Dedicated to a random commenter @Sanrio_k - Thank you for the support!

I've read that Wattpad chapters should not exceed 3,000 words but I really couldn't be bothered splitting this into two parts so... Welcome to the longest chapter so far. Sorry if the length bothers anyone!

Chapter 13: The Winter Feast

Oh, curse himself for the order to escort the sickly to Steersberg. That was what brought the boy and his sick mother here early enough to disrupt his first 'rendezvous' in the gardens with his wife. After she'd avoided him for days, he hadn't expected it to go so well. And having had it gone so well, he definitely hadn't expected it all to be ruined by a little pony. He dragged his hands down his face and grumbled to himself.

What was it about the damned pony anyway? His own stallion was far grander.

No, she should be clinging to her husband. Not horses. At all!

Drake pinched his fingers to the bridge of his nose and forced his attention on the accounts laid out before him that were long overdue for review.

She seems to enjoy their intimate moments. Why was she always avoiding him?

Argh!

It has never before been so hard to concentrate on his work.

Damned woman.

* * *

" 'Do not bother abandoning your poor husband and sneaking home'—Poor husband?" Amelia scrunched her nose as she read her father's message out loud. "Does papa even know what manner of creature Drake is?" she vented with a shake of her head. "Shamelessly lying in bed for me to spoon feed when he could walk already! Poor!"

She continued to read.

" 'I am going on an extended sabbatical.'" Huh? Her father never took holidays, he didn't believe in abandoning his estate for personal enjoyment. She turned to Timo, who was busily munching on a large beef pie from Tom. "Did papa say anything else?"

Timo looked up at Amelia with large eyes and nodded, his little mouth full of delicious beef and pastry.

"Well...?" she pressed.

Timo swallowed the mouthful, before he started, "His Grace said... he said..." Timo looked down at the mouth-watering filling in the pie and took another bite without thinking. He's never had a pie so good!

"Timo!" cried the frustrated lady.

The young boy looked up at her with round eyes of guilt before he swallowed again. "His Grace said... t' come here..." Timo spoke slowly as he recounted the last instructions of the Duke. "Find your grace... an'... an' speak t' no one." He eagerly took another bite.

"That's all?"

Timo nodded.

"Umm... did it look like papa was going on a sabbatical?"

Timo thought long and hard, and shook his head.

Oh, she knew it! Her father was a lying piece of—

"I don' know a Sir Babaco, m'lady."

(In another world of another time, Amelia might have done a *headdesk*.) "Oh, Timo, you are going to take lessons from now on." She sighed in exasperation, and asked again, "Did papa look like he was going on a holiday? An extended holiday?"

Timo tilted his head to the side and recalled those last days before he left the Marlborough House. "Aye," he finally confirmed. "Everyone was packin'."

Hmm. So 'tis true then. A man of her father's rank could never travel far without hauling enough belongings, soldiers and maids. Oh, papa, did you marry me off so you could go travelling on your own?

She left the boy to munch in peace and headed to the stables again. Men are nothing but bad eggs. No wonder Spot's her favourite.

In between hearing mundane news of the south from Timo, playing with her beloved pony, and building many weird and wondrous things out of snow, the days passed by in a blur.

"I'm seventeen, Marge! Can you believe it? Seventeen!" Amelia exclaimed as she tugged Marge into her bedchamber and danced around the maid. "What shall I do today?"

"My sincerest wishes to you, my lady. Do you know what some girls do when they turn seventeen?" Marge asked.

"Eat, dance and drink to their hearts' content?" Wasn't that obvious?

"Oh, but they don't do any of that, my lady. They're busy caring for a fresh babe and another young one running around them all day."

Amelia stopped and narrowed her eyes at her maid. She knew full well what Marge was hinting, and what she said was true, but... "Eww."

Marge chuckled and announced her true purpose of appearing at Amelia's door. "You have a guest, my lady."

"Greetings and well wishes to you, m'lady."

Amelia turned to see the owner of Emerald Boutique, curtsying low at the door, along with a retinue of maids.

