'Trees are faster'

By the time Alexander arrived at the mountain border between Thuenia and Osmea, he could already see carriage after carriages lined up at the entrance—and they were not just carriages, it's the Elders'.

He clicked his tongue. He wanted to shout and curse, but those things wouldn't solve his problems.

Every duchy has its own council, but Thuenia's Council of Elders was the duchy's backbone. The council helped the ruling duke in matters regarding finances, social affairs, military powers, and overseas engagements—it's just a few, but the list went on.

They were respected and sought after for their various insights. Whatever decision, law, or new regulations could only be implemented if the majority of the Council agreed. And they're also a group of old people, veterans in their field as they so often called themselves.

The trip from House Florence's palace to the border took two days with the fastest horse. The mountain route, the one Alexander took for himself, shortened the travel, but they still rode from dusk to dawn. And the distance from the mountain border to his palace was about an hour if he went in straight—another thirty minutes through the back gate. But he didn't have the luxury of another thirty minutes. By that time, the council could have made an impartial decision, and, if by chance, they did, it would be hard for him to speak for himself. And Symon wasn't the best negotiator either.

It was already midday when he arrived at the palace. He quickly dismounted, and the servants that he ran into were in shock to see him so frantic. He gave them a half-smile, and they, in return, were confused if they should bow their heads or just say their greetings—but as they contemplated, Alexander was already a few feet away.

"Your grace!" Symon exclaimed when the intricately carved and polished black wooden door to the master's chamber flung open.

"A-are those my clothes?" he said in between breaths.

"Ye-yes. The messenger bird came an hour ago, and you just have no idea how I'm about to go insane!"

Alexander quickly undressed and rushed to his bath. As much as he wanted to storm into the Council Hall, he'd be even more criticized if he came drenched in sweat and dirt.

A loosely fitted tunic that opened up to his chest, tucked in equally fitted trousers paired with leather boots, would make any lady that saw him drool. But that's out of the context given that he had to, somehow, convince the council about his marriage to the Duchess—something that no one in history has probably done.

Since the empire was established, marriage between two heirs of any of the duchies has been forbidden. With this law, no House could unite in marriage with another—and Alexander's about to break that law. No, he already broke it when Amelia said yes.

He sighed. He looked at himself in the mirror and asked if he has gone insane, only to see his secretary behind him with a mustard-colored cape. Alexander reached out for it and swiftly secured it with golden clasps in the shape of an eagle's head.

From his private quarters on the far end of the palace's eastern wing, servants could be seen going to and fro the hall. The Elders were demanding people and new servants were their favorite entertainments—the duke sighed again.

When he reached one of the east wing halls, Alexander took a deep breath before gesturing to the knights guarding the door to open it. Once opened, Alexander's face quickly turned stern, and the bustling hall died down. The stares seemed to pin the duke on the floor, and the atmosphere turned dreary like someone would be dead by the end of the day.

The foot of his armed chair screeched as he went to sit after he handed Symon, standing on his left, his cape; on his right was Sir Barrett Lynch, the commander of his Shadow Knights.

"Where were we?" Alexander asked casually.

Whispers started, but none spoke up. As the youngest ruling duke in a room full of eleven experienced—old—people, Alexander always had a challenging time having some of them respond to him. His madness was on the verge of letting itself out when he heard someone clear their throat at the far end of the table.

All eyes shifted, and as soon as Alexander saw who it was, he let out a sigh of relief and leaned back in his chair.

"How are you feeling, your grace?" the gentle and soothing voice of a plump and elegantly aged woman rose above the men. Lady Norrine Burkley, the only woman in the council, owned the biggest merchant guild in Thuenia; her connections to the other duchies and foreign continents were immeasurable. The duke's older sister, Leticia, introduced Lady Norrine to him when a vacant seat became available.

Before the duke could answer, another member of the council interrupted, "Who would have thought that a woman would be the death of ya?" Alexander's brow arched, but he didn't say anything. "Seeing how ya love them so much," he sneered, and a couple laughed in agreement.

Alexander shifted in his seat and propped his elbow on the armed chair. He massaged his invisible beard and still had the liberty kid himself that if only he skipped shaving earlier, his stubble would've made him look a tad older.

"How about the one who poisoned you? Did you find them?" asked another, and a commotion started once again. There were talks about having the person responsible go to trial and have them hanged; another suggested that House Florence take responsibility; there was also one who voiced that maybe the duchess planned it all along.

The same thoughts and speculations also ran through the duke's mind when it happened—but he knew firsthand that it wasn't the case.

"Duchess Florence killed him," he said plainly, and everyone in the room threw their gaze at the duke. Much to Alexander's relief, though he didn't mean to paint the duchess' picture to them in that manner.

