“Extra!
Extra!
Negotiations between the Belloc Royal Family and the Elsmere Imperial Family have begun!”
The war ended, and a treaty was signed soon after.
Belloc had little leverage to play hardball, and Elsmere, conscious of the political climate, had offered surprisingly fair terms.
The people of Belloc considered it a small mercy.
The defeat of their motherland was a bitter pill to swallow, but the damage had been minimal.
And occupation by Elsmere was infinitely preferable to being claimed by Palesword.
At the tender age of fourteen, Merdi had heard the news of her kingdom’s surrender.
Politics and war were distant concepts, but the gravity of the situation was etched on the faces of her father and brother.
Sterling, the King of Belloc, had been sequestered for days in the grand conference room with his ministers and nobles.
One day, he finally emerged and sought Merdi out.
“Merdi, may I have a word?”
Sensing the somber mood, Merdi had confined herself to her bedroom.
She closed her book and looked up at her father.
“Yes, Father.”
Sterling’s expression was inscrutable.
He walked over and took her hand, his grip tight.
She knew instantly that something was troubling him deeply.
“Father?”
“Merdi.
As you know, we’ve been negotiating the terms of our autonomy with Elsmere since the war ended.”
“Yes, I know.”
How could she not?
She had been waiting for the outcome with a knot of anxiety in her stomach.
“Yesterday, the final proposal was accepted.”
“And?
What happened?”
An ambiguous expression crossed Sterling’s face.
“In exchange for granting us autonomy, Elsmere has demanded a marriage alliance.”
“A marriage alliance…”
“Even a nation as powerful as theirs is reluctant to be branded a warmonger.”
It was a transparent ploy, but in a world crying out for peace and denouncing conflict, the engagement would serve as a powerful sedative.
“They asked for you.”
Merdi blinked.
“Me…?”
“Yes.
The Emperor of Elsmere has a nephew.
He wishes for you to marry him.”
The sudden proposal left her momentarily speechless.
“But… I don’t even know his name.”
“You may not know his name, but you have seen him.
He was at the very front when they came to accept the articles of surrender.”
‘The man at the very front…?’
Merdi’s eyes widened as she looked at Sterling.
‘Surely not him?’
“The tall gentleman with the blond hair?”
“The very same.
He is to inherit the title of Grand Duke Greenfield.”
Her heart began to pound.
She would never forget the day Elsmere’s soldiers had arrived to receive the king’s surrender.
The memory was seared into her mind: her father’s bitter expression, the tear-streaked faces of her people, and amidst it all, the man who had accepted the document without a flicker of emotion.
At the time, she had glared at him, blaming him for the fall of her beautiful Belloc.
But as the weeks passed, her anger had faded, leaving only the ghost of his sharp, vivid eyes.
She still knew nothing about him, yet a strange, fluttering sensation churned in her stomach, as if she were floating.
“What do you think, Merdi?”
The thumping of her own heart felt foreign in her ears.
She dragged her gaze from some distant point and met her father’s eyes.
He looked apologetic for thrusting this upon her, but beneath it lay a current of undeniable hope.
She realized it in an instant: her father wanted to accept.
And why wouldn’t he?
Even considering Elsmere’s political maneuvering, it was an incredibly generous offer for a conquered nation.
For a king who loved his people, the proposal must have felt like a godsend.
The moment she understood his feelings, her decision was made.
“Very well.
I’ll do it.”
Once the decision was made, things moved swiftly.
The gloom that had hung over the kingdom since the defeat began to lift.
She later learned that Elsmere had also promised to aid in the development of Belloc’s natural resources as a condition of the engagement.
Her father hadn’t mentioned it for fear of pressuring her, but knowing it after the fact, Merdi felt a wave of relief.
Her choice had been the right one.
The kingdom slowly returned to its former vibrancy, and the light returned to her father’s eyes.
For Merdi, daily life remained largely unchanged.
She learned she would travel to Elsmere after the winter for the official engagement ceremony and to begin her bridal lessons.
For now, she spent her days wandering every corner of Belloc Castle, determined to commit it all to memory.
The autumn in Belloc was breathtaking.