"Madam Perryn!" Amelia reached for the woman's hands and pulled her into an embrace. "I am sorry I have not visited in so long! I've had to care for a weak husband who couldn't do anything without me."

Mistress Perryn tried not to laugh at the critique about her long-time friend. "I apologise for my unexpected visit, m'lady, I hope you do not mind that I come bearing gifts for your birthday."

"Oh my goodness." Amelia held her hands over her mouth in surprise, and finally noticed the wide range of cloths, threads and accessories that the maids carried. "You didn't need to!"

"Oh, but I did," Mistress Perryn said. How could she deny a lord's 'mission' after all, but there was no need to mention that part. She gestured the maids to come forward, and proceeded to work on the lady.

For a girl who much preferred to run around and make trouble, one of the most exhausting things in the world was to act a mannequin for hours on end, turning this way and that while others measured and held up different cloths and accessories on her. Even before her evening meal, she yawned ten times and dozed off in the plush chair on her balcony.

She was entirely unaware of the figure who tip-toed into her chamber, and frowned with concern when he found her asleep in the chair, her lips turned blue and pale in the chilling breeze on the open balcony.

Despite having lost some strength from his injuries and lack of training, he lifted her into his arms with ease and placed her carefully into bed, wrapping her tight with warm furs.

Then he kissed her until colour returned to her lips.

"Happy birthday, wife."

That night, she dreamed of many happy things. Like horses.

* * *

Midwinter approached quickly, bringing with it the grandest festival of the year.

Being the first time Amelia was hosting the Winter Feast at Steersberg as the Emira, Marge and the maids took remarkable time and care into making her as presentable as they could, through all the bemoaning from Amelia about the unnecessary fuss.

When she entered through the heavy double doors of the Great Hall, a hush fell over the crowd.

"That is a fine woman," Skar murmured with a gleam in his eyes.

Henry grabbed Drake's arm and shook it as he stared at the young maiden. "Introduce me."

Drake, who had his back to the entrance whilst speaking with his friends, lifted Henry's paws off his arm before he turned around and froze at the beauty that was his wife. Ever since he'd seen her without the heavy powders and wigs he'd known she was beautiful, but... Mistress Perryn has outdone herself with the way that perfectly tailored gown of rich emerald green accentuated every curve and line of Amelia's figure, the soft fabric of velour moving with her lithe legs with each step she took.

"I saw her first," Skar proclaimed as he moved first to approach Amelia.

Drake finally reacted and pulled his friend back violently by the collar of his shirt. "Cease eyeing my wife or I'll gouge your eyes out," he threatened both of them on a hiss.

"When did you remarry?" Henry asked, confused.

"That is Lady Amelia, the same wife who almost blew my house up on our wedding day."

"What?" both men exclaimed in disbelief. Despite Drake's warning, they now stared even harder at the auburn-haired beauty who bore absolutely no resemblance to the haughty Southern noble that had dressed herself like a triple-layered wedding cake.

Henry was the first to recover. "You exaggerate, my friend. Firecrackers don't do any harm, and anyway," he stepped in to remind Drake in a hushed tone, "didn't you say you'd trade her for my sister?"

Drake let out a string of menacing curses. "Don't you dare bring that up again, or I'll stuff firecrackers up every crevice of you, then you can tell me if they do any harm."

He abandoned his friends resolutely and strode towards his wife, who was far lovelier than those brutes. Behind him, Henry roared with laughter.

Drake met Amelia in the middle of the hall. He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her fingers, next to the emerald wedding ring that matched the gown she wore. As he looked into those eyes that belonged to a spirited woman, he felt even more frustrated about his own wife being the object of other men's desire, even if they hadn't recognised her as his wife. "You are beautiful"—he leaned in to kiss her on the forehead—"and mine," he emphasised.

She blinked up at him, bewildered by the sudden declaration. Without giving her a chance to deny it, Drake lifted up his goblet in a toast to the crowd. Amelia dutifully followed suit, and the hall burst into cheers and music, signalling the commencement of the Winter Feast. Holding her hand, Drake led Amelia to their seats on the dais.

