Chapter 13: The Marriage Gambit and the Silent Room
The office door clicked shut, locking the world outside. The smell of beeswax and old vellum was thick in the air, a stark contrast to the electric tension crackling between the three occupants. Julian sank into his father's heavy oak chair, his hands trembling. The numbness had finally set in.
He had survived an Emperor's gaze and a banker's greed, but the realization that he was being sent to a 0.04% survival-rate warzone felt like a physical blow to the stomach.
[System Notification: Quest Issued.]
[Quest: Survey the Giant.]
[Objective: Prevent the Benevento Relocation.]
[Reward: Survival, Gold, Troop Upgrade, and 'Baronial Claim' Generator.]
[Failure: Special Reward (Inheritance of a Grave).]
'You really can't help yourself, can you?' Julian thought, his mind feeling frayed. 'One month. I've been here one month, and I'm already being sacrificed like a pawn in a game of speed-chess.'
[System Message: Logic Check: You are a 'Broken Branch' of a traitorous house. In the eyes of the Electors, you aren't a pawn. You're the sawdust on the floor. Clean it up, or be swept away.]
Julian buried his face in his hands. He felt a warm, firm hand rest on the back of his neck. Mathilde didn't say anything. She simply began to massage the tension out of his shoulders, her presence a silent, fierce anchor.
Across the desk, Emilia von Schwarzberg stood as rigid as a statue, her ruby eyes tracking every micro-expression on Julian's face. She looked at Mathilde's hand, then back to Julian.
"Albrecht is a fool," Emilia said suddenly, her voice brittle. "He chases sky pirates for the vanity of the crowd. He speaks of 'protecting' me in the Diet, but he hasn't sent a single letter in three months. He looks at me and sees a background prop for his heroic play. I do not care if a man has a harem, Julian. I am a daughter of a Ducal House; I understand politics. But I will not be ignored by a man who thinks his 'Destiny' overrides my dignity."
She stepped forward, placing her hands on the desk and leaning in.
"I am looking for a new contract. My father's influence with the Schwarzberg faction is the only thing that might counter the Welf relocation draft. But I need a reason to move him. A legal, binding reason."
She held out her hand, palm up. "Will you marry me, Julian? Dissolve my engagement to the 'Hero' and become my alternative."
[System Notification: Plot Deviation Detected.]
[Warning: The 'Protagonist's Fiancée' flag has been incinerated. You have created a narrative vacuum.]
Julian stared at her hand as if it were a venomous snake. 'Is there a route like this? System, tell me there's a guidebook for this!'
[System Commentary: You held her hand for five minutes in a garden and called her 'Emilia' in a room full of vultures. In a Dating Sim, that's practically a wedding proposal. You're a menace to the script.]
"I... I can't," Julian stammered, his brain short-circuiting. "I'm the head of a broken house. I'm seventeen. I don't even have a confirmed income yet—"
Suddenly, the air in the room grew heavy. Mathilde's hand stopped moving on his neck. She stepped around the chair, her shadow falling over the desk like a shroud. Her grey-blue eyes were no longer soft; they were the color of a winter sea.
"No," Mathilde said.
The word wasn't loud, but it had the weight of an Imperial decree.
"Excuse me?" Emilia's eyes narrowed, her chin lifting. "This is a political negotiation, Lady Mathilde. A contract of survival."
"You speak of contracts," Mathilde said, her voice dropping into a dangerous, silken register. "I speak of his future. Those are not the same thing. Julian is too young to be shackled to the political fallout of a Ducal scandal. He is a Merania. He will not be a pawn for your father to use against the Habsburgs."
"He is seventeen," Emilia retorted. "The legal age for engagement. He is the Acting Head. He has the right to choose."
"And I have the right to ensure he doesn't walk into a trap because he's flattered by a Duke's daughter," Mathilde countered, her hand resting firmly on Julian's shoulder, her thumb pressing into his collarbone in a possessive, territorial grip. "No marriage. Not now. Not while I am here."
Emilia looked at Mathilde, then at Julian, who looked like he wanted to crawl into the floorboards. She let out a sharp, frustrated breath.
"Fine. Keep your 'protection,' Julian. But remember this: the conflict is going to explode. Spain isn't just raiding; they are colonizing. My father's spies in the South say the Papacy is preparing a secret blessing for the Spanish banners. If you are thrown into Benevento, you won't be fighting mercenaries. You'll be fighting a Holy Crusade."
She turned toward the door, her silk skirts snapping. "I will delay the vote as long as my father can hold the floor. You have three days. Find a way to make yourself more valuable alive in the North than dead in the South. Otherwise, I'll see you at the border—as a widow before you're even a husband."
The door slammed behind her.
The silence that followed was suffocating. Julian sat frozen. He felt Mathilde's grip on his shoulder relax, but she didn't move away. Instead, she leaned down, her hair brushing against his ear.
"You are not marrying her, Julian," she whispered, her voice possessive and thick with a warning he couldn't quite decipher. "Do you understand?"
"I... I understand, Aunt," he managed to choke out.
[System Notification: Flag Triggered.]
[Status: Mathilde (79/100). The 'Protective Guardian' flag is evolving into 'Unconditional Monopoly.']
Julian looked at the maps on his desk. He had 72 hours. He had a territory to save, a marriage proposal to dodge, and an Imperial Diet to survive.
"Aunt," Julian said, his voice finally regaining some steel. "We need to look at the Raven-Crag mining reports again. If those adventurers find what I think they'll find... we won't need a marriage contract to stay in the North. We'll have the gold to buy our way out of the front lines."
Mathilde straightened his hair, her composure returning like a mask being lowered. "Then let's get to work, Julian. I'll bring the tea. And the ink."
To be continued...