The air in Ehrenwald that evening was nothing like the biting cold of Eishtal. The snow had long since vanished, leaving behind a stretch of green mountains and rocky hills blanketed in grass. The breeze carried a strange mix of dry and damp scents, unfamiliar to the Duke's nose, but it was softer now, laced with the smoky tang of hearth fires, charcoal, and the bustle of the market drifting in from the brick houses lining the road. Familiar enough to ground him.
But the mood shifted in an instant.
The sharp clatter of hooves echoed down the main street.
People spilled out of shops and alleyways, turning their heads almost in unison. Eyes widened as a black, steel-plated carriage rolled past, its massive wheels glinting under the pale light. On the door, etched in stark relief, was the emblem of a black wolf with glowing red eyes, the unmistakable symbol of Eishtal's power and pride.
Whispers erupted like sparks.
"Wait—am I seeing things? That's... that's the black wolf crest…"
"Is that the Duke's carriage? From the South?"
"You mean Matthias Von Ignaz?"
"You're kidding." A man blinked at his companion, stunned. "That's really him? The Duke of the South? What the hell's he's doing here?"
"No clue. Maybe he's here to meet with Viscount Von Meier."
A cocktail of awe, fear, and curiosity swept through the crowd. Matthias's name was more myth than man—some called him a tyrant cloaked in shadows, ruling the frozen lands of the South. Others claimed he was nothing but a phantom guarding the border from unseen enemies. But now, that emblem was right in front of them. Real. Undeniable.
Inside the carriage, Matthias pulled back the sheer curtain covering the window. His gaze swept over the crowd lining Ehrenwald's main street, faces full of wonder, some even bowing slightly, as if the southern entourage were something out of legend.
Greta peeked out beside him, her lips curling into a faint smile.
"Looks like they're pretty taken with your carriage, Your Grace," she said lightly, her tone teasing but not unkind.
Matthias let the curtain fall and leaned back against the plush seat. His smile was thin, almost mocking.
"Don't they have anything better to admire?"
Greta turned to him, her eyes clear but layered with meaning.
"There's not much here worth admiring," she said. "Even a baron's carriage is enough to spark gossip for weeks. But a Duke's? With an entourage like yours?" She paused, her voice softening. "They're not used to grandeur like this. That's why every eye's locked on you."
He snorted, but his gaze lingered on her face, catching something beneath the surface. Nostalgia. Maybe even old wounds. He knew her words weren't just observations. They were memory.
Greta looked down, fingers brushing the fabric of her dress.
"When I lived here, the only carriages that ever came were from neighboring barons. They'd stop by to talk business with my father. Nothing more. Nothing this crowded. Nothing this extravagant."
The carriage jolted gently as its wheels bumped over the cobblestones. Greta sighed, deeper this time, and glanced out again. Her voice shifted, tinged with something bitter.
"Ehrenwald's just a quiet place. It's never had luxury. You're a rare kind of luxury to them. Something foreign. Maybe even the only thing they've ever dared to hope for… even if it's just admiration."
Matthias studied her in silence, weighing every word. To him, Greta's voice held more truth than the cheers outside ever could.
He gave a dry, cynical smile.
"Should I be honored by that?" he asked, voice low and dismissive.
Greta met his gaze head-on.
"Take it however you want," she said flatly.
His smile widened, just a touch, like someone who'd found a crack in the armor to poke at.
"That's it? No sweeter answer for my ears, Lady von Meier? Sounds more like you're mocking me."
Greta drew a long breath, steadying herself.
"For someone who barely leaves his frozen fortress in the South, even when summoned to the palace, and then suddenly shows up in a half-ruined town like this… of course, people think it's strange. So yeah, they're excited. Even if that's not what you came for."
Matthias chuckled under his breath. A short, satisfied sound. He didn't reply, just leaned back with his arms folded, occasionally shaking his head like he agreed with her, but wasn't about to say it out loud.
The carriage rolled steadily forward, its long procession trailing behind as it wound through the city streets toward the heart of Ehrenwald.
It took nearly fifteen minutes before the wheels finally slowed, stopping in front of the grand gates of the Von Meier estate.
