Chương 118: 48-2. Covenant of Handshakes

The lingering amusement in the dining room hadn't quite finished settling when measured footsteps echoed from beyond the door. Not a maid's steps. Not a guard's. Certainly not some hapless Eisenberg servant wandering into the wrong battlefield. No, that rhythm was far too familiar—familiar in the visceral way of a sound that had haunted my childhood, always arriving at the precise moment I hadn't yet hidden the evidence of my latest disaster.

The next instant, Victoria Rosa von Blackwell pushed the door open and stepped inside. She was dressed simply today: a dark gown with a light traveling cloak, her only jewelry a pair of earrings so small they were barely theoretical. But some people are simply constructed that way—no matter how understated their attire, they still move through the world as if the words "Do Not Provoke" have been hand-stitched into their very fabric.

Her gaze swept the room in one clean arc: first the breakfast spread, then Alvira in her offensively domestic apron, then Jessi still dying of suppressed laughter, and finally settling on Olivia and me. In that instant, the entire dining room went as silent as if the aforementioned stork had just been shot out of the sky. My first reaction wasn't guilt. It was shock.

"Sister," I blurted before I could stop myself.

"How did you know the Eisenberg residence?" Victoria didn't spare me so much as a glance. She pulled off her gloves with deliberate precision, her tone level as a judge delivering a predetermined verdict.

"If I didn't know, how would I be your sister?" My mouth opened. It closed. The logic was airtight, devastating, and entirely immune to appeal. As a younger brother who had just climbed down from—to be precise about it—under another young lady's blankets, I was in absolutely no position to argue. Jessi had her teeth sunk into the back of her hand, shoulders shaking violently as she fought to contain herself.

Alvira stood beside the table still wearing that damned, unreasonably homey apron, her expression having returned to its customary frost—save for the lingering red at the tips of her ears, which made her look precisely like an elf who had just finished cooking and was now preparing to observe a family tribunal from the sidelines. Olivia, by contrast, was perfectly composed. She even rose slightly, offering Victoria a graceful nod.

"Greetings, Miss Victoria. I confess, your personal visit this early is somewhat unexpected."

"You brought my brother back to your private residence for the night," Victoria replied with mild precision.

"If I weren't at least mildly surprised, I would be rather negligent in my duties." The delivery was casual. The content was more than sufficient to make me consider swallowing my fork whole to spare myself the agony of speaking later. Olivia received it without so much as a flicker, accepting the accusation as gracefully as if it had been served on fine china.

"The circumstances last night were... particular. Lord Cedric's condition made returning to the Blackwell estate inadvisable. I merely selected a place where he could rest undisturbed."

"I can see that." Victoria's gaze drifted to me, then to Jessi, who was still barely functional.

"At the very least, he appears to be alive this morning. That alone warrants my gratitude." I couldn't shake the feeling that the first half of that sentence was a compliment while the second half was a preliminary autopsy report. Victoria approached the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down with the unhurried ease of someone taking her rightful place.

She had always possessed this particular gift—whether stepping into someone else's home or someone else's situation, the moment she settled, everyone else began to wonder if they were the ones who had wandered in uninvited.

"Sit," she said, glancing at me.

"Why are you standing there? Waiting for someone to read out the charges?" I sat back down without a word. Jessi finally lost her battle, letting out a sharp snort of laughter that she immediately tried to disguise as a cough, performing the role of someone merely overwhelmed by breakfast aromas with deeply unconvincing commitment. Victoria turned to look at her.

"Have you finished?"

"Not quite yet, ma'am," Jessi replied with admirable honesty.

"Then get it out now," Victoria said.

"Once we move to business, I don't want to hear another word about storks." Jessi snapped upright instantly, like a fox called to attention, her expression smoothing into something so prim and proper it was almost suspicious.

"Yes, ma'am." Watching this exchange, an odd realization settled over me—the quiet, unsettling understanding that last night's rare peace had been nothing more than a temporary reprieve, a small mercy the Empire had deigned to grant before rescinding it at sunrise. And now here we all were: sister, elf, thief, and noble daughter, assembled and accounted for, each taking turns reminding me that there were still countless ways for my head to keep aching.

Alvira broke the moment by setting down the final dish with a decisive click.

"Everyone's here. Eat while we talk. Any longer and the eggs will overcook." Victoria looked at her, her tone unexpectedly gentle.

"You have my thanks for the trouble." Something shifted almost imperceptibly in Alvira's expression—the faintest twitch, like someone unprepared to be thanked so directly. She turned her face away, voice remaining as hard as ever.

"I simply happened to wake early." From the sidelines, Jessi murmured under her breath, "And happened to put on an apron, and happened to cook for four—oh, five now." Alvira turned and fixed her with a look sharp enough to core an apple.

"Say one more word and I'll make sure you get half a portion."

"See?" I muttered to Olivia.

"This is what mornings in the capital look like. Very wholesome." A hint of warmth flickered in Olivia's eyes, but she didn't take the bait. Instead, she reached over and slid a cup of warm tea toward my hand. The motion was so natural it barely registered—the same effortless grace with which she had brought me here last night and seated me at this table this morning, as though she had simply, quietly, decided to be responsible for that. The thought was dangerous.

