2. The Viscount’s Burden

  Chapter 1 – Part Two: The Things That Cannot Be Ignored

  Morning in Falworth did not begin with trumpets.

  It began with coughing.

  From the lower barracks, where damp stone trapped the night’s cold. From kitchens where grain had been stretched thin for too long. From men who had not been paid in full but had not left either—because there was nowhere better to go.

  Adrian stood in the training yard before sunrise.

  Three hundred and twelve soldiers.

  On paper.

  In front of him stood perhaps two hundred fit enough to hold formation. The rest were recovering from injuries, underfed, or too old to march long distances.

  Captain Rowan Hale approached him, helmet tucked beneath one arm. He was broad-shouldered, scar across his jaw, eyes that assessed without speaking.

  “You’re early, my lord.”

  “So are they,” Adrian replied.

  Rowan followed his gaze. “They were told you’d watch.”

  “That’s why they came?”

  “That’s why they’re standing straighter.”

  Adrian didn’t smile.

  “Can they win against one bandit group?” he asked.

  Rowan considered carefully. “If the bandits stand still and wait for us? Yes.”

  “And if they don’t?”

  “Then we lose men.”

  Honest.

  Adrian appreciated that.

  “How many desert if we dey pay again?”

  Rowan didn’t answer immediately.

  “Not many,” he finally said. “But loyalty thins quietly.”

  That sentence stayed with Adrian longer than anything else.

  The First Order

  By midday, Adrian sat at the long table in the council chamber.

  Oswin id out the numbers again.

  “We can either pay the rival Count’s tribute,” she said, tapping the ledger, “or repair the western watchtower.”

  “Not both.”

  “Not both.”

  Harrick stood near the window, silent as always.

  Gideon shifted nervously. “If we don’t repair the tower, bandits will notice.”

  “If we don’t pay tribute,” Oswin added, “the Count will notice.”

  Two predators.

  Different sizes.

  Adrian studied the map.

  “Which vilge still trades?” he asked.

  “Grey Hollow,” Oswin replied. “Barely.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s closest to the southern forest road.”

  Adrian nodded slowly.

  “We repair the tower.”

  Silence.

  “And the tribute?” Gideon asked.

  Adrian met his eyes.

  “We send half.”

  Oswin’s expression hardened. “That is dangerous.”

  “Yes.”

  “And insulting.”

  “Yes.”

  “And provocative.”

  “Yes.”

  Harrick finally spoke.

  “Then why?”

  Adrian’s voice remained steady.

  “Because if I pay fully, we remain weak forever. If I refuse entirely, we are crushed immediately. Half tribute is not defiance. It is negotiation.”

  Rowan, who had quietly entered the room, gave a short nod.

  “He’s testing the line,” the captain said.

  Adrian corrected him.

  “No. I’m showing them we’re not already dead.”

  Far From Falworth

  In a quiet stone corridor hundreds of miles away, Era Falworth walked beside two attendants.

  She did not rush.

  She never rushed.

  Her dress was simple but fine. The rival court preferred its hostages presentable—symbols of civility rather than chains.

  Through tall windows, she could see the rival capital’s inner courtyard. Knights trained in shining armor. Merchants ughed freely.

  Stability.

  Power.

  Security.

  Things her brother did not have.

  “Lady Era,” one attendant said softly, “the Count’s steward wishes to speak with you.”

  Of course he did.

  She entered a smaller chamber where a thin man with precise posture waited.

  “Lady Era,” he said with polite warmth. “Your brother has returned to his nds.”

  She inclined her head. “I was informed.”

  “And he has chosen to repair a watchtower.”

  Her fingers stilled.

  So soon?

  “And?” she asked calmly.

  “And he pns to send half the tribute.”

  There it was.

  Not anger.

  Not surprise.

  Interest.

  The steward studied her face carefully.

  “You understand what that implies?”

  “Yes,” she said. “It implies he intends to survive.”

  The steward smiled faintly.

  “Or that he does not understand his position.”

  Era met his gaze without flinching.

  “My brother understands more than you think.”

  A Different Kind of Enemy

  At the edge of the southern forest, a group of men watched the Falworth banner from a hill.

  Bandits, by name.

  Survivors, in truth.

  Their leader, Tomas Vell, scratched his beard thoughtfully.

  “New lord,” one of his men said.

  “New blood,” another added.

  Tomas didn’t look impressed.

  “New mistakes,” he corrected.

  He spat into the dirt.

  “But young lords are impatient.”

  A thin smile spread across his face.

  “And impatience feeds us.”

  Night Again

  Back in Falworth, Adrian stood once more on the western wall.

  This time, Rowan stood beside him.

  “You know they might respond,” the captain said.

  “I know.”

  “You know we might lose.”

  “Yes.”

  Rowan studied him for a long moment.

  “You don’t look afraid.”

  Adrian’s gaze remained fixed on the horizon.

  “I am.”

  The admission surprised the captain.

  “But fear isn’t useful unless it moves you,” Adrian continued quietly.

  Below them, the courtyard flickered with torchlight. Soldiers ate thin stew. Mira ughed at something Gideon said. Harrick oversaw the closing of the gates.

  Fragile.

  All of it fragile.

  Somewhere far beyond sight, his sister stood alone in a foreign court, speaking carefully measured words to men who weighed kingdoms like coins.

  Adrian rested his hands on the cold stone.

  “Six weeks,” he murmured.

  Rowan didn’t ask what he meant.

  The wind carried the sound of distant wolves from the forest.

  Or perhaps not wolves.

  And for the first time since returning home, Adrian allowed himself to understand the truth:

  No one was coming to save Falworth.

  If it survived—

  It would be because he made it survive.

  End of Chapter 1 – Part Two