His father's desk was a mess. Stacks of parchment of uneven heights, loose papers weighed down by an inkpot in the corner, a quill left behind between pages. Albert sat in the same wooden chair he'd used since childhood, but now his backside barely fit.
Friedrich unrolled the largest map. Vallenwood and six villages. Borders drawn in red ink, like wounds on paper.
"This is your territory," Friedrich said. His voice was flat, like teaching his son to read a map for the first time. "Vallenwood is the main city. Six surrounding villages—Holten, Grunfeld, Stein, and three more with names that are hard to pronounce."
Albert read those names. Stein. The village where he'd taken Leo, that still-innocent young man. He saw wooden houses, cornfields burned when the Leandrian forces retreated, the well where an old woman had stared at him with eyes full of hatred.
"Where did you get all this information?" he asked casually.
"From where? From the king, of course. Don't ask foolish questions," Friedrich replied flatly. "This territory is equivalent to a Viscountcy," he continued. "You've actually been promoted again. But since you're already a Baron, they couldn't keep raising you. So you're a Baron with Viscount-sized lands. Strange, I know."
Albert didn't care about rank. His eyes were still on the map. There, between the red lines, were small dots. Villages. Houses. People who might still remember his face from behind cracked windows.
"Population?" he asked.
"Vallenwood itself, after the siege, probably has about six thousand left. The six villages total maybe three thousand. So around nine thousand citizens, more or less."
Nine thousand. He was responsible for nine thousand souls. Some of them he might have already met—in the market, on the streets, behind doors that had been locked as his troops passed.
"The economy?" Albert asked.
"A disaster." Friedrich didn't mince words. "Vallenwood used to be a trading hub in the east, being a border territory. Now the warehouses are empty, shops are closed, farmers are afraid to go to their fields because remnants of the war still linger. You'll have to rebuild from scratch."
Albert nodded. He'd expected as much.
"There is good news," Friedrich said. "The King has granted you a three-year tax exemption. That means all income from that territory is yours, for rebuilding. Nothing needs to be sent to the palace."
"Why?"
"Because you're a hero, and they don't want you to fail. The kingdom's reputation is at stake."
Albert almost laughed, but the laugh turned into a soft hiss. Reputation. Always about reputation.
He studied the map for two hours. Friedrich explained the details—which roads could still be used by wagons, which rivers dried up in the dry season, which forests were inhabited by bandits. Sometimes Albert asked questions, sometimes he just sat silently, absorbing information like a sponge.
But in his head, those voices began whispering again. "They died on your orders. And now you've been rewarded. Territory, power, money. Isn't this what you wanted?"
Albert gripped the quill in his hand. Its tip pressed into the paper, nearly tearing it.
"Something wrong?" Friedrich asked.
"No."
He took a breath. Imagined feltwort smoke in his lungs. Calming.
"What about defense?" he asked, redirecting his thoughts.
Friedrich sighed. "That's the biggest problem. Vallenwood needs a permanent garrison, but where will the soldiers come from? The Kingdom won't send troops for you. They've already given you the territory; the rest is up to you."
"I have the Special Regiment. But that's only about two hundred men."
"Two hundred isn't enough for a city that size."
"I know."
Friedrich looked at him. "Do you have a plan?"
Albert set down the quill. "I've already ordered Hilda to recruit from the local population. Train them, then build village militias. Don't rely on professional soldiers for everything."
"And the cost?"
"I have an idea." Albert didn't elaborate further. Friedrich didn't ask.
They continued their discussion until the sun climbed high, until light streamed through the gap in the curtains, making dust motes dance in the air.
***
As promised, after finishing matters with his father, Albert went to the market with Alena and Edeline.
The Götthain market was never crowded. Not like the packed, noisy markets in the capital. Here, there were only a few wooden stalls on a dirt field—a vegetable seller, a butcher, an old woman with a woven basket of chicken eggs.
