I really don't want to.
Samwell answered inwardly.
Although Desmera was indeed quite beautiful, and of sufficiently noble birth, if he could marry her now, it would undoubtedly be marrying above his station.
But Samwell did not believe that Lord Paxter was being so kind-hearted.
Every favor came with a hidden price tag. Before accepting one, he had to calmly consider whether it might empty his wallet—or even leave him spending the rest of his life repaying it.
Of course, Samwell still put on a flattered expression. "No one could refuse Lady Desmera's charm. It's only... I fear I may not be worthy of your daughter."
"Indeed, you are not, as things stand. How could my daughter marry into a barren place like Eagle's Beak? But what if I could help you reclaim your original surname? The castle of House Tarly would still be worthy of my daughter."
At last, Samwell understood Lord Paxter's intentions.
He had to admit, it was quite a clever scheme.
"But my lord, I have already taken the name Caesar. I no longer have anything to do with the inheritance of Horn Hill."
"How could you have nothing to do with it? As long as House Tarly's blood still runs through your veins, you will always have a claim to Horn Hill. You needn't worry about Randyll Tarly's attitude. So long as you marry my daughter, I can solve every other problem for you."
Even knowing it was a trap, Samwell's heart began to pound.
It was simply too tempting.
As though all he had to do was nod, and beauty, wealth, territory... would all fall into his hands.
But Samwell knew this was a poisoned apple.
The moment he agreed, the method for brewing brandy, the unmined silver deposit, and Eagle's Beak—a poor territory