Chapter 23: The Unstable Triangle of Mont-Canton
The departure from the newly minted Viscounty of Castell was less of a military march and more of a family restructuring. Julian stood in the courtyard, watching his father, Maximilian, coordinate the troop separation with a newfound vigor. Winning a war—even against a "Paper Count"—had shaved ten years off the man's face.
"I'll handle the home front, Julian," Maximilian said, clapping a heavy hand on his son's shoulder. "The 150 house troops and the 100 Imperial 'observers' will keep the peace. I'll focus on the irrigation reforms and the dam repairs you suggested. By the time you're back from Italy, this place won't just be a fortress; it'll be a treasury."
"Keep the recruits training, Father," Julian replied, adjusting his Lieutenant's cloak. "And send the surplus coin when you can. I'd rather pay the mercenaries with our gold than rely solely on an Imperial salary that might 'disappear' in a Papal ledger."
[Troop Disposition: The Italian Vanguard.]
* Ducal Shock Cavalry: 120 (Elite Heavy).
* Family Knights: 12 (Old Guard).
* The Iron Century: 100 Mercenaries (Loyalists under Captain Valerius).
* Total: 232 Professional blades.
With the logistics settled, Julian boarded the heavy Ducal carriage. He found himself flanked: Emilia sat to his left, her silver-white hair catching the morning light, while Mathilde occupied the seat opposite them, her eyes tracing every detail of Julian's uniform.
The Swiss Reprieve
Two days of travel brought them to the high-altitude beauty of Mont-Canton. The air was crisp, the mountains mirroring the modern-day Swiss Alps. As the vanguard set up camp near a bustling market town, Mathilde rose with professional grace.
"The men need fresh supplies and the horses need specialized oats for the climb," Mathilde announced, her tone the perfect blend of aunt and quartermaster. "I shall oversee the procurement. Julian, stay with your wife. Try not to get into trouble in the ten minutes I am gone."
As the carriage door clicked shut, the silence between the newlyweds grew heavy. Emilia pulled a scroll from her travel desk—an Imperial edict with the Duke's private seal.
"My father has been... specific," she said, handing it to Julian. "You aren't being sent to a tent in a swamp. You are appointed as Second-Rank Lieutenant of Castello di San Vigilio. It's an Imperial fortress, but my father holds the primary lease."
Julian raised an eyebrow. "Why the sudden generosity?"
"He doesn't want his daughter sleeping in the dirt and being bitten by Italian insects," she said, her voice dry, though her eyes lingered on him. "He considers it an investment in our... future comfort."
"I'm not that cruel, Emilia," Julian said, his gamer-brain momentarily switching to 'Chivalry Mode.' "I would have taken a high-interest loan just to buy you a fortress myself, you know."
Emilia paused, a faint, genuine smirk touching her lips. "Yes, I'm sure your 'philosophical' credit score is excellent." She reached for a map, but Julian noticed a small, jagged cut on her finger—likely from a parchment edge.
Without thinking, he took her hand. "Be careful. You're a Duchess; your hands are for holding fans, not fighting paper." He pulled a silk kerchief from his pocket and tied it gently around her finger. "Take care of yourself."
[System Notification: Accidental Gallantry Detected.]
[Affection Spike: Emilia +2 (Total: 40/100)]
[System Commentary: Oh, look at you playing the gentleman. If your Aunt knew you were flirting while she's out buying potatoes, she'd turn that kerchief into a noose. What exactly is your plan here, Casanova?]
"Shut up," Julian muttered under his breath. The exhaustion of the Diet, the siege, and the wedding finally caught up to him. His eyelids grew heavy. "I'm just... closing my eyes for a second..."
Within five minutes, the Lieutenant of the Vanguard was fast asleep, his head lolling toward the window.
The Lap of War
Emilia watched him sleep. For a moment, her composed, "Villainess" mask slipped. He looked younger when he wasn't trying to outsmart Electors. She glanced at the carriage door, then back at Julian.
Slowly, she reached out and gently turned his head away from the window and toward her shoulder. With a soft tug, she pulled him closer until his head was nestled in the crook of her neck. He let out a sleepy, contented sigh, his hand instinctively clutching her sleeve.
She looked down at him, a tiny, victorious smile playing on her lips. She began to run her fingers through his hair, her red eyes softening.
Click.
The carriage door swung open. Mathilde stood there, silhouetted by the mountain sun, holding a basket of fresh bread and fruit. The smile on her face died a violent death.
"Oh," Mathilde said, her voice dropping into a register that signaled immediate danger. "I see the Lieutenant is... occupied."
"He was exhausted," Emilia said, her voice like cool silk. She didn't move. In fact, she shifted Julian slightly so his head moved from her neck down into her lap. "He fell right into my lap. It is, after all, a wife's duty to ensure her husband's rest is undisturbed."
Mathilde stepped into the carriage, the air pressure seemingly doubling. "A wife's duty is many things, Lady Emilia. but as his Aunt and the one who has raised him since his mother's passing, I know exactly how he prefers to sleep. Hand him over; I shall adjust his pillows so he doesn't wake with a cramped neck."
"I wouldn't dream of troubling you, Auntie," Emilia countered, the word 'Auntie' dripping with polite venom. "You've done enough walking for one day. Please, take a seat. I'll handle Julian."
"This servant is quite used to the work," Mathilde said with a mock-bow that was more of a challenge. She reached out as if to take Julian's shoulders.
Emilia didn't budge. She leaned down, her white hair falling over Julian's face like a protective curtain. "He looks so peaceful, doesn't he? It would be such a shame to wake him with... unnecessary movement."
Mathilde froze, her hand hovering in the air. Her face was a mask of "Reserved Authority," but her eyes were fuming with a jealousy that could melt the Swiss glaciers.
[System Notification: Conflict Status: Red.]
[Current Position: MC's head is on the Villainess's lap. Aunt's hand is on MC's shoulder. Both women are making eye contact that would kill a lesser man.]
Julian, blissfully unaware and deeply asleep, muttered something in his dreams. "Soft... like marshmallows..."
[Affection Spike: Mathilde (Possessiveness) +5 (Total: 86/100)]
[System Final Verdict: Congratulations, Julian. You've successfully turned a peaceful nap into a cold war. I'd suggest staying asleep. The moment you wake up, you're the primary target.]
The carriage lurched forward, starting the final descent toward the Italian border, with Julian trapped between a smiling Duchess and a silent, radiating Aunt.