But for Edeline, this was the center of the world.
The little girl ran from stall to stall, her skirt dragging on the ground, her shoes muddy. Her two blonde braids were beginning to come undone, strands sticking to her cheeks, damp with sweat.
"Look!" Edeline held up a red apple, slightly bruised on one side. "Can we buy this?"
Alena smiled. "Ask your brother."
Edeline looked at Albert. Her eyes—green, just like Albert's—sparkled.
"Brother, can we buy this?"
Albert took a bronze coin from his pocket, handing it to the little girl. Edeline took it, ran back to the vendor, traded the coin for the apple. She bit into it immediately, apple juice dripping down her chin.
"Good?" Alena asked.
Edeline nodded vigorously, her mouth full.
Alena took a handkerchief from her pocket, wiping Edeline's chin. Her movements were gentle, like a mother caring for her child. The little girl didn't protest, just smiled with her still-gappy teeth.
"Sister Alena," Edeline called.
"Yes?"
"I want to play horsey later."
"Horsey?"
"Brother will be the horse."
Albert raised an eyebrow. "Me?"
"Yes, you're big."
Alena laughed. A light laugh, like a small bell. "Your brother can't be a horse, dear. He's too old."
"But—"
"I'll carry you instead," Albert cut in.
Edeline looked at him, uncertain. "Promise?"
"Promise."
They walked to the next stall. A fabric seller, a wooden toy seller, a young man with a cart of honey cakes. Edeline stopped in front of every stall, touched every object that caught her attention, then put them back after Alena said "maybe later."
Albert walked behind them. His eyes scanned their surroundings. Not from vigilance—there was no threat in this small market. But habits couldn't be broken in just a few weeks.
He saw an old woman sitting in front of her hut, peeling potatoes with a dull knife. Her eyes—wrinkled, weary—followed Edeline for a moment, then returned to the potatoes.
He saw two young men by the well, laughing about something, one of them pointing at Albert then whispering. They probably knew who he was. All of Götthain must know.
He saw a little boy, maybe seven years old, standing in front of the wooden toy stall. His eyes were fixed on a wooden horse painted brown. His hands clenched his empty pockets.
Albert walked closer. "How much?"
The vendor—an old man with a white beard—looked up. "Two copper coins, My Lord."
Albert took out two coins, placing them on the wooden table. He picked up the wooden horse, walked to the boy, and held it out.
"This is for you."
The boy stared at the wooden horse, then at Albert, then back at the wooden horse. His eyes went wide. He didn't take it.
"Take it," Albert said. "It's free."
With trembling hands, the boy took the toy. "Thank... thank you, My Lord."
He ran off, perhaps afraid Albert would change his mind. Albert stood there for a moment, then turned and rejoined Alena and Edeline.
"Did you want to buy something?" Alena asked.
"No."
"Then why did you buy that toy for that boy?"
Albert didn't answer. He just walked, letting Alena hold his hand.
***
The sun was beginning to tilt westward when they stopped at a decent-looking tavern at the market's edge. Long wooden benches under a shady tree, tables made of dark wooden planks. Alena ordered tea for the two of them and warm milk for Edeline.
Edeline sat on Albert's lap, her legs swinging, occasionally pointing at chickens wandering near the coop.
"Brother," she said.
"Yes."
"When are you leaving again?"
Albert glanced at Alena. Alena looked down, holding her teacup.
"I don't know yet," Albert replied.
"Don't go for long." Edeline looked at him. "Mother gets sad when you leave."
Albert didn't know how to answer. He just stroked the little girl's hair, feeling its soft strands beneath his fingers.
Across the table, Alena smiled. A warm smile that made the crow's feet at her eyes visible.
"It's like we're taking our daughter for a walk," she said. Her voice was soft, almost a whisper.
Albert looked at her. Alena looked at Edeline, then at Albert, then smiled again.
