The sound of hooves echoed in the valley as Aldric and his escort approached the castle of Count Leclerc. The banners fluttered weakly in the wind, and the guards at the gates watched them with open suspicion. Despite the formal invitation, no one lowered their spears.
Aldric raised a hand.
"Let me speak."
He removed his hood and advanced slowly. When the guards recognized his face, a murmur spread among them. One of them turned and disappeared inside, presumably to announce his arrival.
Charles, beside him, whispered:
"This is a risk. He may be more loyal to the duke than he claims."
"Or he's still deciding. That's why we're here," Aldric replied, not taking his eyes off the door.
After a long wait, the gate creaked open.
Inside, the atmosphere was thick with tension. The Count received him in the hall, surrounded by advisers and two of his sons. He didn't rise to greet Aldric but gestured to a seat.
"You come without army, without crown, and yet speak of peace," said Leclerc, voice like gravel. "Why should I listen?"
"Because the war is coming, whether you want it or not. And when it reaches your lands, you'll need more than titles to survive," Aldric replied calmly.
One of the sons stepped forward.
"My father doesn't take orders from upstarts. Especially not bastards playing at being lords."
Aldric turned his gaze to the boy, his voice low but sharp.
"And I don't waste time with children who mistake war for a tournament."
The tension thickened. Pierre, behind him, tightened his grip on a scroll. But Aldric remained still, watching Leclerc.
The Count finally leaned forward.
"My spies say you won a skirmish on the Senne. That you've held your lands with discipline."
"It wasn't luck. It was preparation. And a desire not to be anyone's pawn," Aldric said.
Leclerc studied him for a long moment.
"My people are afraid. The Duke offers protection. You offer resistance. Why should I choose you?"
Aldric stood.
"Because I'm not asking you to kneel to me. I'm asking you to stand with me. As allies."
He reached into his tunic and took out a letter—sealed with wax, the mark of House Voclain.
"My terms. Your lands remain yours. Your taxes stay here. And your men will not die in vain under another's banner."
Leclerc took the letter but didn't open it. He nodded to a servant.
"You'll have a room tonight. I'll read this. And I'll decide by dawn."
That night, Aldric stood by the window of the chamber assigned to him. The candle flickered, casting long shadows on the walls. In the distance, he could hear voices: soldiers laughing, a lute playing. Peace still lingered here, but it was thin, fragile.
Pierre entered silently.
"Scouts returned. Enemy troops moving north. Several camps already in formation."
Aldric didn't look away from the window.
"They'll attack soon."
"Do you think Leclerc will join us?"
Aldric exhaled slowly.
"He's a man who listens to the wind. If we prove we're stronger than the storm, he'll stand with us."
"And if not?"
"Then we move without him. The war is already here."