It's only been a few months since Amelia took the seat as a duchess, and she has yet to make her debut—her title existed only on paper. Members of the council have formerly debated the duchess's competence, even with the reports of her achievements. As she's never one to be social, a lot of people outside her duchy couldn't believe that Osmea's own council have agreed to let her rule.

When she was under House Mulford's care, the people of Osmea questioned the emperor's decision of letting a mere foreigner, a former knight, such as Vance Thomson, rule the duchy on behalf of the only living heir. Some nobles pushed for Amelia's aunt's husband, George Walton, to lead instead. Still, fortunately for Vance, he made it through. Alexander's just not sure how he managed. Was it with brute strength, manipulation, or plain underhanded tricks?

A small smile crossed his face, and he immediately cleared his throat to erase it—instead of going against Vance, Alexander thought he should learn a thing or two about people management from him.

"Did you say she killed him? Her? A seventeen-year-old, sheltered almost all her life killed someone?" another scoffed, and Alexander nodded as if it was the thing that should be done.

"We know so little about the new Duchess of House Florence, we forgot how powerful her House is by itself. I've even met someone from the Felfords, the notorious assassin's clan, just casually strutting in and out of the palace. For all we know, the duchess isn't as sheltered as everyone thinks." There were curious and inquiring expressions. Just a mention of the Felfords changed the atmosphere in the room.

As Alexander said, Felfords were a notorious family of assassins, and only a handful could meet the central family. Many awful rumors surrounded them; still, they're nothing but the best people to look for when specific jobs needed to be done.

"Also," the duke said after letting the former information sink into the council, "The innovations made by the duchess herself have made their produce twice—no, even thrice—than it formerly was. And last year they already doubled that produce compared to the previous years. Am I right, Lady Burkley?" Alexander tilted his head to see the esteemed merchant.

"Yes. Most agricultural exports that passed through the ports were from Osmea, and there's only a steady increase of it over the years."

The duke snapped his fingers like he won something and thanked the lady.

"House Mulford," he continued, "the empire's sword and shield have a close relationship with the Florence's. As we all know, the duchess received her knighthood a few years back at such an early age. Academically, she does not lack either. She can hold her own council and attends audiences regularly, and—"

"What's with all the praise, son?" Alexander looked back and saw a giant of a man leaning back on his chair with his arms folded on his chest. His head sticking out like a sore thumb from among the rest.

Sir Gustav Stanwinx, a mercenary knight; tasked to manage the only mercenary guild in the duchy, Hellclaws. He's a good friend of the late Duke and knew Alexander since he was a boy.

The duke shifted awkwardly in his seat again, and the other council members noted the anxious gazes of his secretary; even Alexander's eyes shook a little at the pressure.

"I proposed to the duchess," he said in a low voice, only looking at Sir Stanwinx.

"Well, everybody knows about that little adventure of yars at the banquet. It was the talk of the town!" some laughed, and some shook their heads in disappointment, but Alexander's eyes never left the mercenary knight—he knew that whatever he decided on, he trusted Sir Stanwinx, of all people, to be honest with him.

"I proposed to her again while I was at Osmea—the same day I arrived there."

There were gasps and widened eyes. Alexander expected them to make more absurd claims, but they didn't—not even a whisper. The council members exchanged looks, and the silence was deafening—where's the commotion? Where's the noise? Where are the criticisms?

"And?" coaxed Stanwinx.

"And—she accepted," he said in an even lower voice but loud enough for it to reach the end of the table.

"What?!" for once, the council was in unison. Even Symon chimed in with widened eyes.

"Oh, goodness…what in the Heavens—" Stanwinx's hands fell on the table as he tried to internalize the new information. The others were speechless. All sentences that came out of their mouths were either broken or incomplete.

"Young ones…" sighed another.

Alexander looked back at his secretary, who gave him a shrug. When he brought back his gaze to the table, Lady Norinne raised her hand and spoke, "What were the conditions?"

As the duke reiterated every single one of the conditions, he laid on the table for Amelia, there were disappointing sighs and approving nods. Alexander knew that an imperial law forbade marriage between two houses—not to mention between the oldest and youngest duchy—but it's the least of his concerns.

"Well," Lady Norinne laid her hand on the table, "the conversation surely made a quick turn towards our Duke's marriage to Osmea's duchess. This just shows that he must be feeling well then. This—" she propped herself up and straightened her skirt, "topic is for another council meeting. There's too much to weigh and so little time."

"I… also ask the Elders to keep this conversation among yourselves."

"Of course! Lest everybody here wants conflict with the empire so early in the year." an Elder in charge of some external affairs scoffed and nudged the one beside him, and they all agreed.

