The five days passed in a blur.
Hautterre, usually wrapped in the chill of feudal routine, had transformed into a diplomatic stage. Banners were cleaned, armor polished, and the stones in the main square scrubbed until not a speck of dust remained. Everything had to project control, power… but also openness.
Aldric had barely slept, spending the nights preparing every word, every gesture, every possible scenario for Lord Auberon's arrival. Diplomacy, yes. But behind every smile, blades waited to be drawn.
—Looks like a wedding, —Charles remarked with a half-smile, leaning against the window frame—. Have you picked the music and flowers too?
Aldric didn't respond to the sarcasm. He simply watched the caravan approaching from the eastern road.
Green banners with a silver fox. Ten riders. No visible troops behind them.
Auberon had honored his word.
—The music, brother… will be the sound of what isn't said.
—
The council hall was immaculate. The fire crackled in the hearth, and the table had been removed—only chairs in a semicircle remained, none higher than the others. A calculated move, to give the illusion of equality.
Aldric stood as Auberon crossed the threshold.
The man was older than his father, though not by much. His gray hair was tied back, his beard neatly trimmed, and his eyes… those eyes saw everything. Like a fox that had bitten before and knew when to play dead.
—Lord of Hautterre, —he said calmly—. I thank you for your courtesy.
—And I thank you for your trust, Lord Auberon. —Aldric gave a slight nod—. This hall has seen too many swords. It's time it sees ideas.
They sat.
The first words were formalities: talk of weather, roads, and harvest stability. But within minutes, Auberon got to the point.
—Why now? What makes you think Hautterre can sit at my level?
The "you" didn't go unnoticed. Auberon wasn't speaking to a noble. He was speaking to a boy. Or at least that's what he wanted everyone to believe.
But Aldric had fought this kind of battle many times. In other classrooms. In another life.
—Because while others were burning grain, we were storing it. While Vellmont advanced, we dug trenches. And because this castle still stands—after attacks that would have razed any other stronghold on this frontier.
He paused.
—And because I know what's coming.
Auberon narrowed his eyes.
—What's coming?
—Your allies won't answer in time. You have enemies within your own lands. And this winter will be harsher than usual. If you continue this war, you'll lose men you'll need to defend your borders—not from us, but from hunger and raiders. But if we strike an accord now, we both come out stronger.
The silence that followed wasn't empty. It was a razor's edge.
Auberon gave the faintest smile.
—You speak as if you can see the future.
—No. —Aldric leaned forward—. I speak as someone who's read the past far too often. And I know what happens to foxes: they survive… because they know when to retreat.
—
The meeting lasted hours. Auberon was not easily convinced, but he wasn't closed off either. It was clear he had come to test the waters, not to declare peace. But when he left that night, he did so without enemies—and with a formal invitation to return with his advisors.
—A draw, —Charles said as the doors closed behind him.
—No. It was the first move on our board. And he knows it.
—
That night, Aldric didn't sleep. He reviewed every point discussed, drafted a new proposal for the next meeting, and ordered Pierre to organize a summit with the emissaries of minor houses still on the fence.
He didn't plan to wait for others to react.
Hautterre would dictate the rhythm.
—
Days later, a new threat emerged. Not from Vellmont—but from the southern woods.
Bandits. Or something worse.
Peasants fled from burned villages, and rumors spread like fire: armed groups with no banners, speaking strange tongues, too well-coordinated to be common criminals.
Aldric gathered his captains.
—I want scouts on the southern border. No delay. If someone is using this war as cover, we'll find out.
—You think they're mercenaries? —asked Sir Gaubert.
—I think… someone is testing us. Like wolves sniffing the coop. We must not look like lambs.
—
Meanwhile, reconstruction continued.
Aldric didn't just think about castles and soldiers. He had begun sending teachers to nearby villages to teach basic reading. He pushed for crop records, road maintenance, and greenhouse preparation. Ideas that were common in his old world… here, they were revolutionary.
At first, people looked at him like a madman. Then… like a visionary.
And that was even more dangerous.
Because the more his influence grew, the more eyes turned to him.
Some curious.
Others… unmistakably hostile.
—
But he had chosen his path.
And he would not turn back.