She observed the crowd as she ate, noticing the lack of other lords and ladies who bothered to journey to Steersberg through the snow. Instead, the hall was filled with many townspeople who could never have been invited to a royal gathering in Lyons. The boisterous air brought her back to their wedding night, when the silence between her and Drake dragged and reached the epitome of awkwardness. This time, he continued to glance over at her and smile with every few bites of food.

Well, if he wanted to peep so much, then... Amelia spun her body to face him and spread out her skirts. "You like what I'm wearing?"

The dress of velour was decorated with golden threads of elaborate swirls at the train, the ends of her sleeves and around her waist. Elegant yet simple enough to let Amelia's own qualities shine through. Drake's eyes traced the neckline that plunged just enough to tease but not put half of her breasts on display like her other promiscuous dresses did—those were for him and him only. He smiled and nodded with appreciation. It fit her even more than he'd imagined.

She lifted her chin with pride. "And how does it feel, the silk trader's own wife wearing a dress of his rival, to her very first Winter Feast in Steersberg?"

"Is that so?" he asked with a smirk. "And which rival might that be?"

"Emerald Boutique. They're taking all the business from you in the colder months, aren't they?" she taunted.

"Well, Emerald Boutique isn't exactly taking business from me." He paused to take a generous swig of wine. "I own three quarters of it."

Amelia stared. "What?"

"Here's the thing, my dear wife." He rested his elbows on his legs as he leaned forwards and spoke slowly, ensuring she understood each word. "Your husband is a merchant. Merchants make gold. How could I possibly let all the gold in half of each year fall to the hands of a rival without getting some for myself?"

She fell quiet for a moment, then asked, "Would it be correct then, to assume that you have also ensured that you 'get some gold' from the business of both women and men?"

Drake lifted his brows, impressed with her quick thinking. "That goes without saying."

"Both commoners and the rich?"

"Mm-hmm."

Amelia grimaced. "Are you telling me that you own, or partly own, just about all the cloth and apparel stores in Steersberg?"

"That is precisely what I am telling you." He picked up his goblet again to swirl the liquid within, then shared a further fact he'd discerned from all the accounts he'd been reading lately: "So all the gold that you have dropped on my so-called 'rival' whilst I was away... most of that has ended up back in my pockets."

Amelia whipped her head away from him with a 'hmph'. "You are a terrible, cunning man. I'm never buying any more dresses in Steersberg."

Drake chuckled. "Then you best not buy anything else in Steersberg, because I own, or partly own, most other businesses in Steersberg as well."

Amelia dropped her jaws. What kind of wealth would he be amassing, to have a hand in most businesses in a trading capital? He was a monster. A monster of gold.

"Come, wife, come dance with this terrible cunning husband of yours."

"Nay," she insisted on turning her head away from him and folded her arms angrily before her chest.

"We should start the first dance." He extended his hand towards her.

She glared at his hand and thought back to the way he swirled with Isabella on their wedding day, something she could never do so elegantly. "I can't dance." She pouted.

"Come," he urged again with a curl of his fingers. "A cripple and a lady with two left feet will make a most memorable first dance."

His comment brought a small smile unto her lips, and she grudgingly relented by placing a hand in his and letting him take her to the centre of the Great Hall. The crowd clapped and cheered as they began.

True to his word, his limping leg was fair contest for her two left feet, and she giggled as they awkwardly bumped into each other. Soon, they were merely one pair of appalling dancers amongst the many drunk and equally appalling men and women who joined them on the floor.

"How did you do it?" She needed to satiate her curiosity. "How did you come to own so much in a city so prosperous?"

He shrugged. "There were many citizens who wanted to run an inn, a bookstore, or a simple market stand, but were too poor to do so." Amelia nodded, remembering what Sven had told her about Steersberg's past history of poverty and famine. "So I gave them the gold to start, in exchange for part ownership in their new business. They are thus motivated to work and thrive so they could buy back more of their own business from me."

"That requires a lot of gold," she pointed the obvious.

"So I started with just an inn, a tavern, a few food stores, the necessaries for a town. As they made gold, my coffers began to fill."

He made this sound so simple. "And that's what you did with Mistress Perryn?"

