I headed downstairs to help Ju with the pest control work she’d asked for, and what do I find? My slippers—right there, on her feet! With a sigh and an eye roll, I resisted the urge to snatch them back and leave her barefoot. Maybe I let it slide because I was already wearing my boots.
After wrapping up the medical hour, we headed to the barn, where Ju insisted on giving me a horse riding lesson. “A baroness who can’t ride? Unacceptable,” she declared. Personally, I didn’t see the contradiction, but reasoning with her was futile. Before I knew it, I was being rhythmically jostled on the back of a 'gentle' mare, circling around Ju while she bombarded me with instructions—and colorful commentary about what the mare supposedly thought of me. She doesn’t actually speak horse, but she claims to interpret their body language. Or maybe she was just having fun and making it all up.
No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t get in sync with the beast. After a while, my backside felt sore enough to serve as a constant reminder of my failure. In my opinion, that was the only tangible outcome of this so-called training. Honestly, I started to suspect Ju might have a bit of a sadistic streak and had cleverly found a way to torment me under the guise of helpful instruction.
At noon, we had what Mike called a proper "business lunch," this time in a spacious room on the first floor. Previously occupied by the Xsoha, the area was now being reorganized under Mike’s direction. The room was conveniently closer to the kitchens, with wide windows that opened onto a terrace overlooking the castle’s inner yard. On the opposite side, a sturdy fireplace dominated the wall, adding a touch of warmth to the space.
A large mahogany table stretched lengthwise along the windows, its polished surface gleaming in the light. The floor was a mix of granite stones bordered by wooden plaques. I knew Mike had debated whether to replace the wood entirely or just restore it. For now, a thorough cleaning had left it looking serviceable enough for my taste.
The rest of the room was sparsely furnished, the walls bare and awaiting decoration. Mike, ever the perfectionist, was still working on it, though I didn’t mind the minimalist aesthetic for now.
The conversation centered mostly on administrative matters. Taking over the Xsoha’s duties had gone relatively smoothly, though a few minor errors and hiccups had cropped up here and there. I also discovered that the Xsoha hadn’t entirely vacated the domain. While they weren’t actively working here anymore, a group of them was still staying at the inn.
“What are they doing there?” I asked, puzzled. Why would they spend money to stay at the inn within the domain?
“Most of them moved on to the nearest town,” Alice said, confirming my suspicions. “But a few were left behind to manage their possessions within the domain.”
That caught me off guard.
“They have possessions here?” I asked, surprised.
Alice glanced at Durham, but when no one else spoke, she took it upon herself to answer.
“Yes, that’s what I’ve just learned. Apparently, the Xsoha own many of the peasants’ houses.”
“What? How is that even possible?” I asked, incredulous.
“Peasants borrow money from the Xsoha,” Durham explained. “When they can’t pay it back, their houses become Xsoha property. Now they pay rent for those houses in the form of money, work, or goods.” He seemed to know the most about these Xsoha dealings.
“But the land belongs to me—belongs to the domain,” I protested. “How can they own those houses?”
“The houses built by serfs on the domain are considered their property,” Ju explained calmly. “Of course, they need the domain owner’s approval to build, but traditionally, the domain owners don’t interfere with these rights. It’s similar to the parcels of land peasants farm.”
She continued, “The peasants have parcels that are technically theirs, though they still belong to the domain. They pay for those parcels with a portion of their harvest. However, there have been cases where peasants ‘sold’ their parcels to the Xsoha, leaving them paying twice—once to the domain and once to the Xsoha from their harvest.”
“That’s why much of the grain production is leaving the domain,” Loretta added, her tone sharp with displeasure. “I mean the peasants’ share of it.”
“And it’s one of the reasons the peasants have no reserves for the long winter,” Tenessar said, summing it up grimly.
“Oh, fuck! They’ll starve when the long winter comes!” I blurted out, dismayed.
“They shouldn’t borrow money if they can’t pay it back,” Durham stated coldly, his tone as unyielding as his words.
“That’s bad,” I countered, ignoring his bluntness. “We need to do something about it. But what can we do?”
“Pay the peasants’ debts?” Loretta suggested, though her tone betrayed she wasn’t entirely confident in the idea.
“So they can borrow more from the Xsoha?” Durham shot back.
“Why would they do that?” Hew asked, frowning.
Durham shrugged. “Because they can? Maybe they’d buy more cows, or something flashy from the town market—like those so-called trinkets that promise to increase field production. Or just new linens and clothes.”
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
“Do those trinkets even work?” I wondered aloud, feeling a mixture of curiosity and skepticism.
Ju rolled her eyes, the gesture practically dripping with disdain. “Most of them are just painted bits of ceramic with no magical value,” she explained. “Though a few do work. The real problem is that the peasants can’t reliably tell the difference. And even when they buy something legitimate, the results are almost always grossly overstated.”
