didn't even hesitate.
"I do."
Her voice was steady now. Clear. Resolved.
Then, softer, but just as firm, "I trust that if you help me, there is no way our house will lose Falcon's grace."
Well… isn't that a dangerous amount of trust to put on a lazy heir with Hugo level reputation?
I scratched my neck. "Glad to hear that. We'll discuss the rest tomorrow."
She bowed low and said, "Yes, my lord. Rest well."
Clara returned the bow as if choreographed, and I gave a polite nod.
Sylvia turned and walked away with something she hadn't had all day.
A smile.
One that reached her eyes.
And just like that, the heavy gloom that had clung to her shoulders since morning melted into the corridor's shadows.
Huh. Maybe I'm not completely useless after all.
Clara stepped into the room behind me, quiet as ever. I didn't need to look at her to know she was holding back a question, it was practically stitched into her brows by now.
"My lord," she said gently, "since Falcon is the one funding the trade, can't you adjust the list of products and ask Lord Orion to present only those at the envoy's residence?"
I plopped down into the chair like a man twice my age and rubbed my temples.
"We already did, Clara. That list was finalized back in the duchy's study. Before Orion and Sylvia even left the castle."
Her brows twitched, but she stayed silent, so I kept going.
"Falcon's role is funding Orion. Think of it like this...Orion is the middleman. He buys Falcon's products, Tenjiku's goods, and his own duchy's stuff from merchants. With Falcon's money. Not just for Falcon's products, but everything. We're investing in him."
I stretched out a leg and tilted my head toward the ceiling. Maybe it made me look wise. Or maybe just exhausted.
"In return, when he sells those to the elves and assuming they buy, Falcon gets the entire profit margin. All of it. House Orion, as the mediator, gets a cut. And their region becomes a diplomatic hotspot with embassies from every trade partner and wanna bes planted all over their land."
Clara looked thoughtfully at the floor.
"So… he earns political capital, we earn literal capital?"
"Exactly," I said, clicking my fingers. "This little scheme gives him a shiny medal in the race to inherit the Leon Duchy. And for us, once we gather enough profits, we can start commercial-scale production of Falcon's goods, finally catching up with the other well established duchies."
Her gaze lifted.
"And Tenjiku?"
"That's the next phase. Once their spices sell well, we approach Tenjiku formally. Invite their embassies into Falcon. They become our official partners. Falcon becomes merchant's paradise for tenjiku merchants, being able to sell their products to faraway lands like elvian."
She tilted her head slightly, lips pursed in thought.
"But my lord, if the list is already set… if Lord Orion sells anything not on that list, wouldn't that expense fall on their treasury and not Falcon's?"
"Oh, in an ideal world? Yes," I chuckled. "But reality's a little more annoying."
I stood up, walking to the desk as I explained.
"The unique Falcon products we listed are stone marbles, iron and steel ores, gemstones, cheese and other cattle extracts, fertilizers, and heavy machinery. From Tenjiku, we have the spicy elite: black pepper, cinnamon, cloves, and turmeric."
"Spices are sold under Falcon's name since we buy them through Falcon's merchants," I added. "Once their popularity's confirmed, we present it to Tenjiku and make them enter the game directly, which would decrease a significant load on our wallet as we no longer need to buy the spices from merchants. And then the real profit begins, no more middleman markup."
Clara nodded slowly. I could tell she was piecing it together faster than most nobles I'd talked to this week.
"And Leon products?"
"Leather, armor, olive oil, salt, and livestock. We avoided forest products on purpose. Elves live in forests. They practically breathe tree bark. Forest products don't sell well, they've already got a native monopoly on that stuff."
She looked thoughtful, but then asked, "Then… what's the issue?"
I sighed.
"The issue is that some products, livestock, machinery, armors, ores, are sold by Zerathene too. In huge volumes."
She blinked.
"Then shouldn't we avoid overlapping?"
"We did. Gaveric even prepared mixed presentation strategies to highlight only the most unique Falcon-native goods. But Orion? He presented a list yesterday full of products already being sold to the elves by Zerathene."
She blinked again.
"…But cheaper?"
"Exactly." I gave a humorless smile. "Trying to undercut established merchants through prices alone. He's attempting to muscle into veterans without even knowing which roots are poisonous."
Clara's brows drew together.
