The smallholders do the plowing and planting in exchange for a share of the crop. They are granted the right to cultivate a specific plot of land from the local lord, in this case, Kenric. Some of these smallholder families have worked this land for generations, and for generations, they have served Kenric’s family. Kenric’s situation is somewhat unusual since all of this comes to him through his mother and her land dowry. Still, in their eyes, he has the right bloodlines, so they stay.

  “I think I can do all that,” Luka says. “If anything major comes up, I can send word to Dobile to see how you want to handle it.”

  Kenric nods. “I’ll give you five percent of the existing revenues and ten percent of any new revenue streams you can create. Your pay will be calculated monthly. Don’t sell off any of the major assets and don’t mortgage anything. If you need to sell a horse or a wagon or something, that’s different. Just none of the holding.”

  “I’d classify selling anything like that as something major. Your Sergeant is welcome to keep an eye on me,” Luka shrugs.

  “I think we have a deal,” Kenric grins, and Luka nods, grinning back. “I’m your cousin. I’ll see to the place until you can shake Oskar off. Anything I can’t handle, I’ll send a bird or a messenger.”

  “I’ll owe you,” Kenric says. "And Luka? Think big. I've been speaking with Duke Jellema. By the time I return, Herrenstein might be the seat of an Earl, not a Viscount. I need you to build the foundation for that now. Acquire the adjacent lands. Secure the water rights. Act as if the title is already granted."

  Luka's eyes widen, and a slow grin spreads across his face. "An Earldom? Papa will be pleased." Luka smirks, “Don’t worry. I’ll collect, maybe by making you visit more often. Papa misses you. He’d never say it. You’re all he’s got left of his brother.”

  Watching the two of them, I wonder what Kenric would have been like if Torsten had raised him instead of Eldert. I can’t say that he’d be much different. Aside from size, I don’t see much difference between Torsten and Eldert. I believe that Kenric would have been quite similar, either way. The two sit talking about Kenric’s estate and making plans. A short time later, the keep comes into view. Torsten's Keep sits on a low, rocky knoll overlooking the confluence of the River Styne and a more minor tributary. This isn’t a grand royal fortress that’s more for show than for defense.

  This is the sturdy, practical seat of a minor noble house, built for defense rather than display. A broad but shallow, natural-fed moat surrounds the keep. Unlike the deep, stone-lined trenches of grand castles, Torsten's moat is earthen and overgrown with reeds and sedge, giving it a slightly neglected appearance. This is intentional. The shallow depth would slow down men on foot and quickly mire cavalry, but it doesn't require constant maintenance. A single, aging drawbridge of heavy oak planking, reinforced with black iron bands, serves as the only entry.

  The walls are constructed from the same grey, rough-hewn granite as the hunting lodge, likely quarried nearby. They are thick and sturdy at the base but noticeably shorter than a first-rank fortress. The walls show signs of age and have a few poorly patched scars from minor past conflicts. To my eye, they should have hoardings on top. These wooden structures, called hoardings, extend outward from the walls and include trapdoors to help defend the base of the wall.

  There are four sturdy, semi-circular towers at each corner. They are built for surveillance and simple arrow defense, not for heavy artillery. I observe them, wondering if I could place a catapult or ballista on top. I will need to examine the roofs to see if they can handle the weight of such weapons. The gatehouse is a solid, two-story building protected by a heavy portcullis. The only decorative element is the plain, heavily weathered stone shield above the archway.

  The family crest seems to have been deliberately chiseled away during some distant squabble, leaving a stark, visible emptiness. The carriage rumbles across the drawbridge with my honor guard and Kenric’s men clattering along behind us. Luka pulls up in the inner bailey. It’s an expansive, open yard used for training and storage. This one isn’t paved, so at a guess, it’s often muddy and seems quite utilitarian. Flanking the yard are the stables, smithy, and barracks.

  All of these are single-story, slate-roofed structures built directly against the inner side of the main wall for extra defense. The heart of the complex is a tall, square-cut stone tower rising three stories above the walls. It is the oldest, most defensible part of the structure. Windows are sparse and narrow on the lower two floors, widening only on the third story and above to maximize light. All of the windows are shuttered with heavy oak and barred with rusty iron. The stone appears dark and aged, but the roof is well-maintained slate.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  The overall impression I get is one of austere competence. This is a home that prioritizes survival and protection over comfort or splendor. The family has invested in thick stone and strong locks, not tapestries or marble. My assessment of this place bodes well for Herrenstein, Kenric’s keep. I have some suggestions for Torsten, but overall, it’s a tough nut to crack. The carriage rumbles to a stop, and we get out. Kenric begins to hand me down when he notices the bag I’ve been holding the whole time.

  Kenric looks at the bag I’m carrying. “What’s that?”

  “I brought presents since we likely won’t be here at midwinter,” I reply.

  Kenric gets this look on his face, “You really are my treasure.”

  I am kissed soundly until a loud throat clearing behind Kenric interrupts us.