“We can’t let things stay like this,” I said, trying to sound resolute.
“And do what, exactly?” Durham challenged, his tone making it clear he thought I had no plan.
I sighed and shrugged, unable to counter him.
“Some baronies forbid peasants from selling grain unless they can prove they have a certain amount in reserve,” Moran offered, his voice measured.
I raised a brow at him. “You don’t sound too convinced by that idea.”
He shrugged in return. “In most cases, it doesn’t work well. They bribe whoever’s in charge of inspections or trick them by hiding the real situation—like covering a pile of dirt with a thin layer of grain to make it look like they have more.”
I let out a deep breath, feeling the weight of the problem settle in. “Alright. Let’s table this for now. But before our next meeting, I want all of you to think about it and bring me suggestions—anything we can actually do to fix this.”
After the meeting, Durham approached me for a private audience, so we retreated to another room where coffee was promptly served.
“So, what’s the problem?” I asked, cutting straight to the point.
“I’ll be blunt, Lady Lores,” he began, his tone steady but laced with urgency. “I’m the fifth son of a minor noble family. No lands now, and probably none in the future given my place in the inheritance line, but I know a thing or two about domain administration. You’re making a grave mistake by antagonizing the Xsoha. They have powerful backing—some even say they’re the King’s way of keeping the nobles in check.”
“It’s not too late to resolve this situation peacefully,” he added, leaning forward slightly.
“What do you mean, ‘peacefully’?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.
“It’s not just the legal battles, which you’re almost guaranteed to lose,” he said, his voice growing sharper. “The domain could soon face an outright attack. A couple of hundred gold coins and the promise of more can hire plenty of marauders to wreak havoc. What would you do then?”
I raised a brow, unimpressed. “That’s what the orcs are for, isn’t it?”
“They can’t be everywhere, all the time,” Durham countered, his expression serious.
I snorted softly, taking a deliberate sip of my coffee.
“I think the orcs can handle any would-be marauders,” I said, keeping my tone even. “I’m more worried about the legal side of things. Some clown told them about the unpaid taxes—and I plan to use that against them.”
Durham coughed into his hand, shifting uncomfortably. “That clown may have been me, my lady,” he admitted. “I... might have let it slip when I was trying to get their version of the story. You see, I didn’t believe the orcs at first, and the Xsoha assured me they were lying.”
For a moment, I stared at him, wondering what possessed him to confess. Perhaps he remembered the priest from the recruiting session, the one who betrayed himself under my gaze, and thought I might have some spell to uncover the truth. Or maybe he was just that naive.
It didn’t matter.
I turned sharply and yelled toward the door, where I knew the orc who stood guard. “Towax!” I yelled.
The door swung open immediately, revealing a burly orc, alert and ready.
“Please ensure this person leaves the domain at once,” I ordered, my voice cold.
“Lady Lores!” Durham protested, his voice tinged with panic.
I felt a sharp heat near my temples—the faint activation of my horns. “The audience is finished. Leave!” I commanded.
*
“Please, have mercy on the furniture,” Mike said with a sigh, eyeing the ashes of the freshly bought fauteuil that had the misfortune of being under Durham during our audience. “The furniture can’t run, you know!”
He walked over to me, stopping by the open window where I was letting the smoke escape.
I sighed heavily. “He was the idiot who told the Xsoha about the tax situation, and he had the nerve to claim I didn’t explicitly tell him not to!” I grumbled. “Is he gone?”
Mike nodded. “Yes. Drackar assigned a small troop to escort him out.”
The rest of the afternoon drifted by in a blur of small, forgettable tasks. Nothing worth calling an accomplishment, but somehow, I felt as drained as if I’d endured a full day of school with all my favorite teachers.
*
In the evening, I headed off for my private session with the prince and finally crossed paths with the elf mage who had fixed the bathroom. His name was Thielo, an arcane mage specializing in magical inscriptions and tools, and he was level seventy-seven. For his level, he seemed rather old. Not that he looked ancient—elves usually had the ageless appearance of teenagers—but Thielo had the look of a mature man in his sixties. He had a thin build, a long nose, bushy gray eyebrows, and gray hair that was long enough to flutter around his ears.
I took the opportunity to ask him to fix the water in our quarters. He explained that this had originally been an elf castle, which was why no one else knew how to maintain the installations. Thielo wasn’t cheap, but he clearly knew his craft. There was some additional work needed, like cleaning out the sewers to prevent future clogs. While he refused to do it himself, he at least showed me where and what to do.
All in all, it had been a productive day. Not only had I tackled various issues, but I’d also uncovered the 'leak' in my entourage. Just as I was about to head to the evening meal, however, a very pale and flustered Dame Elanea appeared, her expression enough to set anyone on edge.
“A catastrophe has happened, my prince,” she said, her voice trembling. “The elven delegation is here, and they’re demanding to speak with you!”