Not long after the meeting was dismissed, Alexander excused himself for some rest that he neglected because he thought there'd be war in the council, but there wasn't—much to his disappointment. He even prepared a proper persuasive speech if ever it came to the point that he needed to put his foot down and insist on his decision, but it didn't even get close to that point at all.

While on his way back to his private quarters, Alexander sent Symon on an errand of fetching him some documents that needed attending while he was away from his office so he could scan through them when he's well-rested. His secretary bowed his head and left right away.

Left with only the knight commander of his Black Shadow, the duke asked what happened when they returned to Thuenia. Only Jyver and three more of his knights remained in Osmea with him, and he's never received a letter aside from the one that informed him of the council meeting.

Barrett complied without a hitch and said no one was suspicious among the servants that came with the carriage. Nothing else of note was considered either.

"Did she really kill him?" Barret whispered, but there's a particular hint of excitement in his voice.

Alexander looked back plainly at his commander and said, "No, it was her old advisor."

"That old man? But how?"

"That's for you to find out, Barrett." Alexander placed his hand on the knight's shoulder and squeezed lightly. "Gather your best spies, use whatever means necessary, to find out who in the world is that old advisor. I am not going to be fooled by Vance Thomson any further."

"If he's from a foreign country, your siste—"

"No! Not my sister. You know how she can be," Alexander almost rolled his eyes at the thought. After the small talk, Alexander permitted Barrett to leave so he could be done with his task—the earlier, the better.

Alexander knew so far that the late Duke of House Florence, Nathaniel Florence, was nothing short of a people's duke. His light-heartedness and cheerful personality bonded him with his duchy—though some nobles weren't exactly happy about this. But he sought justice when needed to be; there was nothing short of the list that he's convicted, both noble and commoner, during his rule, so it wasn't wholly unreasonable why someone wanted him and his family dead. Though, was George Walton really the person behind it?

And Vance Thomson.

Vance Thomson wasn't entirely away from the public eye. Still, he usually stood behind the late duke like a shadow. The first time Alexander saw him was during the birthday banquet of the emperor, roughly three years before the incident happened and before his father succumbed to sickness, he couldn't get his eyes off of him. He remembered his father walking towards him and introduced himself. Alexander thought it unusual that his father went out of his way to greet a secretary. But he was too young then to remember the conversation they had.

A sigh left Alexander before he placed his hand on the knob of his bedroom. He wanted to sleep and put all the questions behind him for once. As he unbuttoned his shirt and slid it off his body, he yanked the blanket off of his bed and rolled into it. And like an insult, the moment he closed his eyes, the subtle soft lips and crystal blue eyes of the duchess he left behind crossed his mind.

'She must've been mad,' he thought and smiled at the scene, his mind made up of him wooing the duchess to forgive him for leaving.

The thought alone drew a broad grin on his face. He turned to hug one of his pillows—something he didn't normally do. Alexander wanted to sleep with at least that imagination in mind, but as soon as he closed his eyes again, the balcony glass door sounded.

Irritated, he glared at the person responsible—it's Jyver holding an unfamiliar messenger bird.

Jyver mouthed the words letter and rose, and the duke jumped from his bed and hastily opened the glass door.

"There's the usual door, you know."

"The trees are faster." Jyver sarcastically said.

Tied around one of the bird's legs was a thin satin ribbon in red—Amelia's color and with it was a folded small parchment. With skillful hands, the duke managed to untangle the ribbon in record time, and as soon as he got the parchment, he opened and laughed.

On the small piece of paper read, "You left" in what seemed like the duchess' handwriting which she signed 'Cice' at the bottom.

He ruffled his hair and let out another hearty laugh the second time he read it. He folded the parchment and placed it in his nightstand drawer, and he waved his hand to tell his knight that he could leave.

"You're not replying?" Jyver brow arched.

"I'll let her wait a bit," he said with a boyish grin holding a decanter of liquid to quench his sudden thirst. "Send the bird back."

"You're not planning on going there, are you?" Jyver stiffened immediately when Alexander placed his cup back where it stood and gave him a meaningful stare. "Oh, no… please no, your grace." He pleaded.

Alexander just shrugged and noted his knight's shoulder slump, which made him smile again; it's always nice to tease someone.

"You have no idea how much complaining was there at the entrance. The elders were all muttering to themselves and refused to listen to anyone! You cannot leave the palace."

"Relax, I'm not going anywhere." Right, the duke's not going anywhere. What's there to do for the rest of the day? If there's anything that he wanted to do, it was to immerse himself in the thought that the duchess was affected by his sudden leave, and she even signed the note with the nickname he called her.

His smile was priceless, he kept on waving at Jyver to leave, and though at first, the knight was hesitant, he later abided and pulled the drapes slightly together before he closed the glass door behind him.