The Spring Summoner and the Winter Duke

A Marriage Mandate

Aric wiped the blood from his sword, his heart still racing as he surveyed the aftermath. Snow stained black with aedra blood, the bodies of his fallen knights strewn across the clearing, their sacrifice hauntingly silent in the bitter cold.

He could only hope the worst was behind them.

After burning the carcasses, they continued on their journey. The towering gates of Frostspire Keep swung open with a low groan, revealing the familiar sight of his home at last. Duke Aric’s black cloak was stiff with dried snow and mud, his hair tousled from battle. Even though his dark clothes blended with the heavy shadows of the stone hallways, the disarray in his appearance was unmistakable. His jaw clenched in frustration, both from the recent skirmish and the lingering questions gnawing at him. Yet, as the castle came into view, with its high walls and looming battlements perched on the cliff’s edge, a sliver of relief threaded through the tension in his shoulders.

He was home.

Beside him, Garen, followed silently. The man was a tower of muscle, quiet and stoic, his cold grey eyes never betraying his thoughts. Aric trusted his long time brother-in-arms with his life, even though the knight rarely spoke more than a few words at a time.

As they entered the grand hall, lined with banners and relics of his ancestors’ past victories, the servants stood at attention. They formed neat rows on either side, their heads bowed in deference. The chamberlain, Joachim, with his wispy grey hair and sharp eyes, stepped forward, looking every bit the part of a Northern butler, with his stiff posture and deeply furrowed brow. Despite his age, the man’s gait was brisk as he approached the duke.

“Welcome home, Your Grace,” Joachim greeted, his voice smooth but full of the formality expected of him. The aide nodded in polite silence beside him.

Aric gave them a terse nod in return, casting a glance over the assembled servants. “Thank you. You are all dismissed. Continue with whatever I interrupted.”

The servants quickly dispersed, moving like shadows back to their various duties. The hall was soon quiet again, save for the soft crackling of the hearths. Joachim stepped forward, his aged face creased with concern. “Your Grace, would you care for a meal? After your long journey and... the battle?”

Aric ran a hand through his disheveled hair, the weight of the day pressing heavily on him. “A bath first, Joachim,” he said gruffly. “I’ll eat later.”

“As you wish, Your Grace,” Joachim replied, bowing his head slightly. “It will be prepared at once. Also,” he added, as if remembering, “a letter arrived while you were away. Shall I bring it to your chambers?”

Aric waved a hand dismissively. “Later. It can wait.”

The chamberlain nodded, he orders the remaining servants to prepare the bath. Aric watched them go, the quiet efficiency of his household somewhat soothing the turmoil still swirling inside him.

He made his way to his chambers, Garen trailing behind in silence. Frostspire Keep was as cold and unyielding as its name suggested, the grey stone walls doing little to warm the soul. Yet, for Aric, this place had always been a fortress, a shield against the outside world, where he could retreat into solitude and quiet. He had long since decided that the company of others was more trouble than it was worth—especially women.

No personal maids had ever been assigned to him. He’d had more than enough of that after one too many experiences with their sly attempts to manipulate, to charm, or to exploit his station. He preferred to do things himself, to be left in peace.

Once the bath was ready, he stepped into the steaming water with a sigh of relief. The sharp scent of pine filled the room, just the way he liked it. The warmth soaked into his sore muscles, washing away the grime of battle, easing the stiffness in his limbs. For a moment, he allowed himself to close his eyes, to let the tension melt away. His thoughts drifted aimlessly, carried by the calming scent of the bath.

But then, like a traitorous whisper in the back of his mind, a different scent intruded—a light, floral fragrance, delicate but persistent. It wasn’t like anything he’d smelled before in his northern home, nor was it like the cloying perfumes of the capital’s noblewomen that he despised so much. No, this scent was... fresher, softer.

He could see her again in his mind, even though he didn’t want to. He could almost hear her teasing voice, the way she had spoken to him so freely during their encounter at the imperial palace. Sinking into the water, his scowl deepened. The memory of her irreverence, her light laughter—it all grated on him.

Unpredictable. Stubborn. Confident to the point of arrogance.

Aric’s fingers tightened around the edge of the tub as he let out a long breath. She’s a problem, he told himself firmly. A problem he didn’t need, not when his mind should be focused on the real danger—the aedra. But the more he tried to push thoughts of her away, the more they lingered, like the floral scent that had now woven itself into his mind.

Damn her, he thought. Damn that smile.

