The hall of Valemont Keep was never quiet for long. The moment the last banners of the Southern Concord were stitched and the nobles departed to begin the work of regional unity, Cedric found his days fuller than ever. Petitions poured in, roads needed surveying, militias required structuring, and most of all, trade and production had to match the weight of ambition now draped over the South like its golden phoenix banner.
Yet not all matters were born of parchment and ink.
It began with the arrival of new artisans and merchants, brought in by word of the keep's transformation. Among them came a renowned seamstress, a trio of dwarven masons, and even a bard troupe that intended to pen songs of the rising South. All were granted quarters and space to contribute. The village below blossomed into a town in all but name, its squares ringing with hammer, lute, and laughter.
In the war yard, Victoria drilled the recruits with renewed intensity. Her posture rigid, strikes sharp. Cedric watched from the training gallery, amused at how the once playful flirtations between the captain and her soldiers had matured into a reputation of awe and discipline. She caught his gaze briefly, sweat glinting on her collarbone as she smirked and mouthed, "Tonight?"
He gave her the barest nod.
But she wasn't the only one to seek him that day.
In the sunlit kitchens, Annika the baker approached him, flour dusting her cheeks like battle paint. "Lord Cedric, I've perfected the honey-apple glaze you liked. I saved a batch. Would you share a bite with me... privately?"
Hans, hammering out new nails for housing expansion, winked at Cedric as he passed. "They're lining up, lad. You better grow extra hours in the day."
By dusk, Cedric felt as though his responsibilities, his lands, and his affections were all expanding faster than he could track. The golden hour cast a warm glow across the Keep as he took a rare pause atop the central tower.
Marlowe joined him, bearing wine.
"You know," the merchant began, handing him a goblet, "this rise you've orchestrated... it's more than most kings achieve in decades."
"And yet there's still manure in the west orchard that needs clearing."
"A king who knows where his orchards stink is a king who'll endure."
They toasted silently. Below them, villagers danced to bardic tunes, and laughter echoed from the training yard.
Night fell. Stars pricked the velvet sky. And as Cedric prepared to retire, he heard a familiar knock.
He opened the chamber door to find Victoria standing there. She wore no armor tonight. Instead, her long dark hair cascaded freely over a loose robe that barely clung to her shoulders. Beneath, the silhouette of a tight corset and thigh-high stockings teased the eye.
"Reporting for... evening strategy," she said, a glint in her eyes.
Before he could respond, another voice called down the corridor.
"I hope I'm not late."
It was Annika, her curls pinned back, wearing a sheer lace slip under a shawl of spun flax. Her cheeks flushed as she stepped closer, holding a tray of the famed honey-apple pastries.
Victoria raised a brow. "Reinforcements?"
Annika smiled coyly. "I thought the commander could use some dessert."
Cedric, caught between warrior and baker, grinned. "Ladies, please. Come in."
They stepped inside, closing the door behind them. Laughter mingled with the scent of pastry and perfume. Victoria pushed Cedric gently onto the divan, straddling him with the grace of a soldier disarming her opponent. Annika knelt by his side, offering him a piece of glazed apple, which he took from her fingers.
"This strategy meeting might run long," he murmured.
Victoria leaned down, her lips brushing his. "Good. I brought stamina potions."
"Then let's get started shall we?"