A week later, the lookout horn sounded from the watchtower.
It wasn't the frantic, urgent alarm of a bandit raid, but a single, long, formal blast. Visitors.
Kaelen stood on the battlements of his half-stripped castle, Seraphina at his side.
He watched as a small procession made its way up the road towards Greylock.
It was a modest delegation: a handful of guards in Baron Tyrell's livery, a carriage, and two figures on horseback at its head.
"They're early," Seraphina commented, her voice as crisp and professional as ever. S
he hadn't mentioned the marriage since their stilted training session, and a cool distance had settled between them.
"Punctuality is a sign of an efficient organization,"
Kaelen replied, though he suspected it was more a sign of Tyrell's eagerness to secure the deal. "Or desperation."
He had made sure the barony was ready. The main street, once a charred mess, was now clean and orderly.
The new, insulated houses were nearing completion, a clear sign of progress and prosperity.
The villagers had been instructed to go about their work with diligence.
He was presenting Greylock not as a failing backwater, but as a burgeoning hub of industry—a worthy partner.
It was all part of the negotiation.
He descended to the bailey to meet them. Gideon was already there, wringing his hands nervously.
The delegation entered the castle gates. A stout, richly-dressed man with a shrewd face dismounted.
This was Baron Tyrell. He surveyed the bustling construction, the disciplined militia practicing their pike drills in the yard, and the surprisingly sturdy-looking new buildings. A flicker of approval crossed his face.
"Baron Greylock," Tyrell boomed, offering a formal but friendly nod. "A pleasure. It seems the rumors of your… recent successes were not exaggerated."
"Baron Tyrell," Kaelen replied with an equally formal nod. "Welcome to Greylock. We are a barony under reconstruction, but we are solvent."
It was a power play. A subtle declaration that he was not a desperate beggar.
Tyrell laughed, a hearty, booming sound. "Solvent indeed! I've come to discuss the terms of our alliance and, of course, to introduce you to my daughter."
He gestured towards the carriage. The door opened, and a young woman was helped down by a servant.
This was Elara.
She was… not what Kaelen had expected.
He had pictured someone either plain and timid or arrogant and haughty. She was neither.
She was slender, with pale skin and dark, wavy hair that was simply tied back. Her dress was modest, well-made but unadorned.
Her most striking feature was her eyes—large, intelligent, and filled with a quiet, soul-deep resignation.
She looked like a person who had long ago accepted a fate she did not want.
She curtsied gracefully, her eyes fixed on the ground. "Greetings, My Lord."
"Lady Elara," Kaelen said, his voice softer than he'd intended.
Asset appears to be in good condition, though exhibiting low morale. Passive temperament. May be low-maintenance.
Baron Tyrell beamed, oblivious to the undercurrents. "A fine match, is it not? Now, shall we discuss the grain contracts?"
The negotiations took place in the great hall.
It was a straightforward affair. Kaelen, with his modern understanding of contracts, was more than a match for the shrewd but fundamentally medieval Baron Tyrell.
He secured a ten-year deal to supply Tyrell's barony with a set amount of grain and turnips at a fixed, favorable rate.
In return, he secured access to Tyrell's timber resources and a mutual defense pact.
It was a good deal. A very good deal.
While the two barons hammered out the details, Elara was left to her own devices. She wandered the castle, escorted by a silent Seraphina, who had been assigned as her guard.
The tour was an awkward one. Elara was quiet and withdrawn, offering polite, one-word answers to any of Seraphina's attempts at conversation.
Seraphina, for her part, saw this quiet, fragile-looking girl as her new lady, the future mother of her lord's heirs.
A complex mix of duty, jealousy, and pity churned within her.
Their tour eventually led them to the castle's small, dusty library.
And there, for the first time, Elara showed a spark of life.
Her eyes lit up as she saw the shelves of old, leather-bound books. She moved towards them, her fingers gently tracing the spines.
"You enjoy reading, my Lady?" Seraphina asked, surprised by the sudden change in her demeanor.
"More than anything," Elara whispered, her gaze fixed on a particularly thick tome. She pulled it from the shelf. The title was faded: 'An Introduction to the Principles of Arcane Theory'.
She clutched the book to her chest as if it were a priceless treasure.
"I always... I always wanted to study at the Royal Academy," she confessed, her voice soft and full of a long-buried dream.
"To become a mage. But my father... he said it was not a worthy pursuit. A waste of resources for a daughter destined for marriage."
Seraphina stared at her. The sad, resigned girl from the carriage was gone, replaced by someone with a fire in her eyes. A fire that had been suppressed, but not extinguished.
✧✧✧
Later that evening, after Baron Tyrell had retired, Kaelen found Elara in the library.
She was sitting by the fire, completely absorbed in the book of arcane theory. She didn't even notice him enter.
He stood there for a moment, just watching her. He saw the passion in her face, the intense focus.
It was the same look Borin had when examining a complex blueprint. It was the same look he probably had when designing a new system.
It was the look of a master craftsman, even if she was an untutored one.
"You have an interest in magic?" he asked, his voice startling her.
She jumped, clutching the book to her chest. "My Lord! I... I apologize."
"Don't apologize," he said, walking closer.
"It's a fascinating subject. Though the principles seem poorly defined. 'Draw upon the world's essence...' What does that even mean? Is mana a particle or a wave? How do you measure its output?"
She looked at him, completely baffled by his strange questions. But he was taking her interest seriously. No one had ever done that before.
"I... I don't know, my Lord," she admitted. "I've only ever been able to read the theory. I've never been allowed to practice."
Kaelen's eyes lit up, but not with romance or pity. It was the look of a CEO who had just discovered a massive, untapped resource within his own company.
An R&D department he didn't even know he had.
"An undeveloped asset is a wasted one," he murmured, more to himself than to her. "Your father is a fool."
He looked at her, at the book she was clutching like a lifeline.
"Lady Elara," he said, his voice taking on a new, decisive tone.
"As your future husband and Baron, I am officially sanctioning your studies. Consider yourself the new Head of the Greylock Department of Arcane Research and Development. Your starting budget is small, but your results will determine future funding."
Elara stared at him, her heart hammering in her chest.
He wasn't talking about love or marriage. He was talking about budgets and departments. It was the strangest, most unromantic thing anyone had ever said to her.
And it was, without a doubt, the kindest.
For the first time in a very long time, Elara felt a flicker of something she had thought long dead.
Hope.