Chapter 130: Failed Reconciliation

Silence stretched thin between them for a few seconds. Lord Rowan spoke again.

"We made a mistake. We admit that. But we’re here now. We want to make amends."

"Make amends."

"Yes."

"You disowned her. You cut her off. You left her with nothing. And now that she’s a baroness—now that she has something you want—you want to make amends."

Lord Rowan’s face flushed.

"That’s not—"

"That’s exactly what it is." Emeric stepped closer. "You didn’t come here for her. You came here for what she has. The title. The land. The connection."

"We came here for our daughter."

"You came here for your reputation."

Lady Marisse’s smile vanished.

"How dare you—"

"How dare I?" Emeric’s voice was cold. "You disowned her. You left her to die. And now you stand here in my courtyard and pretend you care."

"We are her family."

"You were her family. Now you’re nothing."

Lord Rowan’s hands clenched.

"You’re making a mistake, Halden."

"No. I’m correcting one."

He turned. Walked toward the manor.

"You can leave now. Or you can be escorted. Your choice."

He didn’t look back.

The door closed behind him.

Isolde was in the entrance hall. Her chair was positioned near the window. She had heard everything.

"Emeric."

He crossed to her and knelt down beside her chair.

"I’m sorry. I should have—"

"Don’t apologize." Her voice was quiet. "You did what I couldn’t."

He looked at her.

She reached for his hand.

"Thank you."

He squeezed her fingers.

"Always."

She looked toward the door. Her expression was unreadable.

"They’re still out there."

"I know."

"They won’t leave. Not after that."

"They can stay there for all I care.."

She was quiet for a moment.

"What do we do?"

Emeric stood, glancing at the door. Then back at her.

"We wait. They’ll either leave or they’ll try something else. Either way—we’re ready."

She nodded.

"Okay."

The door opened.

Graves appeared shortly after, his expression was neutral as always. But there was something in his eyes. It may have been the first hint of emotion shown by this man.

"My lord. They’re asking to speak with the baroness."

Emeric’s jaw tightened.

"Tell them no."

"My lord—"

"Tell them no. She doesn’t want to see them. And if they push—escort them off the property."

Graves inclined his head.

"Yes, my lord."

He turned and left.

Isolde looked at Emeric.

She reached for his hand again.

"Thank you."

The afternoon passed slowly.

Emeric stayed with Isolde. In the entrance hall. Near the window.

The door opened and Graves appeared again.

"My lord. They’ve left."

Emeric looked up, soaring him a short glance before he focused on his wife.

"All of them?"

"Yes, my lord. They seemed... displeased."

"I’m sure they did."

Graves hesitated.

"My lord. Lord Rowan said something before he left."

"What?"

"He said—this isn’t over."

Emeric’s jaw tightened.

"Of course it isn’t."

He dismissed Graves and gave Isolde a quick kiss.

He headed to the study, determined to get some work done to take his mind off this rather upsetting episode.

He reached for the system.

---

[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]

[NEW THREAT DETECTED — HOUSE ROWAN]

[STATUS: HOSTILE — ACTIVE]

[MOTIVE: RECONNECTION — TITLE, LAND, INFLUENCE]

[METHOD: UNKNOWN]

---

Emeric closed the notification.

He knew that there was a reason they suddenly wanted their daughter back.

He had been bracing for this for a while.

Actually, he half expected the duke to reach out to him first.

He looked out the window. The sun was setting. The sky was red.

He could care less which of them reached out first. They had no place in their lives.

---

The next morning.

Emeric was in the courtyard, inspecting the work being done.

The sound of hammers, saws and voices of the craftsmen filled the air. They were already at work. The village was almost done. The estate’s repairs were also progressing.

Pip had brought him his horse.

He inspected the files The farmers were in the fields. The drained marshland. The crops were planted. Green shoots were beginning to emerge. The irrigation channels were working. The water flowed where it was needed.

He stopped at the edge of the field. Watched.

It’s working.

A child ran up to him.

"My lord! My lord!"

He looked down.

It was the girl. The one he had saved from the locusts. She was holding a flower. A small thing that looked quite delicate.

"For you," she said.

He took it and looked at it. Then at her.

"Thank you."

She beamed. Ran back to her mother.

Emeric watched her go.

This made it all worth it.

That afternoon.

Bjorn found him in the study again.

"The village is done."

Emeric looked up.

"Done?"

"Done. Forty-seven houses rebuilt. Twenty-three repaired. The well is clean. The temple has its roof. The market is back. The people are moving back in."

Emeric stood. Crossed to the window. Looked out at the village.

"Show me."

They walked through the village.

The houses were new. The roofs were fresh. The walls were painted. The doors were hung. The windows gleamed.

The villagers were moving in. Carrying furniture. Supplies. Belongings. Children ran through the streets. Dogs barked. Women hung clothes on lines. Men repaired fences.

It was alive.

Emeric stopped in the square and looked around.

An old woman approached. The same woman who had thanked him before. The one who had said "maybe you’re different after all."

"My lord."

He turned.

"The village is rebuilt. Because of you."

"I didn’t do it alone."

"No. But you started it. You gave us hope." She paused. "The other barons would have let us die. You didn’t."

She reached out. Took his hand.

"Thank you."

He looked at her. At her weathered face. Her gnarled hands. Her eyes.

"You’re welcome."

That evening.

Emeric returned to the estate.

Isolde was in the library. The newly done one. She was reading. A book of poems. The same book she had found in the desk.

He walked in slowly.

"The village is done."

She looked up.

"Done?"

"Done. The people are moving back in. The houses are rebuilt. The well is clean. The temple has its roof. The market is back."

She smiled. Soft. Warm.

"That’s wonderful."

"It is."

She reached for his hand.

"You did it."

"We did it."

She squeezed his fingers.

"Together."