Merdi loved all four of its seasons, but autumn held a special place in her heart.
Maple trees dotted the castle grounds, and when they turned, she would spend her days collecting fallen leaves and gathering acorns to leave by the squirrel burrows.
On that particular day, she left the castle in a simple blouse and a long skirt that brushed her ankles.
On her feet, she wore a pair of sturdy leather boots that clashed with the rest of her outfit.
The peculiar combination was deliberate; she planned to tend to the fig tree behind the castle.
The fruit had become overripe, and with no one to harvest it, the fallen figs had begun to rot on the ground, creating a terrible stench.
She could have ordered a servant to do it, but Merdi loved to climb trees, so she had volunteered for the task.
Her father usually forbade it, citing the danger, so having a perfect excuse was a rare treat.
She deftly tied her long skirt to the side and started up the tree.
Grasping a low-hanging branch, she pulled herself up, finding footholds with practiced ease.
Her light frame made the ascent swift, and in moments, she was perched on the thickest branch.
From her vantage point, she began picking the figs that were on the verge of spoiling, tossing them down onto a soft blanket she’d laid out below.
They were too mushy for people, but she knew the sheep in the pasture would devour them with relish.
Lost in her task, she was startled by a voice calling from a distance.
“Merdi—!
Where are you!”
It was her father.
And he wasn’t alone.
Soon, other voices joined his, echoing her name across the grounds.
‘What’s happening?’
Surprised, Merdi scrambled down the tree.
Her hair was tangled with leaves, and her blouse was smeared with fig juice—she was a complete mess.
But the urgency in their calls spurred her on, and she ran toward the sound of her father’s voice.
“Hah… hah…’ Father…”
Her father was not alone.
Standing beside him was a man whose sharp, disciplined bearing seemed utterly out of place in the free-spirited castle grounds.
It was Major Greenfield, the man who was to be her fiancé.
‘He’s the heir to a Grand Duke.
What am I supposed to call him?’ she wondered frantically.
‘Young Lord?
Major?’
In truth, titles were the least of her concerns.
The sight of Clifton, appearing so suddenly before her, felt like a waking dream.
She was acutely aware of her disheveled state, and the mortification of being seen like this by him, of all people, was overwhelming.
Her mind, already reeling, went completely blank.
A faint blush of shame crept up her neck.
“Merdi, where have you been?” Sterling asked, his eyes taking in her messy appearance.
“Behind the castle…” she answered, her voice barely a whisper.
The sweet, heavy scent of figs clung to her, and Sterling’s expression shifted to one of understanding.
“Well,” he sighed.
“This is Major Greenfield.
The man who will be your fiancé.”
She felt Clifton’s gaze on her, and her face burned even hotter.
She couldn’t even muster the presence of mind to ask her father why he was here, now, in Belloc.
The world seemed to narrow to a single point of crushing embarrassment.
As the silence stretched, she wished the ground would swallow her whole.
‘Should I just brazenly greet him?
Or ask what brings him here so unexpectedly?
Wait—I don’t speak the Imperial language.
What do I do?
Will he understand the Southern Common Tongue?’
As her thoughts descended into chaos, his steady gaze dropped.
Then, to her utter astonishment, he slowly bent and knelt on one knee before her.
His fingers, surprisingly delicate for a soldier, brushed against her foot.
Merdi watched, mesmerized.
“Your shoelace is untied.”
His voice, speaking the Southern Common Tongue with perfect fluency, made her earlier panic seem absurd.
‘Oh… my shoelace.’
It must have come loose while she was in the tree.
She felt a fresh wave of shame for not having noticed, for having run to them in such a rush.
“In wartime, such a small thing can become a great hindrance.”
Clifton spoke as he tied the lace.
Merdi stared down at his blond hair, dappled with sunlight.
Was that why this man, who seemed as if he would bow to no one, had knelt without a moment’s hesitation?
A habit, perhaps, ingrained in a soldier who had survived a brutal war.
A breeze rustled through the trees, stirring his hair, but Merdi didn’t blink.
She watched his firm, capable fingers expertly secure the lace.
Her heart hammered against her ribs.
She knew, with absolute certainty, that she would never forget this moment for as long as she lived.