Chapter 3: The New Viscountess
“Even though we have reached the territory, it will take another hour to reach the castle,” Miller informed her. The carriage continued to rattle unevenly as it navigated the unpaved roads of the high-altitude city.
“Well... we can continue our game of Twenty Questions, then,” Francesca said with a small, encouraging smile.
“I just want to confirm the rules again...” Miller replied, holding a slip of paper firmly in his hand. “You ask twenty questions about the word I’ve written here. I can only answer 'yes' or 'no.' Once the questions are exhausted or if you have a guess before then I tell you the word?”
“That’s right!” Francesca gave a small, delighted clap. “Well then, shall we begin?” Miller nodded, his expression turning serious. Francesca jumped in instantly. “Is it edible?”
“No,” came the rapid-fire reply.
“Is it green in color?”
“No.”
“Does it feel cold?”
“No.”
“Does it feel warm?”
“Yes.”
“It’s not edible... but it is warm? Hmm.” Francesca’s expression shifted into one of deep concentration. She stared into Miller's eyes, trying to read his thoughts as if the answer were hidden in those burning red depths. Miller found himself smiling as he watched her; with her shimmering silver hair and intense focus, she reminded him of a rare, precious fierce mountain rabbit.
“Does it go into a furnace?”
“No.”
“Is it used for bathing?”
“No.”
“Ugh... what could it be?” Francesca pouted, her breath hitching slightly.
Miller’s smile faded into a look of concern. “This is your first time so high up in the mountains,” he noted softly. “Usually, people have a hard time adjusting to the thin air on their first day.” He reached out, lightly holding her hand to steady her. “Breathe slowly, Francesca. Feel a bit more stable now?”
After a few minutes of quiet breathing, the oxygen returned to her brain and with it, a flash of inspiration.
“Is it a concept?” she asked. He beamed at her. “Yes.”
Francesca sat in silence for a few more rattles of the carriage, debating if her hunch was too sentimental. “Is... is it... Love?”
Miller shook his head. He unfolded the paper slip and turned it toward her so she could see the elegant, bold script. “No. It’s Allegiance.”
“Allegiance doesn't feel warm...” Francesca questioned, her brow furrowing.
Miller looked puzzled by her confusion. “It is the closest thing to love in my opinion, so it feels very warm to me,” he replied simply. He handed her a fresh slip of paper. “Well, it is your turn now.”
But before they could continue, the carriage creaked to a final, heavy stop.
“My Lord, we have arrived,” a knight announced from outside.
Miller’s brow furrowed as he peered out the window. He turned to the knight, his voice dropping into a stern, commanding tone. “Why are we at the South entrance? I explicitly gave orders that we would enter through the North.”
The knight hesitated, shifting his weight. “Ah... I am sorry, my lord. The servants informed us that the Northern entrance is completely blocked due to the heavy snow.”
“Blocked? I sent word days ago to have it cleared before our arrival...” Miller muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.
He turned back to Francesca. She had already gripped her polished cane and was preparing to stand, her movements careful and measured.
“Francesca... I am truly sorry,” Miller said, reaching out to stop her. “We have to use the South entrance. I don't want you to overexert yourself, especially since the air is so thin on your first day. It might be... uncomfortable. Would you allow me to carry you?”
“Why would the South entrance be so much worse?” Francesca asked, her head tilted in confusion.
“The South entrance to the castle requires climbing a long flight of stone stairs,” Miller explained, his expression darkening with guilt. “I had asked my Aunt to ensure the North gate, the one with the level path, was to be ready. It seems my request wasn't fulfilled.”
Aunt Maria, Francesca thought instantly. The name triggered a sour memory from her past life. I remember her now. Every time she visited the capital, she’d find a way to mock me. She must be feeling threatened; with Miller finally married, she loses the privilege and power of being the 'Lady of the House.'
She saw the frustration in Miller’s eyes and realized this was her first chance to establish her position.
“Of course you can, Miller,” Francesca said, her smile warm and reassuring. “If my own husband wouldn't carry me, who else would?”
Miller’s expression softened instantly. He stepped out of the carriage first, then reached back in to carefully lift her. He hoisted her into a secure princess carry, his strength making the movement feel effortless.
“Shall we, Viscountess Francesca Ironwood?” he asked with a playful glint in his eyes.
“Lead the way, Viscount Miller Ironwood,” she replied with a light chuckle, hooking an arm around his neck for stability as he began the trek up the stone stairs.
The courtyard was buzzing. The servants, who had been bracing for a cold and distant political union, stood frozen at the scene unfolding before them.
“Oh my! How romantic!” one maid whispered excitedly. “I thought they wouldn't get along, considering she’s a LeonCraft, but His Lordship looks smitten!” “They look perfect together, don't they?”
The air was lively with gossip, but not everyone was celebrating. Standing at the top of the stairs was a luxuriously dressed woman with the same vibrant, sunny crimson hair as Miller. Beside her stood a sour-faced young man. As Aunt Maria watched Miller carry his new bride toward the doors, her face twisted, and she clicked her tongue in sharp, visible annoyance.