CHAPTER 9 - VON WICKTEN

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Being powerful means never saying sorry—unless, of course, you find it amusing to do so.

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Albert von Wickten, to those familiar with him, was an unremarkable man by most standards.

His dominion was a minor strip of arid expanse, studded with humble homesteads and unimpressive channels of trade. As a lord, his reign was more of an administrative task than a display of power, an inherited badge of authority and land from his forebear, who had clawed his way to power through a web of petty extortions and dull intrigues. Even within this ordinary existence, Albert found comfort and a sense of identity.

His sanctuary was a singular manor house, a quiet island amidst his quiet domain. To dub it a 'stronghold' might raise a few eyebrows, yet in his heart, it felt right. The building sat on a cushion of golden fields, a subtle jewel in the midst of the modest settlements that surrounded it.

Within this rural retreat, at its core, lay his office—a sanctuary encased in the comforting embrace of wooden walls. A solitary window broke the uniformity of timber, through which the view had remained unaltered for as long as his memory stretched.

Yet, for all his unremarkable traits, the name von Wickten still demanded respect for its deep, albeit faded, roots. But as the legacy of unexceptional successors continued unbroken, the once proud name of the von Wicktens receded. Albert was merely the latest bearer of this crest, his reign as predictable and monotonous as those before.

An opportune marriage to the daughter of a neighbouring baron, an alliance brokered more by chance than by strategy, had offered the house a sliver of relevance. The baroness, a woman endowed with a richer magical heritage, bore him a brood of children. Each birth was marked with humble feasts and optimistic whispers. Every child presented Albert an opportunity—a new chance on which he could potentially revive the fading von Wickten influence.

But among his offspring, a glaring anomaly emerged: a daughter untouched by the brush of divinity. Perhaps one could argue that she was even more mediocre than her father. He had waited patiently, but when her magical potential failed to bloom, she found herself dispatched to the remote Imperial Cities of the east.

Not even a half-year into exile, a letter arrived at the manor, scrawled in her hesitant hand. The missive, finding its way through the disorder of Albert's office, relayed news of her impending return; an action spurred by an item she claimed to have secured from the year's Grand Exhibition.

"Bah!" Albert scoffed, a sneer folding his brow as he cast the letter aside. "Naive child, a meaningless trinket someone fooled her into buying," he muttered under his breath.

The contents of the letter were meaningless. Her words, rather than proving her growth, served to underscore her inherent inadequacy. She had left home with an earnestness he knew well—the fervent desire to please him—and yet, she returned with a letter that bore the stench of fear and self-preservation.

In her absence, he had harboured a quiet hope that she might find a life independent of the von Wickten legacy. He wished for her to cast off their family name, perhaps wed some humble commoner, and spare them all the constant embarrassment. However, her words betrayed an unchanging innocence, a refusal to acknowledge her lack. It was painfully evident that her journey had taught her nothing of consequence.

He would need to quash such foolishness permanently.

"What's that?" A question floated through the air, carrying with it an undertone of curiosity. It was Leon, Albert's second son who had posed it, his sharp eyes scanning the letter discarded on his father's chaotic desk.

Leon was a boy of intellect, yet one woefully ill-suited for the dance of the sword.

He showed no affinity for the battleground, nor interest in the intricacies of political affairs of the state. Yet his talent with magic held promise, positioning him as a plausible successor should his elder brother falter. With this in mind, Albert was resigned to the necessity of instilling a spark of political ambition within him.

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His curious gaze was fixed on the discarded letter on Albert's cluttered desk.

"Your sister," Albert retorted with a dismissive air, "has decided to end her exile early."

"Exile." Leon frowned. "You never even told her why she had to leave. You just set her in a carriage and sent her away."

A derisive sneer marked Albert's countenance, indifferent to his son's criticism. "She should have figured the reason herself. A child without talent is of no use."

A moment of silence passed as Leon studied his father, his gaze steady and searching, before he returned his attention to the letter. "The letter looks rushed. It was probably penned during travel."

"And what of it?"

Leon took another glance at the letter before returning it to the desk. "Well, it suggests that she will return within a month, most likely. She must hold considerable confidence in whatever she claimed to have obtained from Frankhelm."

At the mention of his daughter's purported artifact, Albert responded with a derisive snort. "And you buy into her grandiose fables? I had hoped my son would be more discerning than that. The girl is trying to convince herself that this trinket will somehow solve our family's woes."

Leon held his silence for a beat before shifting his gaze towards his father. "Will you permit her to return?"

"If her presence brings no benefit," Albert replied curtly, "I fail to see why I should."

Leon fell quiet again, his sharp features steeped in contemplation. Albert diverted his attention back to the overwhelming pile of paperwork on his desk, shuffling through the parchments with an air of restless agitation.

"Father, if your intention is to keep her at arm's length indefinitely," Leon began, his tone deliberate and considered, "why didn't you explore the possibility of arranging a marriage for her?"

Albert's perusal of administrative records paused as he turned his gaze onto his son. A fraction of him yearned to demonstrate approval, perhaps through a nod or a faint smile, seeing his son now beginning to reason like a true lord.

"Do you think I haven't entertained that possibility?" Albert sighed heavily. "She is nothing more than a drain on our resources. Even the lesser nobility of the north wouldn't cast a second glance in her direction. Sending her away was, in all honesty, an act of mercy. I had hoped that she might figure it out on her own. But…" His voice trailed off.

Leon's expression betrayed his expectation for further elaboration.

Albert closed his eyes, massaging his temples in a futile attempt to dispel the incoming migraine. "There's another issue I need to discuss, which is the reason I requested your presence," he confessed.

Leon nodded his understanding, silently urging his father to continue.

"As you know, this has never been a peaceful region," Albert began. "But recently, bandit activity has escalated drastically, and we've sustained substantial losses due to their relentless raids."

"What does this have to do with my sister?" Leon questioned, a hint of concern seeping into his tone.

"Instabilities in the southern marches have emboldened these brigands to extend their reach into our lands. They're bringing chaos to my villages," he asserted, his words reflecting a begrudging admission of reality. "My time is excessively consumed with other pressing issues, leaving me unable to make the obligatory appearances at hospitals and orphanages. I need someone who can represent our family at such venues and manage our affairs."

"Me?" Leon's voice pitched higher in incredulity.

"Hah!" Albert laughed a dry, humourless chuckle. "Do you honestly think I'd entrust such a tedious responsibility to you?" His gaze scrutinised his son, critical and appraising. "No, this task requires someone else."

"Who, then?"

Albert rolled his eyes, returning his son's question with one of his own. "If you were in my shoes, what would you do?"

"If I were you?" Leon mulled the question over aloud. "I would never knowingly send my daughter into a region rife with banditry."

Albert sighed again. "I will have you remember your place. I am not asking for your opinion on my plans."

Albert remained indifferent to whether his son questioned his motives or not. Perhaps his feelings of helplessness would motivate him to strive harder to earn his place as heir.

Their eyes clashed in a wordless duel, tension thick in the air, before Leon looked away, his gaze descending to the floor. "My apologies," he murmured.

With a dismissive wave of his hand, Albert banished his son from his presence, refocusing his attention on the pandemonium of paperwork that littered his desk.

"If your sister yearns to remain at the Wickten estate, she will have to prove herself worthy of such privilege."