The morning sun cast its golden rays across the Forneaux estate, bathing its stone walls in a warm glow. The air was crisp and filled with the hum of life—the rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze, the distant clatter of hooves on cobblestones, and the faint murmur of voices drifting from the kitchens. Yet within the estate’s study, the atmosphere was far more intense.
Caelan Adrien de Forneaux sat at the massive oak desk, his fingers drumming against its polished surface. Before him lay a spread of documents—land deeds, troop rosters, trade agreements—all bearing the sigil of House Forneaux. The papers represented the lifeblood of his family’s holdings, the foundation upon which its power rested.
He had spent the better part of the morning pouring over them, and a grim picture was beginning to take shape. The Forneaux duchy was wealthy, but its resources were stretched thin. The vineyards, once the pride of the region, were producing less due to mismanagement. The mines, though lucrative, relied on outdated methods that slowed production and increased risk. The military, while formidable, lacked cohesion and modern tactics.
It was a house built on shaky foundations, its potential undermined by complacency.
“Not unlike my empire,” Caelan murmured to himself, a wry smile tugging at his lips. His thoughts drifted to his past life—the campaigns, the victories, the crushing defeats. How many times had he ignored the cracks beneath the surface, only to see his ambitions collapse?
But this time would be different.
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A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. Caelan glanced up as Lucien entered, his usual easygoing demeanor tempered by curiosity.
“Still at it?” Lucien asked, nodding toward the sea of papers. “You’ve been locked in here for hours.”
“Strategy requires patience,” Caelan replied, leaning back in his chair. “If we’re to thrive, we need to rebuild our foundations. That starts here.”
Lucien arched an eyebrow, stepping closer to the desk. “Rebuild? The duchy’s doing fine, isn’t it? We’ve got coin, troops, allies—what more do we need?”
“Strength,” Caelan said, his tone firm. “Not the illusion of it, but the real thing. Our wealth is shallow, our troops untested, and our allies...” He paused, picking up a letter stamped with the sigil of a neighboring house. “Loyal only so long as it suits them.”
Lucien frowned, pulling up a chair. “Alright, I’m listening. What’s the plan?”
Caelan reached for a quill and began sketching on a blank sheet of parchment. “First, we address the economy. The vineyards and mines are underperforming, yet their potential is unmatched. I’ve already sent word to a guild of merchants in Montclair. They’ll bring in new techniques for cultivation and mining.”
Lucien crossed his arms, nodding slowly. “That’ll bring more coin, but it’ll take time.”
“True,” Caelan agreed, “but it will stabilize our wealth in the long term. In the meantime, we consolidate our military. The troops need better training, modern tactics. I want drills implemented immediately—maneuvers, formations, discipline.”
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Lucien’s lips twitched into a grin. “You sound like you’re preparing for war.”
“Not war,” Caelan corrected, though the word stirred something within him. “Defense. If Mathieu’s ambitions turn violent, we need to be ready.”
Lucien leaned back, his grin fading. “You think it’ll come to that?”
Caelan’s gaze darkened. “It always does.”
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Later that afternoon, Caelan walked the grounds of the estate, his thoughts churning. He paused near the barracks, watching as a group of soldiers sparred under the watchful eye of a grizzled captain. Their movements were efficient but lacked the precision and coordination he expected. It was a far cry from the disciplined legions he had once commanded.
“Captain,” Caelan called, stepping closer.
The older man straightened, saluting sharply. “My lord. What brings you here?”
Caelan motioned toward the sparring soldiers. “Their technique is adequate, but their formations are sloppy. Tell me, how often do they train together as a unit?”
The captain hesitated. “Not often, my lord. Most of their time is spent on individual drills.”
“That changes today,” Caelan said, his voice firm. “From now on, their focus will be on coordination and maneuvering as a group. Start with small formations and build up. I want them drilled until they can act as one.”
The captain nodded, though his expression was wary. “As you command, my lord.”
Satisfied, Caelan continued on his way. His next stop was the stables, where he found a group of stablehands tending to a line of horses. He approached one of the younger boys, who froze as Caelan’s shadow fell over him.
“Tell me,” Caelan said, his tone gentle. “How often do these horses see combat drills?”
The boy blinked, his eyes wide. “C-combat, my lord? Not often. Most are used for patrols or travel.”
Caelan frowned. “Horses are as much a part of the military as the men who ride them. From now on, they’ll be trained for battle—formations, charges, endurance. Pass the order to your overseer.”
The boy nodded quickly, bowing as Caelan turned to leave. Each step forward was a step toward rebuilding—not just the duchy, but his vision of strength and unity.
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That evening, Caelan stood on the balcony of his chambers, a goblet of wine in hand. The estate stretched out before him, its silhouette framed by the fading light of dusk. From here, he could see the faint glow of the vineyards, the dark outline of the barracks, and the distant hills beyond. It was a beautiful sight, yet his mind was fixed on what it could become.
The Forneaux name would be more than a symbol of wealth. It would become a force to be reckoned with, a foundation upon which he could build his empire. Yet he knew that the road ahead would not be easy. There would be resistance—within his own family, within the court, and beyond.
His thoughts drifted to Princess Elyse and her words of caution. She was right: Frankia’s court was a dangerous place, and ambition came with a cost. But Caelan had paid that cost before, in another life, and he was willing to pay it again.
As the stars began to appear in the night sky, a knock came at his door.
“Enter,” Caelan called.
Lucien stepped inside, a folded letter in his hand. “Message from Montclair. It’s about the guild you contacted.”
Caelan took the letter, breaking the seal and scanning its contents. A slow smile spread across his face.
“They’ve agreed,” he said, setting the letter aside. “The first shipment of equipment will arrive within the month.”
Lucien nodded. “Good news, then. Seems like things are falling into place.”
“They are,” Caelan said, his voice thoughtful. “But this is only the beginning. If we’re to secure Frankia’s future, we need more than wealth and soldiers. We need unity.”
Lucien frowned. “And how do you plan to achieve that?”
Caelan’s gaze shifted to the distant horizon, his expression resolute. “By proving that House Forneaux is more than just another name in the court. We will lead by example—through strength, through reform, and when necessary... through force.”
Lucien studied him for a moment, then sighed. “You always did aim high. Let’s just hope you can stick the landing.”
Caelan’s smile was faint but confident. “I don’t plan to fall, Lucien. Not this time.”
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End of Chapter 5