I lowered my head and drank my tea before it could develop any further. Victoria cut through her fried egg with precise strokes, slicing open what had been passing for dignified silence. When everyone had finally settled into their seats, she set down her utensils and spoke.

"Enough. Let's talk business." One sentence, and the laughter in the room behaved like something that had been lightly tapped with the flat of a blade—not severed, but obediently retreating to the edges. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. I set down my teacup and accepted the inevitable. Victoria raised her eyes to meet mine.

"Start with your assessment. Last night's appointment—what do you think His Majesty actually wants?" I stared at the neatly sliced sausage on my plate, considered for a moment, then spoke.

"On the surface, he's sending me south as an envoy to the Dragon Kingdom—mediate, negotiate a ceasefire, at minimum stall the situation." I paused.

"In reality, he wants to free his hands to deal with the Yanxia Empire. As long as the South stays chaotic, the capital has to keep splitting its focus. Throw me over there, and regardless of whether I succeed or fail, at least someone's holding that end of the rope for him." Victoria nodded once.

"And?"

"And having me in the capital right now is entirely too inconvenient." I allowed myself a dry smile.

"The newly confirmed Rosa heir who just yesterday stirred up a spectacular scene before the throne, dragging the royal family, the Northern Reaches, and half a dozen unsavory rumors into the same mess. Shipping me south right now looks like a promotion—and counts as very tidy housekeeping."

"Good," Victoria said.

"At least you haven't slept your wits away." Jessi muttered under her breath, "That remains to be seen."

"I heard that," I said.

"I meant for you to." Alvira shot her a withering look, then cut in with glacial precision.

"What concerns me more is the actual extent of chaos in the South. If this were ordinary internal strife, His Majesty wouldn't be in such a hurry to dispatch you. The urgency means either someone's about to win, or someone else has already made the first move." Without Lucas present, lacking that clipped military-briefing tone, the same assessment from Alvira somehow landed colder. She wasn't speculating. She was dissecting. Olivia picked up the thread seamlessly.

"The Yanxia Empire." Victoria nodded.

"My conclusion as well. If the South were merely fighting itself, the capital could afford to watch and wait. But the moment Yanxia extends its reach, this stops being a Southern problem. It becomes a question of whether the Empire's southeastern strategic corridor can be pried open from the sea." She turned her gaze to Olivia.

"When you mentioned the maritime trade routes at the banquet last night, I assume that wasn't a casual afterthought?" Olivia's expression remained perfectly composed.

"Of course not," she replied with measured grace.

"Eisenberg ships have been running southern routes in recent years. If the Southern Dragon Kingdom truly spirals into complete collapse, the first casualties won't be noble reputations—it'll be grain, iron, medicine, salt. The things that drive people to madness when they vanish. If Yanxia truly intends to infiltrate while the opportunity exists, they don't need to deploy troops first. They simply need to choke a few key sea routes and wait for the South to starve itself into fractures."

Alvira's brow drew fractionally lower.

"So Cedric isn't going just to negotiate a ceasefire."

"Correct," Victoria said.

"He also has to observe who is actually setting prices down there, who truly holds the blades, and who has already established contact with Yanxia." I looked down at my breakfast and suddenly felt a profound appreciation for food as a concept. The fact that a human being could chew bread while listening to others methodically slice his future into pieces and scatter it across a southern war zone—truly, the survival instinct was a thing of remarkable resilience. Jessi finally sobered, propping her chin on one hand.

"Then we have a very practical question." Victoria looked at her.

"Which is?"

"Is Lord Cedric traveling as an Imperial envoy, or as the new Rosa heir?" She blinked innocently.

"Those two identities look similar on paper, but the way people carve you up differs quite a bit." I very much wanted to tell her that was the most thoughtfully delivered threat to my existence I'd ever received. Victoria didn't dispute it.

"Both," she said.

"And neither fully."

"Meaning?" I asked. She regarded me with the calm of someone mentally sorting through luggage on my behalf.

"The envoy identity gets you through the door. The Rosa name gives you weight. But if you lean too heavily Imperial, the South will guard against you. If you lean too heavily on newly elevated Northern nobility, the capital will start watching you with suspicion. The real difficulty isn't entering the South—it's making every faction believe you're useful once you're there, while ensuring none conclude you're useful enough to justify eliminating preemptively." I sat in silence for two heartbeats, then nodded.

Wonderful. In other words, I wasn't going as a person. I was going as a particular kind of tool—one that walks and talks and breathes, and which every interested party would want to keep alive just long enough to see if it might fetch a decent price. Olivia must have caught the particular shade of self-loathing crossing my face, because she tapped the table once with her fingertip.

"You don't need to think of yourself as a sacrifice just yet." I looked up at her. She held my gaze, her tone steadier than anything else at the table.

"His Majesty intends to use you to stall the South, yes. But that doesn't mean you're limited to the function you've been assigned." She paused.

