Chapter 77: Preparation
Willabelle gathered the parchment and set it down on the edge of the desk. The room was filled only with the sound of the quill scratching against paper and the faint crackle of the candle. Silence reigned for a while; as I marked the maps, she stood beside me like an invisible shadow.
"What’s the nobles’ reaction?" I asked without lifting my eyes from the page.
Willabelle pulled one of the files and opened it.
"Most remain silent. Yet some will not take kindly to the reduction of taxes. Especially the newly appointed fief lords, they fear their own share will dwindle."
I raised my brows, humming thoughtfully.
"The greed of nobles is hardly surprising. Instead of opposing them head-on, we’ll draw some to our side. Bring me the names of the three wealthiest fief lords. We’ll grant them special privileges, but in return they’ll be responsible for infrastructure investments."
Willabelle nodded.
"In that way, they won’t complain and the burden will be shared."
"Exactly," I said, sliding my finger across the map. "With their money, we’ll win the people’s support. As long as the people remain grateful, the nobles’ power will weaken. Balancing the two is essential for the peace of my lands."
Willabelle paused for a moment, as though weighing my words. Then, her eyes fixed on me.
"My lord... the nobles’ silence stems from fear. But it may not last. Though most carry the title of baron, the fact that an upstart: someone not of noble blood is ruling them surely unsettles them. Some have already begun sending letters, forming invisible alliances."
I tilted my head slightly, smiling.
"I expected as much. Let them form alliances. I look forward to uncovering their secrets. Do not intercept their letters; track them. The moment they begin to trust one another, they’ll all be in our grasp."
Willabelle lowered her gaze, the faintest curve appearing at the corner of her lips her only sign of approval.
"Understood, my lord."
We continued working on the documents for a while. I marked the maps, drew up lists of resources for the reconstruction of certain villages. Each time, Willabelle quietly noted things beside me, her cold, precise gaze making it seem as though no detail could escape her.
At last, I set the quill down.
"Willabelle," I said softly but firmly. "Among all these reports, I haven’t heard your thoughts. Do you truly believe the people living in these lands can be loyal to me?"
There was a pause. Willabelle looked at me, a faint glimmer sparking in her eyes.
"Loyalty is earned through fear, but only gratitude makes it lasting. When hungry, the people revolt. When fed, they fall silent. But when given justice, they see you as one of their own. You’ve shown them justice, my lord. Their devotion will take time... but in the end, it will be inevitable."
Her words were heavy, grounded in truth. A faint smile tugged at my lips.
"So even you admit the power of justice at last. Perhaps that’s why you’ve never protested being made my slave after betraying me... or maybe your feelings for me have already taken root."
For a brief instant, Willabelle’s eyes flickered, but her mask returned swiftly. She clasped her hands before her and bowed her head.
"Even if I had objected, it would have changed nothing, my lord. The more I came to know you, the clearer it became that your mercy is as sharp as your blade. For my betrayal, the price would have been death or slavery. If I still draw breath, it is only because you chose it."
Measured words, yet with a hidden confession. The hardness in her voice only veiled her quiet acceptance.
My gaze traced her delicate face, the firm line of her jaw, the tension in her lips. She tried to appear cold, but the storm within could not be fully hidden.
"Then tell me," I said slowly, lowering my voice, "is your loyalty to me only out of necessity? Or has something else begun to grow within you?"
For a heartbeat, her eyes locked with mine; sharp as a blade, yet achingly human. Her lips parted, but before any words escaped, she turned abruptly back to the papers. She seized the quill, burying herself in notes.
"My duty is to carry out your orders, my lord."
Despite her cold words, I noticed her fingers tremble. The slender wrist holding the quill tightened ever so slightly.
"And last night, when you offered me your lips, was that duty as well, Willabelle?"
Her fingers froze, leaving a tiny blot of ink on the parchment. She did not raise her head, but I saw her breath quicken.
"I had hoped," she whispered, "that you would forget that, my lord."
I smiled, though not with warmth. It was the patient smile of a hunter.
"Do you want me to forget? Or to remember? For nothing a woman like you does is without purpose. Even your betrayal had a reason... as did your kiss."
That was when she looked up. Her eyes seemed icy, yet within them flickered the faintest spark.
"Nothing has changed for me. I am still your slave."
Leaning back in my chair, I did not break eye contact.
"You’re mistaken, Willabelle. Last night, you didn’t act as my slave you acted as a woman. And a woman’s actions are not so easily explained by orders."
Her eyes wavered. Her lips parted, but she swallowed the words instead, returning to her notes.
This time, the trembling in her hands was impossible to hide. I rose to my feet and walked toward the door without another word. As much as I enjoyed provoking her, I refused to let myself appear as the one desperate for this relationship.
Perhaps Willabelle’s distrust of men came from her sister’s wretched entanglements. Considering what her sister had endured, it was understandable. But women like her could only be won through patience, by giving them space and time.
Either way, Magnus made it necessary for me to keep her close. Rushing things would only work against me.
Glancing back, I caught a strange look in her eyes... was it regret? I couldn’t be certain, but there was more emotion in Willabelle’s silver, soulless eyes than I had expected.
"Before I forget," I said. "I’ll need a residence in the capital. A fine mansion. I’ll likely have to stay there often."
"In the capital?" Willabelle’s voice trembled faintly, though she tried to mask the curiosity behind it. Her eyes flicked to the papers, then to the desk’s edge, finally returning to me. "As you command, my lord. I’ll make the necessary arrangements. Which quarter do you prefer? Security or prestige?"
"Both matter. But a mansion in the heart of the city sends the right message. To the nobles and to the people."
Willabelle paused briefly, a line deepening between her brows as calculations ran swiftly through her mind.
"Then I’ll look for one in the central lords’ quarter. The garrison is nearby, and we can assign some of our men to the residence. A hidden escape passage will be included, and a secure chamber for sensitive documents."
I nodded. Her practical planning pleased me.
"Begin preparations. Start talks with the ministries today. Construction, security, decoration... after all, we’re wealthy now, aren’t we?"
The city of Argenholt was already profitable, but under my rule most lucrative regions were mine. And from the lords whose rights I seized, Count Ronald foremost among them, I had taken the bulk of their treasuries. Not all, of course; even the smallest barony left destitute could stir serious trouble.
Her mask shifted once more; the faintest smile ghosted her lips, while her eyes hardened with resolve.
"Understood, my lord. I’ll await your orders for the location and arrangements."
The official matter seemed closed, but the air in the room remained heavy. As she turned, her hand brushed the edge of the desk, her fingertip close enough to graze mine. We both froze, sensing the wave that tiny contact stirred beneath the surface.
Willabelle quickly stepped back and straightened herself.
"I’ll see to it at once, my lord. I’ll assign a team to resolve the matter."
Her professional tone had returned, but in her eyes lingered a crack, an unguarded space, as though she sought somewhere to hide the kiss, the night, the boundaries within her breaking.
I left the room without pressing further. Time to rest with Annabel. Though with Annabel, rest was rarely restful.
When I opened her chamber door, Annabel was seated by the window. A thin robe draped carelessly from her shoulders, revealing glimpses of skin. She held a book, but as soon as I entered, her eyes shifted to me.
In her arms, Magnus slept peacefully. Perhaps this was the very picture of the peace every man longed for.
As I drew closer, I saw her face twist suddenly, as though she were about to retch. She gently lifted Magnus from her lap, handing his drowsy body to me.
"My lord, please... take him!" she said, before rushing straight to the bath.