"Mm-hmm, she started with one-tenth of Emerald Boutique," he answered as he twirled her into another spin. "And now has one-fourth."

It took Amelia a few more sloppy spins to wrap her dizzied head around the slimy dealings of her husband. To own most of everyone else's businesses and receive far more gold than taxes without lifting a finger... Was he a genius or a cunning profiteer? 'Tis simply not the way in other parts of the land. "Most lords I know simply put food on their people's tables."

"I do too, but with the less able," Drake said as he pulled her into his arms by the waist. "I am not perfect, Amelia. Far from it. I only know that my father and his father before him were pure philanthropists, and the people relied upon their charity. But there was only so much they could give until... there was nothing left to give." A darkness fell over his features as he thought of his father's death and his family's near-demise.

Amelia looked up and met his eyes. She did not understand yet the full extent of what he'd been through, but she knew she didn't like the sorrow she saw. Slowly, she wrapped her arms around him. He lifted her chin with a finger and kissed her softly.

It took a while for them to notice the quiet around them. It wasn't quite because they'd been staring at Drake and Amelia, though.

The crowd parted for the new guest as she made her way towards the lord and lady who were still locked in embrace. This time, she curtsied, as was proper for the daughter of a jarl.

Amelia hid behind a marbled column, watching them as a stalking creep might. In a quiet corner of the manor, the moonlight filtered through the windows and illuminated the sensuous figure and long legs that peeked beneath swaths of silk, the classic style of Lady Isabella Digby. Next to her, Drake looked intently as though he was hanging onto every word she uttered. On occasion, they laughed, the long years of intimacy apparent through their simple interaction.

She wondered if they laughed about her. So what if she was of higher stature than Isabella? Drake was not one who cared for such things, and Isabella was... in all ways, a better lady than she was.

Amelia squeezed her eyes shut and repeated to herself: I am leaving. I am leaving. I am leaving...

When she opened her eyes again, the exotic beauty was already in Drake's arms, hair tumbling like a waterfall over his shoulder. Amelia let out a gasp that alerted them as to her presence.

"Amelia!" Drake called in surprise.

She ran.

Just before Amelia reached the doors to the gardens, a hand grabbed her by the wrist, halting her escape into the winter storm that was brewing in the dark night beyond.

"It's not what you think. I stumbled and he caught me, that is all," she explained quickly, as if afraid to be cut off before she could finish.

Amelia looked into Isabella's large brown eyes, and wasn't one bit surprised that Drake—or any man—would fall for the mesmerising beauty of this woman. He must've enjoyed her little 'stumble'.

"Emira," Isabella greeted with another curtsy, before she looked up again and spotted the silent tears trailing Amelia's cheeks that Amelia herself didn't seem to be aware of. "You love him," she observed.

Amelia staggered back a step at the conviction of her statement. "What?" she laughed awkwardly with a shake of her head. "No, of course not. You can... you can have him if you... if you want... I'll... I will not interfere."

"I don't, I never wanted him, not really," Isabella explained. "My father has always made it known that I am but a tool of political alliance. When I was fourteen, he wanted to marry me off to Earl Solomon, who controls the shipping in Port Caynns and was wealthier than Drake was back then. For the past two years, he has tried to marry me off to the widowed Emir Gallien, who is old and fat"—her lips curled in disgust—"but commands the largest military force in the North. Drake, on the other hand, wasn't malleable enough for my father to 'use', apparently."

Amelia was stunned, her heart beginning to swell with sympathy. She was betrothed to a man she'd never met when she didn't even want to marry at all. But at least... it was to honour a family agreement. Deep down, she knew her papa loved her deeply and would never have used her as a pawn in a game of politics and power.

Isabella turned away and touched her fingers to the cool glass of a misted window. "I cannot deny that Drake is an attractive man, and I love him as a dear friend. There was a time when I thought that was the love between a man and woman. But above all, he was a chance for me to escape the clutches of my father. I could accept marrying him, and he is powerful enough to protect me from my father's wrath." She sighed. "To Drake, I suppose I was at least... a better choice than a girl he'd never known. We've never told each other this in such clear terms, of course, but I think