Cassian had already ridden out at first light. He was headed for the border and the coming beast tide. That left me with Grace and a carriage that wouldn’t stop shaking.
However, this wasn’t the reason why my hands wouldn’t settle. Grace noticed and took one, steadying it against my cloak. “You’ll be fine,” she said. “You are the Princess Consort, the wife of the Prince Regent. The moment you step down, head high. No one will bully you in the north. You tell them what you want and everyone will listen to you.”
I looked at her. “Is that something I can actually do?”
“It’s something you will do,” she answered. “Listen. When the door opens, the steward will announce your name and title. You will accept the house token from him, the silver band with the wolf crest. You’ll nod to the captains, not bow. Then we go straight to the shrine. Two kneels only: one for the house, one for the fallen lord and lady. You place a clear fae chip on the brazier, touch the rail, and repeat after me. That’s it.”
“What do I say?” I wondered if this is some sort of a tradition that every previous bride had to do but I didn’t dare ask the question.
Grace recited it for me. “I enter under the northern roof. I keep its laws. I guard its borders.” She held my gaze. “You don’t need to add anything.”
The carriage slowed. Horns sounded twice from the gate. I felt the heat from the stone heater fade as cold air pushed through the seams.
“Cassian won’t be there,” I said.
“He sent word,” Grace replied. “The council understands. The shrine comes first for you today. The border comes first for him.”
My stomach turned. “And if I fail this in some way?”
“You won’t,” she said. “Stand straight. Speak clearly. Don’t let anyone lead you into extra vows. If someone tries, look at me.”
“Will someone try to do that?” I asked, eyes widening.
“Yes, my lady,” Grace said. “You are the Lady of the House, and I will be honest with The north has problems more complicated than Lord Cassian’s temper. He prefers the field to the council chamber, he fights, he doesn’t manage. Some on the council will test you, press for extra vows, and push for advantage. As Lady of the House-”
you.
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I didn’t need her to finish. The rest, politics, accounts, disputes, staff, and guests, would be mine to handle. I looked outside of the still moving carriage. So, this was Cassian’s motive all along. He left and let me deal with all of the formalities myself.
Maybe this was the point. Cassian left me to walk in alone so I would plant my own feet. As Lady of the House, he was handing me the right to deal with anyone who didn’t respect me. It felt like a test, but not the kind meant to make me fail.
I remembered the contract we signed. It clearly stated that I would be his only wife. No second wife, no heirs through another woman, no rival claimant. All rights and inheritance would pass through me and our children. He wasn’t just binding himself, he was telling me to act like the woman who held that place.
The thought steadied me and for some reason, hand stopped shaking.
“Who will be there from the council?” I asked.
“All of them,” Grace said. She took a leather folder from her satchel and passed it over. “The five banner families each send one representative. They’re called council members. They help Lord Cassian run the estate. He protects the north, they keep the wheels turning. Politics still exists.”
I opened the folder. A list was tucked inside with neat notes.
“House Frostgate,” Grace said, tapping the first page. “Roads, checkpoints, and caravans. Their man is Oren Frostgate, the roadmaster. He values schedules and signed contracts. If you promise him escorts, he will hold you to the hour.”
Next page. “House Ironsong. Forges and cutters. Matron Yara Ironsong speaks for them. Practical. Hates waste. If you push her, bring numbers.”
“House Keldar,” she continued. “Wardens and patrol rosters. Captain Ilya Keldar is blunt. He wants a clear chain of command and written orders when patrol routes change.”
“House Morrow. Accounts, tributes, grain tallies. Steward Halden Morrow counts everything twice. He will ask for ledgers on any new spending.”
“House Briarholt. Stores, infirmary, and winter rations. Sister Veris Briarholt handles allocations. Stern on ration lines. She will fight any request that cuts into reserves.”
“There’s a sixth chair,” Grace added. “It belongs to the Lord or, in his absence, to you. The clerk sits near you and records every order and vote.”
I scanned the margins. Grace had written small warnings like how Ironsong and Morrow argue over budgets and that Keldar pushes for more wardens when frostboars move. Frostgate wants road crews doubled before the thaw and Briarholt rejects any raid on grain without two
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“How much time do I have?” I asked. The thought alone gave me a headache. I was never taught to run an estate. As a wolfless omega I belonged in kitchens and the infirmary. Now I’m expected to manage the house and face councilors twice my age.
“One night,” Grace smiled. “Really, you don’t have to be afraid of anything. What’s there to fear? You are the Lord’s Wife. Your position is more noble than everyone here.”
I hoped that would steady me, but it didn’t. I wasn’t trained for councils or power. After my failed awakening, most of my life had been kitchens and the infirmary.
Because of this, I spent the rest of the ride memorizing the council families, their duties, and the house chain of command. Steward, seneschal, quartermaster, head housekeeper, ward- captains, guild liaisons. I needed to know who answered to whom the moment I stepped inside.
After what felt like hours, the carriage finally slowed. Grace lifted the curtain and nodded. “We’ve arrived.”
Outside, a pair of iron gates rose out of the snow, rimed in frost and set with a black wolf crest. Beyond them stood Blackfrost Manor. Banners hung stiff in the wind. The place looked like it was built to withstand winters and sieges both.
I drew a breath, ran through the names once more, and reached for the latch. Grace caught
my
wrist and shook her head. Then I recalled how protocol said we have to wait for the steward to open the door. Yes. As the lady of the house, I have to wait for someone to open the door for me. This is northern etiquette.
Almost immediately, I heard boots crunching on the snow outside the carriage. Then, the latch lifted from the other side. The door swung open, and a blast of cold air swept in.
It wasn’t the steward. A captain in black armor filled the frame, frost on his pauldrons and a silver band in his gloved hand. Behind him, five hard faces watched from the gate.
“Princess Consort Atasha Black Valemont,” he said. “Welcome… The council is waiting.”
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