The family crest still stood proud above the arch, though the paint was fading. The guards, usually upright and confident, now looked stiff. Their hands gripped their spears a little too tightly. A few even swallowed hard when they caught sight of the black wolf etched into the carriage's side, a symbol of Eishtal's pride, rarely seen this far west.
The carriage door creaked open.
Matthias stepped out first, tall and imposing, his long black coat fluttering in the breeze. His eyes were sharp, calm, like this foreign land was nothing worth fussing over.
Greta followed, descending slowly. Her dark, simple dress hugged her frame, and that very simplicity made her pale face stand out even more, an eerie contrast to the cold aura radiating from the Duke.
On the mansion steps, the line of servants faltered. A few forgot to bow, too busy whispering and glancing at each other. The tension thickened. Breath caught in his throat. No one could believe what they were seeing: Lady Greta, long absent, stepping out of the Duke's carriage.
Inside the mansion, the news spread like wildfire.
Hellene Von Meier rushed down the stairs, dressed haphazard, face pale as chalk. She froze in the doorway, eyes wide as she saw Greta standing beside the Duke of Eishtal. Her hands trembled, clutching her gown so tightly the fabric wrinkled. She stood beside her father, who looked just as stunned, unable to process the sight of his daughter arriving with a man who'd never once attended a royal summit.
"Greta…" Her voice cracked, barely audible. "Father, she didn't actually bring Duke Matthias Von Ignaz, did she?"
No answer. Her father was still frozen, mouth slightly open.
Greta turned slowly as Matthias offered his hand to help her down. Her gaze was steady, not a hint of hesitation—just cold certainty that made Hellene's panic spike.
Matthias smiled at Greta, then swept his eyes across the estate like a ruler surveying his conquest. He took in every face gathered at the mansion gates, including Viscount Von Meier, whose usual arrogance looked dangerously close to crumbling.
The servants bowed in unison.
The air grew heavy.
No one dared breathe.
Just like his daughter Hellene, Viscount Welhem Conrad Albrecht Von Meier stood frozen, pale as frost. A thin sheen of sweat clung to his temples, despite the lingering chill in the air.
Because in all the decades since he inherited his noble title from his father, this was the first time he'd laid eyes on the Duke who ruled the frozen South.
His gaze locked onto the black wolf crest etched into the carriage now parked in his courtyard. His chest tightened. That symbol wasn't just decoration, it was a warning. A sign of power that had no business was in Ehrenwald.
And there Matthias stood. Tall. Unshaken. Cloaked in black, his crimson eyes calm and commanding.
Beside him, Greta stood poised in her modest gown, her stare fixed on her father, cold, unwavering.
"Father," Hellene whispered, her voice barely audible as she leaned toward him, "Can you please tell me, is that really Duke Matthias Von Ignaz?"
But the Viscount didn't answer.
He swallowed hard, throat dry, words stuck somewhere behind his teeth. He tried to square his shoulders, to summon the dignity of his station, but his movements betrayed him, nervous, stiff, uncertain.
"Father, hey—"
He ignored her.
Instead, the Viscount stepped forward, making his way toward Greta and the Duke, who stood like sentinels beside the carriage.
"Y–Your Grace…" His voice cracked before he forced it into something resembling respect. He bowed low lower than he ever had to any noble. "It is an immense honor for the Von Meier family to welcome you to Ehrenwald."
But before he could finish his formal greeting, his eyes flicked to Greta.
She hadn't bowed. Not even a nod.
His eyes widened, disbelief washing over him.
His daughter, the one who'd vanished without a word, the one he'd assumed was lost forever, maybe even dead somewhere in the South, was standing beside the ruler of that icy land, as if her entire story had been rewritten.
"Greta…" His voice was hoarse, more breath than sound. Bitterness, fear, and something like guilt tangled in his throat. "I'm truly glad you've come back."
Greta didn't respond. She dipped her head slightly, just enough to hide the faintest trace of a smile.
Matthias remained silent. His gaze on the Viscount was unreadable, part judgment, part predator's patience.
And for Viscount Welhem Conrad, the truth was clear:
His daughter had returned.
But not like the girl he once controlled. Greta had come back with the shadow of the South at her side. And that shadow now stood at his doorstep.