Chapter 95

The snow was falling harder that morning, the wind curling around the castle walls like it wanted to pry secrets out of the stone. Baldwin stood at the window in the council room, hands clasped behind his back, jaw tight. From where she sat, October could see the tension in the line of his shoulders. It was the kind of stiffness that didn’t come from the cold but from trying to carry too much at once.

She let the quiet stretch. The last time they’d been in a room like this, they’d been arguing. This time, she didn’t want to start a fire unless it was necessary.

Finally, Baldwin turned, his dark eyes sharp.

“They’ve moved faster than expected,” he said. “Two border factions declared their loyalty to no one. That’s a polite way of saying they want to rule themselves… or sell their loyalty to the highest bidder.”

October closed the book she’d been pretending to read. “And the rest?”

“Some are watching. Waiting to see who stumbles first. A few… are openly testing how far they can push before I push back.”

The words came out hard, but underneath was something she recognized now—fatigue, though he’d never admit it. She’d seen it before, in his gaze when the mask slipped for just a second in the evenings, or when he thought she wasn’t looking.

“You’re one man,” she said softly.

Baldwin’s mouth twitched in a humorless smile. “Tell that to the lords who think I’m an unshakable mountain. If I bleed, the whole North trembles. They can’t see me falter.”

October leaned forward, resting her forearms on the table. “Then don’t falter. But don’t try to fight with a broken sword either. If you want to keep the peace, you need more than threats. You need…” she hesitated, “…you need to remind them that you’re not the only one holding the line.”

His gaze fixed on her, searching. “You’re suggesting what exactly?”

She shrugged, though the idea had been forming since last night. “You let me help. I speak to the ones who are wavering. Not as your… whatever I am to you right now,” she added quickly, “but as someone who isn’t tied to their feuds. Sometimes a stranger can say what a ruler can’t without losing ground.”

Baldwin’s eyes narrowed, but not in anger—more like he was weighing the thought. “And if they see you as a weakness to exploit?”

“Then I’ll prove I’m not.”

The silence after her words was long enough that she could hear the wind rattling the shutters. Then, unexpectedly, Baldwin moved closer, resting his hands on the table between them.

“You’d be walking into a den of wolves.”

October met his gaze. “So are you. Every day.”

A small muscle jumped in his jaw. He didn’t argue.

\---

They left the council room together, Baldwin’s long strides slowing just enough for her to keep pace. Servants dipped in hurried bows as they passed, and October caught the faint murmur of gossip trailing after them. She didn’t have to hear the words to know they were talking about her.

It didn’t matter.

That afternoon, Baldwin called a smaller meeting—not the full council, but a handful of key figures. October sat beside him, though she could feel the ripple of surprise at her presence. Lord Ferrol, a lean man with eyes like flint, was the first to speak.

“Your Majesty,” he said slowly, “with respect… why is she here?”

October smiled thinly. “Because I asked to be. Is that a problem?”

Ferrol’s lips pressed into a line, but before he could answer, Baldwin’s voice cut through the room, low and sure.

“She’s here because I trust her counsel.”

That shut Ferrol up. But October didn’t miss the way a few of the others exchanged glances.

The meeting was a storm of words—reports of skirmishes on the southern border, rumors of grain shipments being stolen, whispers of a southern lord promising “freedom” from the North’s taxes. October listened more than she spoke, but when she did speak, the room shifted.

“Cut them off from their story,” she said at one point.

Lord Havel, a broad man with a beard like snow, frowned. “Their story?”

“The one they’re telling their people,” October said. “Right now, they’re painting you as a cold, distant ruler. Harsh, maybe even cruel. That makes rebellion seem noble. But if you show the people another picture—one where the crown listens to them, cares for them—you make the rebels the selfish ones.”

A few brows rose. Baldwin’s gaze lingered on her, unreadable.

“And how,” Ferrol said, “do you propose we… paint this picture?”

October leaned back in her chair, thinking. “Send relief to the villages hit hardest by the winter. Publicly. Make sure it’s not soldiers delivering it, but healers, merchants, anyone who doesn’t look like they’re carrying orders from the throne. And do it before the rebels claim they would’ve helped if not for you.”

There was muttering around the table. Baldwin didn’t speak until the voices died down.

“Do it,” he said simply.

\---

The next week was a blur of cold roads, tense discussions, and careful strategy. Baldwin and October traveled together to one of the border towns under threat. She noticed the way people stiffened when they saw Baldwin’s black cloak, the way mothers pulled their children closer.

But when she spoke to them—asked about the winter, the sickness, the stolen grain—they looked at her differently. Some still with suspicion, but others… with a kind of cautious hope.

That night, in a small inn room with a fire that struggled to keep the frost from the walls, Baldwin watched her quietly.

“You did well today,” he said.

October pulled off her gloves, flexing her cold fingers. “You sound surprised.”

“I’m not surprised,” he said after a pause. “I just… forgot how much calmer the air can feel when you’re in the room.”

Her heart tightened a little. She looked away, pretending to busy herself with her cloak. “Then don’t forget again.”

\---

They returned to the capital to find more trouble waiting. A message had arrived from one of the rebel lords, couched in formal courtesy but dripping with challenge.

Baldwin read it at the long table, his jaw tightening with every line. “He wants a meeting. Neutral ground. He says he wants to negotiate, but what he wants is to measure me.”

October stepped beside him, reading over his arm. “Then let him. But bring me too.”

He looked up sharply. “Absolutely not.”

“I’ve already sat in on your councils,” she reminded him. “I’ve walked your streets, spoken to your people. If you want him to think twice about making a move, show him you have more than a sword at your side. Show him you have someone who can win the room without drawing it.”

His brows drew together, but she could see he was thinking it over. Finally, he exhaled.

“If you come, you do exactly as I say.”

“Of course,” she said lightly, though they both knew she wouldn’t promise something she didn’t mean to keep.

\---

The meeting took place in a hall halfway between the rebel’s keep and Baldwin’s stronghold. The air smelled of old wood and the faint tang of iron from the weapons the guards were not-so-subtly carrying.

Lord Marvik was younger than October expected, with sharp features and eyes that never stopped moving. He smiled when he saw her, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

“And who is this?” he asked.

October smiled in return. “Someone who thought it would be polite to hear you out in person.”

The talks were a careful dance—Marvik probing for weaknesses, Baldwin standing like a wall of ice. October watched for the cracks, stepping in with questions that forced Marvik to explain himself in ways that made his position sound less heroic than he likely intended.

When it was over, nothing was signed, but October could see in Marvik’s eyes that something had shifted. He wouldn’t back down, but he’d think harder before making his next move.

\---

That night, back in the castle, Baldwin poured them each a glass of wine. He handed hers over without a word, then sat opposite her, studying her in the firelight.

“You’re changing things,” he said finally.

October raised a brow. “Is that good or bad?”

“Both,” he admitted. “Good, because I need you. Bad, because I’m not used to needing anyone.”

The fire cracked softly between them. October took a slow sip of wine. “Get used to it.”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then Baldwin leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“I will,” he said quietly. “I will.”