Aric stepped out of the bath, wrapping a heavy robe around his still-damp form. The warmth from the water lingered on his skin, but the peace he had been seeking was short-lived as a firm knock came from the door. He paused, brows furrowing in annoyance. Who dared disturb him now?

When he opened the door, his aide stood there, a letter in hand. The man—Gerrick, older than the duke by several years, with weathered hands and a no-nonsense air—was known for his steady demeanor, never flustered, never out of place. But seeing him deliver the letter personally caused Aric to raise a brow.

“If you’re bringing this yourself, Gerrick, it must be important,” Aric remarked, eyeing the wax seal stamped on the letter.

Gerrick dipped his head respectfully but didn't suppress the faint amusement that tugged at his lips. “Your Grace, it carries the imperial seal.”

Aric’s brow knitted together even further. Of course, it does, he thought sourly. What does my cousin want now? He could already feel the irritation building as he recognized the crest on the wax—his cousin, the Emperor, was meddling again.

Gerrick had to fold his lips, clearly suppressing a chuckle as the duke’s scowl deepened.

“That’ll be all, Gerrick,” Aric said gruffly, reminded of the aide’s presence by his poorly hidden mirth.

The aide gave a curt nod and left without another word, leaving Aric alone with the letter. He broke the seal with a deliberate flick of his thumb and unfurled the parchment, the wax crumbling beneath his fingers.

As his eyes scanned the opening lines, his jaw tightened further. The Emperor’s casual, almost friendly tone grated on him. He had just returned from battling the demons, barely having settled back into his home, and now this?

Dear Cousin, the letter began. I know you’re not the most social of creatures, so I’ve taken the liberty of making things easier for you...

Aric groaned aloud, his hands clenching the letter tighter. What could that possibly mean? The Emperor always found ways to complicate things. His cousin was playful and indulgent in his position, using it to toy with others under the guise of familial affection.

As Aric read further, his mood darkened. The Emperor’s “brilliant” idea was to send Adelaide—Adelaide!—to the north so they could become better acquainted.

His brows furrowed, and he muttered, “What is that fool thinking?” His annoyance was palpable.

The letter continued in a tone that only stoked the flames of his irritation further. Since she is to be your bride, I thought it would be beneficial for her to get accustomed to the north before the wedding. It’s unconventional, but Adelaide is above such customs, and you are as well, dear cousin. Besides, it will give her time to acclimate to your keep, your people... and perhaps provide her a head start on her duties as the future Duchess of Aurenfell.

Aric’s hand twitched, tempted to crumple the parchment right then and there. Damn him, he thought. He couldn’t argue with the logic of the Emperor’s reasoning, but that didn’t mean he liked it.

And then his eyes landed on the final lines.

Oh, and by the by, you may expect her arrival on the morrow, following receipt of this letter. I trust you shall extend to her a suitably warm welcome.

Aric froze, rereading the line twice, then three times. He couldn’t believe it.

“What?!” His roar reverberated through the stone walls, startling every living soul within Frostspire Keep. Even the guards outside his chambers shifted uneasily at the sudden outburst, while servants paused mid-task, eyes wide and nervous.

Aric shot to his feet, still clutching the letter, and stormed toward the door, throwing it open. Joachim, his ever-efficient chamberlain, appeared at the bottom of the stairs, looking every bit the composed elder despite the thunderous noise that had just rocked the keep. His silver hair gleamed under the torchlight, and his expression remained one of quiet patience.

“Joachim!” Aric’s voice was strained, his frustration barely restrained. “When did we receive this letter?”

Joachim gave a polite bow, unfazed by the Duke’s booming temper. “Early this morning, Your Grace.”

Aric pinched the bridge of his nose in disbelief. This morning? That meant... His mind raced, and with each second, his headache worsened.

Joachim, noticing the tension in the duke's posture, exchanged a quick glance with Gerrick, who had also reappeared, concern etched in his face.

“Your Grace?” Joachim ventured cautiously, his voice gentle but probing. “Is something amiss?”

Aric’s jaw clenched, his teeth grinding audibly as he tried to calm himself. He wanted to curse his cousin to the high heavens for this meddling. But instead, he exhaled sharply, barely containing his frustration.

“My fiancée,” he said slowly, as if each word were dragged from his throat, “will be arriving tomorrow.”

It wasn’t just that the Emperor had sent her without asking—it was the woman herself. The thought of her presence here, in his domain, unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.

Damn it, cousin. He cursed under his breath, wondering what, exactly, he had done to deserve this.

Both Joachim and Gerrick exchanged a look of quiet surprise. "Fiancée?"