"He doesn't realize how existing contracts and merchant ties shape market pricing," she said.
I nodded.
"Right. When you're new in a market, you don't try to dominate it. You collaborate. Show your value. Make allies. Get invited to the big table."
She seemed to agree, but frowned again.
"Then why not reject his list outright and prepare a better one? Say we'll only fund things from that list?"
"Because," I said, pointing a finger at her like a wise teacher, "that's our final resort. Being blunt like that might get the job done, but it backfires when we need him later. Nobles with influence..especially ones aiming for dukedoms, you don't stomp on them. You guide them. Make them learn. Let them think it's their idea."
Clara lowered her gaze in understanding.
"…I see. Then what will you do now, my lord?"
"I'll wait a bit longer...Oh! I'll write to my mother, as promised. And I'll Detail the situation."
I pulled out parchment and ink, already mentally preparing to break the news gently and smartly.
Serena has the highest intelligence stat of anyone I've ever met in this world. She used to be the Falcon Regiment's strategist. 'S' rank intelligence, Shame she's been out of the loop for so long. Hopefully, she can still come up with some brilliant advice.
"I'll find a reliable postal service in the town."
"Good, please do."
She gave a faint, knowing look, then turned to the door.
"Rest well, my lord."
I waved lazily.
"Good night to you too, Clara."
.
Morning court sessions were never my thing. Too many people pretending to be smarter than they are, and far too little tea.
But today, I noticed something interesting the moment Sylvia opened her mouth.
She wasn't desperate.
No frantic pleas, no rushed logic wrapped in idealism. Just a calm, methodical presentation of her proposal. It was basically the same arguement as yesterday, but this time, she delivered it like a composed strategist, not an overeager intern in a war council.
But ministers repeated the same tired idea that "domination is key" like pigeons pecking breadcrumbs. Sylvia just listened, smiled politely, and didn't push back. Orion cool as ever, occasionally sneaking glances at me, probably trying to read if I approved or was secretly crafting a voodoo doll with his face on it.
I stayed stone-faced. No smiles, no scowls. Just that perfect expression of "I may be awake, but I'm not emotionally present."
Once the court ended and the ministers dispersed like unpaid interns at lunch hour, Orion approached me.
"Is everything okay, Lord Hugo?" he asked, his tone diplomatic but just the tiniest bit probing. "Your participation today was limited to observation. I hope you liked the ideas shared."
I smiled politely. "Of course, Lord Orion. The ideas were… good. And if they work, I'm looking forward to working closely with House Orion."
"Glad to hear that, Lord Hugo. Enjoy the rest of the day. Speak to me if you need anything."
We exchanged formal bows like well-behaved noblemen, and he walked off with the calm confidence.
I started walking through the corridor, Clara following a step behind like the ever-loyal shadow she is.
And then I saw her.
Lady Sylvia, standing at the far end of the hallway, arms folded, back straight, expression unreadable. Probably rehearsing her next move like a chess master waiting for me to castle.
I stopped before her and greeted, "Lady Sylvia."
She returned the greeting with a small nod. "The opinion of the ministers likely remains the same, my lord. I was hoping we could make a plan together about our next move."
"Sure, Lady Sylvia," I replied with a calm smile. "Let's discuss it in my room."
As we began walking, I let my thoughts drift, just enough to annoy myself.
The talks at the envoy residency would decide everything. Whether I'd just wasted a big chunk of the treasury playing merchant-simulator or actually laid the foundation of a duchy-level economic engine.
The plans I had with Tenjiku and Zerathene... the reinvestment of profits into commercial product manufacturing in Falcon territory... it was all going to take time. Years, even. Two, maybe three.
And that's when it hit me.
Three years.
That's when the original story was supposed to start. In the novel I never finished writing before dying like a corporate idiot, three years from now was when Everard suddenly dies, some vague, dramatic "unknown cause," or more accurately, "I didn't get that far in the outline."
That's when Hugo, the duke-to-be, finally ascends... right before everything falls apart.
The revolution among the marquises and earls erupts.
The protagonist makes his debut.
And Hugo's grand rule gets wiped off the map faster than my savings on a crypto dip.
Now I'm here, rewriting the script page by page, wondering if all the moves I'm making will actually change anything or if the story's just waiting to snap back like a rubber band.
Let's see if fate's flexible.
Or if I need a better pen.