Chapter 494: The Past Comes Knocking

The quiet courtyard of the main Valtrane estate in the North was quiet beneath the cold air of the late afternoon.

Winston sat behind his desk, his hair neatly combed back, his spectacles resting near the tip of his nose as he carefully reviewed the monthly ledger of northern grain stores. Though the young Duke and Marielle were away in the capital, the vast northern territory ran with the precision of a well-oiled clock under Winston’s watchful eyes.

A soft, polite knock echoed against the heavy door.

"Come in," Winston called out, his dry, voice cutting through the stillness of the room.

The door creaked open, and a young household messenger stepped inside, bowing deeply. "Forgive the interruption, Lord Winston. A fast courier from the capital just arrived at the gates."

The messenger stepped forward, placing the neatly folded parchment on the corner of the desk before bowing again and slipping quietly out of the room.

Winston picked up the letter. He ran a thumb over the smooth, wax seal. A small, faint smile softened the stern, lined face of the old secretary.

Breaking the wax with a subtle, practiced flick of his paper knife, Winston unfolded the thick paper and settled back into his chair.

Dear Winston,

I hope the northern weather isn’t being too ruthless with you, and I truly hope you aren’t feeling too lonely in that massive estate all by yourself. I know Flio or Reiner must have sent you updates on our progress, but I wanted to write to you personally.

Our stay in the capital has stretched far longer than any of us originally anticipated. It seems as though every time we resolve one disaster, two more pop up to take its place. To make matters a bit more complicated, it looks like our return home to the North will be delayed even further. Once our affairs at the royal palace are settled, Zarius, Marielle, and I will be making a trip down to the Southern provinces. It is nearing the anniversary of my family’s passing, and I need to settle a few old matters there.

I am truly sorry for leaving you to manage the entire northern territory on your own for so long. But considering you served as the great chief aide to the previous Duke, I know the estate is in the best possible hands. If anyone can keep the North standing without sweating, it’s you.

Speaking of your time as the previous Duke’s aide... there is something I have been meaning to ask you.

During our time in the capital, I happened to come across something rather unexpected. It raised a lot of quiet questions in my mind about the past, and about the circumstances surrounding House Valtrane.

Since I am to become a permanent part of Zarius’s family soon, I feel a strong desire to understand the history he carries on his shoulders. Zarius rarely speaks of those years, and I do not wish to press him on matters that may still cause him pain. But you were there, Winston. You served the former Duke and witnessed those years with your own eyes. If you are willing, could you tell me more about the late Duke, the late Duchess, and the days when the old ducal house stood as it once did? I simply wish to know the man I love a little better.

And please, do not mistake my questions for idle curiosity or think me some particularly troublesome young nobleman who has suddenly developed an unhealthy interest in other people’s family affairs. I promise you, I have no intention of rummaging through old records, cornering servants for gossip, or making a nuisance of myself around the estate. I genuinely wish to understand more about the family I am soon to call my own, the history, the people, and the circumstances that shaped the mighty House Valtrane into what it is today.

Please take care of your health, keep yourself warm, and do not work yourself to the bone.

Warmly,

Cherion.

Winston sat motionless in his high-backed chair, the parchment resting lightly between his ink-stained fingers. The crackle of the hearth seemed to grow faint, swallowed by the sudden, heavy silence settling over the room.

He slowly lowered the letter onto the polished desk, taking off his spectacles and rubbing the bridge of his nose with a weary, heavy sigh.

Cherion’s words were gentle, curious, and filled with the innocent devotion of someone who simply wanted to hold Zarius’s heart a little closer. But to Winston, who had lived through the blood, secrets, and quiet tragedies of the previous generation, those questions felt like pulling at a thread woven into a powder keg.

About late Duke and Duchess... Winston thought, his jaw tightening slightly. So the boy found it after all.

Slowly, Winston stood up from his desk. His knees gave a faint, stiff crack as he pushed himself up, but his posture remained rigid as he walked across the cold stone floor of the study. He stopped in front of the far wall, where a massive, gold-framed oil painting hung in the shadows, far away from the bright light of the fireplace.

It was the formal portrait of Lario Valtrane.

Winston stood before the old portrait for a long moment, his gaze lingering on the painted figure. Memories he had buried deep beneath decades of tax reports, border treaties, and silent loyalty came rushing back to the surface, memories of a quiet, beautiful woman whose smile had once lit up the cold corridors of the northern castle, and the terrible, royal storm that had torn her away.

"You always knew this day would come, didn’t you, my Lord?" Winston murmured softly to the painted face on the wall, his voice raspy and thin in the quiet room.

He turned his head toward the tall, arched window at the side of the study. Outside, the heavy grey clouds were gathering fast over the jagged northern mountain peaks. The wind whistled faintly against the thick glass panes, sounding like a low, mournful sigh from the frozen earth.

Winston looked up at the vast, darkening sky, crossing his hands behind his back.

He knew he could not keep everything in the dark forever, not when the young man was walking straight into the snake pit of capital politics with Zarius by his side. But telling him the truth about the late Duke and Duchess meant opening old wounds that could shatter the fragile peace between the Northern Ducal house and the royal throne.

Winston let out one long, heavy exhale, his breath turning into a faint mist in the chilly air near the window.

"Lord Cherion..." the old aide whispered into the silent room, his eyes fixed on the distant storm. "You have no idea what kind of truth you are trying to bring into the light."