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Forgotten QM !!cRQ2bB+8b3B ID:V+nbsePW Wed 10 Jul 2024 13:19:41 No.6055724 View View Report

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Still, even the well-travelled Frida had to admit that Romaine in the early onset of winter defied her expectations. She had anticipated a rather dreary and foreboding landscape, barren trees and desolate fields haunted by the terrors of the night and a grinning skeleton or what-have-you staring out over every hedge and under every bridge. So it was a pleasant surprise to ride through the roads of northern Romaine with her honour guard and be greeted with picturesque views of the last remnants of autumn in this fertile realm at every turn. True, the duchy wasn’t anywhere near as pretty as it had been when Frida last attended the Summer Tourney held here years ago as a child, but Romaine in winter wasn’t the windswept wasteland she had expected either. At least not yet. The winds were getting colder and the first frosts had begun to form, but even the commonfolk had been hospitable wherever they stayed. They were a vivacious sort, the Romani, once one’s charm aptly disarmed them of their grim outlook on the coming winter and life in general. Maybe they were just happy to see anyone passing through that still held a pulse, ones more likely to buy bread than steal souls etcetera. The Vancewell heraldry had turned a few heads, sure, but few let that get in the way of some honest coin in exchange for bed and board fit for a lady of Frida’s rank (and being generous when it came to prices helped, of course).

It was a calculated move, of course. The idea of seriously courting Sir Emile Andrei remained ludicrous, but there was an advantage to be had in holding off from snuffing out the possibility of some improvement in relations. Daddy had barely but to hear a targeted whisper that some of the Faction’s other main proponents were possibly taking the efforts of House Vancewell for him to accede to his daughter’s plan (himself still convinced he had concocted the whole scheme of course). A tour of the allies in the region here, a snubbing of certain parties at a certain wedding there, and he was convinced in Frida’s little expedition ahead of the calling of the Montbrun banners. Frida hadn’t even needed to make the point that it could also serve to lull House Andrei into a position where revenge for their part in poor Hast’s unjust execution might be exacted.

With Frida already conducting a tour of those houses in the Duchy as it was, she had all the freedom needed to pursue anything that might catch her interest whilst travelling. The captain of her honour guard, Sir Christoph Ballestrem, had taken Frida’s impromptu decision for detour on the way to Grenoble in his stride. Frida typically got what she wanted, and that included the Vancewell men-at-arms doing her bidding with the unquestioning compliance they would exhibit had the orders come from her father’s own mouth.

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Forgotten QM !!cRQ2bB+8b3B ID:DzQ9DZeK Mon 03 Apr 2023 12:29:32 No.5625420 View View Report

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“Yes, daddy.” Frida pouted absentmindedly, puffing her cheeks as she slouched back in her chair. The dirk now rested in her palm, perfectly balanced. “I was just waiting for the sweet Lady Vancewell to join us. Isn’t she coming to dinner?”

“She is feeling unwell again.” Lord Vancewell huffed, wiping his mouth. “Damn woman still hasn’t adjusted to the mountain cold since she first got her.”

“Oh that is a shame.” Frida hardly needed to act nonchalant, she really had more important schemes to care about than the fate of daddy’s third wife. “I do so enjoy hearing about her embroidery.”

“That makes one of us.” Lord Vancewell paused, sparing the dirk in his daughter’s hand more than a passing glance for the first time. “Where did you get that anyway? I don’t think it’s one of mine.”

“It was a gift, daddy.” Frida looked at her father indulgently, each bat of the eyelash a calculated decision.

“A gift?” Lord Vancewell’s eye twitched as his neck swivelled in her direction, tone turning incredulous as he rose from his seat. “You mean a threat?! Someone threatens MY daughter!?!”

“Hm.” For a moment, Frida considered the utility of misdirecting her father’s rage to someone that suited her. But the moment passed, too many disadvantages to play the lie that way. This time, at least. “It’s not like that, daddy. It’s a gift from a boy.”

“Well…good.” Lord Vancewell seemed somewhat deflated as he sat back down. Frida knew, better than him even, that the man was never happier than when finding new enemies. Except perhaps when doing away with old ones. Everyone needs a hobby, Frida supposed. “Yes, very good. Well, just remember what a told you. Keep them playing against each other, driving the price up. My daughter will have the pick of the litter, I don’t doubt. And House Vancewell will net the rewards in full.”

“Of course, daddy. And then your son…” Frida nodded along, she had heard all this before. Since the death of her brother she had never been in higher demand, and Lord Vancewell was convinced he was going to have another heir soon enough.

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