"If you can actually establish a foothold there—whether through ceasefire, mediation, or leveraging the situation to push back against Yanxia—then when you return, the capital will find it considerably harder to treat you as mere expendable material." Victoria didn't respond immediately. She simply looked at Olivia for a moment, then gave a quiet nod.

"That's accurate." I had the sudden urge to laugh. Of all the things I might have predicted this morning—an Eisenberg daughter and my sister reaching consensus across a breakfast table was not among them. The Empire's situation must be genuinely dire, if even miracles had started taking the common road. Alvira set her fork against the rim of her plate with decisive finality.

"Then we move to personnel." That phrase dropped the room's temperature, pulling us cleanly away from stork-and-breakfast-theater and back toward how to package Cedric for southbound shipment without guaranteeing immediate return. Victoria looked up.

"Correct. Who accompanies him, in what capacity—the roster cannot be left entirely to the palace." Jessi's hand shot up immediately, like a model student who had done the reading.

"Me." I gave her a sideways look.

"That was fast."

"I was afraid if I waited, the young mistress would assign me to garrison duty."

"Staying behind sounds perfectly reasonable."

"It isn't," Jessi said with complete sincerity.

"Lord Cedric traveling alone is a liability. You're susceptible to being deceived, sold, scammed, and you have this unfortunate habit of blurting out truth precisely when strategic stupidity is called for. If I don't go, the South will devour you before Yanxia even gets the chance."

"You certainly think highly of me."

"Not particularly," she said.

"I think highly of everyone else." I closed my eyes and decided against settling this at the breakfast table. Alvira spoke without preamble.

"I'm going as well." Every head turned. Her expression hadn't shifted, not even the tips of her ears had colored. She stated it as if this weren't a spur-of-the-moment decision, but the most natural conclusion in the world. Victoria studied her.

"Your reasoning."

"The South is neither the capital nor the northern borders," Alvira said evenly.

"When it comes to negotiation, some parties evaluate credentials first; others evaluate blades. My presence ensures the latter group thinks twice before opening their mouths." Jessi chuckled immediately.

"So Miss Alvira is going to protect Ced—""Shut up," Alvira said.

"Yes, ma'am." Olivia, notably, didn't rush to declare her intentions either way, and that restraint alone made me look at her twice. She noticed, but merely set her teacup down with unhurried grace.

"I won't be going," she said. Even Jessi blinked at that.

"Oh?" Victoria showed no surprise. Olivia met my eyes, her voice perfectly steady.

"If I accompany you, this mission starts to look like Eisenberg positioning itself in the South ahead of time. That's bad for you, and bad for me." She paused.

"But supply lines, route planning, intelligence on the maritime networks, the relevant connections—I'll have all of it prepared before you depart." Something shifted, very quietly, somewhere inside me. That was her. She wouldn't force her way into the delegation, wouldn't claim a seat, wouldn't insert herself for appearances. She'd simply ensure that everything genuinely useful—the kind of things that would stay in your hands and keep working long after she stepped back—was already in place.

It was more ruthless than I'll come with you, because it wasn't sentiment. It was architecture. Victoria nodded.

"That's the right call."

"I know," Olivia replied without particular pride. I looked at her, wanting suddenly to say something too large for this table. In the end, I simply lowered my head and cut into my breakfast. One more word and I'd steer this conversation somewhere requiring a very different kind of discussion. Victoria surveyed the room and delivered her conclusions.

"Good. That's settled," she said with the economy of someone who had been running logistics since before the rest of us woke up.

"Within today: I handle the palace-side personnel and official roster. Olivia compiles the sea route and trade intelligence. Alvira prepares the relevant armaments and linguistic materials for the South. Jessi—""Present."

"You're watching him." She tilted her chin toward me.

"Don't let him sign a second indenture contract before official departure—whether it's a prince, princess, or another stork that comes calling." The table held silence for exactly one beat. Then Jessi broke first, her laughter spilling out bright and clear. Alvira ducked her head with considerable force. Olivia turned her face away, one shoulder giving the smallest, most traitorous tremor. Even Victoria—even Victoria—had something happening at the corner of her mouth that could not be entirely explained away.

I sat there and understood, with perfect clarity, the true nature of my situation. The most terrifying thing in this world has never been having someone joke about your most embarrassing moments. It's your own sister catching the punchline and delivering it smoother than anyone else at the table. I set down my knife and fork, expression flat as a judge delivering sentence.

"Wonderful. Seems I won't be needing breakfast today after all. Humiliation alone provides adequate daily sustenance." Jessi responded without missing a beat:"That won't do at all, Lord Cedric. You are currently valuable Imperial cargo bound for the South. Delivering damaged goods reflects poorly on everyone involved." Another wave of laughter rolled through the room.

And I looked around at this table of women and told myself, with perfect composure, the simple truth of my situation— The Southern Dragon Kingdom might be dangerous. The Yanxia Empire was undeniably formidable. But before any of that, I still had one obstacle standing directly between me and departure. Namely: finding some way, in whatever time remained, to salvage the last surviving fragments of my human dignity from the people currently seated around this table.