In his head, that voice emerged. A whisper, cold and sarcastic. "Daughter? You think you deserve a family? Remember all those who died because of you. Thousands of people. You think they'd smile seeing you here, playing with a little girl?"
Albert tensed. Edeline felt it, looking at him with confusion.
"Is brother sick?"
"No." Albert forced a smile. "I'm just... a little tired."
Edeline nodded. She hugged Albert, her small arms around his neck. Warm and soft.
The whisper was still there. But this embrace was like a shield.
Alena looked at Albert. Her eyes—warm brown—asked, "Are you alright?"
Albert nodded. "I'm fine."
He wasn't fine. But for now, for here, with them, he could pretend.
***
They returned home as the sun began to set.
Edeline slept on Albert's back, her small arms looped around his neck, her breath steady in his ear. The wooden horse still clutched in her hand.
Alena walked beside him, occasionally adjusting the thin blanket wrapped around Edeline.
"You know," she said. "I'm jealous."
"Of who?"
"Edeline. She can sleep peacefully on your back. Without fear, without burden." Alena looked at Albert. "I can't."
Albert didn't answer. They walked through fields growing dark. In the distance, fireflies began to flicker.
"Tonight," Alena said, "I'm going to sleep in your room."
Albert turned. "Why?"
"Because I want to, and... because I'm afraid." She stopped. "Because I don't want you to be alone."
Albert looked at her. In those brown eyes, he saw sincerity. And fear as well.
"Alright," he said.
They walked in silence. Edeline murmured in her sleep—perhaps dreaming of red apples, of wooden horses, of butterflies in the castle courtyard.
Albert thought about the earlier whisper. "You think you deserve to be happy?"
Maybe not. But here, with Edeline on his back, Alena beside him, and fireflies all around, he felt... almost happy. Almost normal. Almost like a human not haunted by thousands of corpses.
They reached the castle gate as dusk fully sank. A servant opened the door; Elara waited in the courtyard with an anxious expression that immediately eased upon seeing Edeline asleep.
"Take her to her room," she told Albert.
Albert climbed the stairs, his steps heavy. Edeline stayed asleep, undisturbed. In her room, he laid his sister on the bed, removed her small shoes, pulled the blanket up to her chin.
The little girl rolled over, hugged her wooden horse, and smiled in her sleep.
Albert stood by the bed for a moment. Then he left, closing the door softly.
In the corridor, Alena waited. "Done?"
"Done."
"The bath is still warm. You can wash up first."
Albert nodded. He walked to the bath, removed his clothes, submerged himself in hot water. Steam rose, carrying the scent of eucalyptus.
He closed his eyes.
The shadows of his fallen comrades and enemies appeared. They stood at the edge of the tub, staring at him.
"You think you can forget us with hot water?"
Albert opened his eyes. No one was there, just steam and stone walls.
He scrubbed his body with traditional soap, hard, until his skin reddened. He did this not because he was dirty, but because he wanted to feel something other than guilt.
After his bath, he walked to his room. Alena was already there, sitting on the bed, her hair loose, a simple cotton nightgown covering her.
"You took a while," she said.
"I was thinking about some things."
Alena didn't ask further. She just smoothed the blanket, patting the space beside her.
Albert lay down. Alena extinguished the oil lamp on the bedside table. Only moonlight from the window remained.
They lay in silence. Not touching. Just sharing space, sharing breath.
Alena spoke suddenly. "I hope someday you won't leave and not come back." She paused. "Not because of war, but because you chose to leave."
Albert stared at the ceiling. Outside, the moon shone bright.
"I won't leave," he said. "I'm tired of running."
Alena didn't answer. But her hand reached for Albert's, gripping it tightly.
They slept like that, hands clasped, beneath the cold moonlight.
Outside, the night wind blew softly, carrying the scent of earth and dry grass. Crickets filled the silence.
Albert closed his eyes. The voices in his head began to fade. Not gone. They would never be gone.