  Torsten, grinning, claps Kenric on the shoulder. “I know you’re newly married, but we have children here.”

  Ulrick smirks, Arno grins, and Tobias snickers. A young lady marches up to me and smiles broadly, and hugs me.

  She introduces herself, “I’m Klara. These oafs swear that you train with Kenric’s men. Papa won’t even let me learn to hunt, so you’re my hero.”

  I chuckle, “I don’t train with them. My honor guard and I are training them.”

  Klara’s eyes get round.

  I shake my head, “I hope you never have to learn those skills.”

  Klara looks disappointed, so I explain, “My people were locked in a war of survival. We were all conscripted to fight. I learned because I had to, so that I didn’t die. Do you understand?”

  Klara nods, “You wouldn’t want to see me in that situation.”

  I nod, “There are very few people I’d want to see in that situation.”

  Torsten laughs at this, “I can guess who you’d like to see there.”

  Then he drags a woman out from behind him, “This is my wife, Inga. Inga, this is my nephew, Kenric, and his new wife, Víl?.”

  Inga looks flustered, “I’m not sure how to greet you.”

  I laugh and hug her, “How about as family?”

  Inga relaxes and hugs me back. “Gods! I wasn’t sure if I should call you Lady or Your Highness or what.”

  I laugh again, “Most of Oskar’s palace has the same problem. Don’t worry about it. They’re experienced courtiers, and they’re still not quite sure how to handle us. Fey don’t see things quite like Centis does. It doesn’t matter who I marry; I still retain my rank among the Fey. I’m Ellisar’s emissary to Centis. None of them is quite sure what to make of that. They’re all firmly convinced that those horses are smarter and worth more.”

  Inga looks at me curiously, “Why do you say that the horses are worth more?”

  “If a man wants a horse, he pays for one. If a man wants a wife, she pays him. I believe you call it a dowry,” I explain.

  Inga stands there, staring at me, for a long moment. “I never thought of it that way. Gods! That means women are worth less than nothing.”

  I nod, “That’s how the Fey see your custom with women buying a husband.”

  Inga laughs, “It’s not quite like that, but I suppose it would seem so to outsiders.”

  “She’s a Fey. First one I’ve ever met,” Torsten says.

  Inga looks at me more carefully, “Except for the hair, you look like a person.”

  “Fey and humans don’t look so different,” I explain.

  “Do you eat regular food?” Inga asks.

  “We do. We can eat anything you can,” I assure her.

  What I don’t tell her is that we eat many things you can’t. If I must, I can survive on grass and twigs. I’d rather not, but there were a couple of times during the border war that it was too dangerous to hunt. We all sat in a meadow near our base camp, stuffing handfuls of grass in our mouths.

  It takes a lot of grass to feed a Fey, but we survived it. I think those things were trying to starve us into submission.

  Inga jolts me back to the present, “Come in. Come in. It’s chilly out. We’ve been busy rendering all that bear fat from the bear that was hunted yesterday. With all the fires going, it's nice and warm inside.”

  I smile, “It was a big bear. I’m glad no one was injured.”

  We prattle to each other for a few moments about that.

  Inga seats us around a big fireplace and hands me a mug of steaming tea.

  She sits next to me. “It is truly tiresome, Víl?. I'm afraid your time at court is less about political machinations and more about Oskar's pathetic desires. He keeps all the brightest women near him to flatter his fading vanity. He treats you and Kenric like gilded possessions. I know you both find it insulting.”

  “I don’t think insulting is the word Kenric would pick. If I had to label it, it would be disgraceful.”

  Inga pats my hand and nods.

  I look at her and shrug, “You are too kind, Inga. If it were boring, it would be an improvement. We spend most of our time discussing 'protocol' and 'security' for the King's person. I've become quite used to the minute details of structural weaknesses. It’s amazing how fragile the King’s palace is. I’ve been told not to stand in certain places because the floor might give way. I’ve been told not to use certain wardrobes or chests because they don’t seal properly.”

  “That is... unusual,” Inga replies with a frown.

  "Living in the palace, one must always be prepared for an unexpected... inspection,” I reply.

  Torsten snorts, and Ulrick gives Kenric a look.

  Inga blissfully explains, “Oh, I know that game. He wants you and Kenric to worry. Let him fret. Torsten and I have strong stone here. We worry about practical things, not fragile court egos.”

  Both men realize it, but I lean into Inga’s interpretation. "My duennas left. They went back to Imelenora. Ikedena, most probably, because of the condition of the palace.”

  Inga looks at me, surprised.

  I shrug. “I suppose that Oskar means it to be impressive. If it were better kept, it might be. The outside looked worn, and the rooms they gave us were much worse. The chimney didn’t work properly, so we couldn’t even keep the rooms warm. They’ve renovated since then, but my duennas were long gone. They bought a ship in Varpua and left straight away so that they could try to make my cousin’s wedding.”

  “If they’d seen the rooms as they are now, they might have stayed,” Kenric says with a shrug.

  Have you ever been to a castle? Let me know in the comments...