Wedding preparations were at their busiest, and all of Red Tide City had sprung into action.
Red and white ribbons and feather-shaped lanterns already lined the main street. Children darted back and forth, vendors' cries mingled with well-wishes, and even the cold wind carried a touch of festive cheer.
Yet the man at the heart of the wedding, Louis Calvin, lord of the Red Tide Fief, had not lost himself in the celebrations.
He leafed through a thick stack of gift lists. His expression held none of the ease expected of a bridegroom, only his habitual, suppressed fatigue and vigilance.
To avoid arousing suspicion in the Imperial Capital, Louis had deliberately kept the guest list tight from the moment he announced his marriage.
Attendance was restricted to "immediate family and the duke's circle," and he had even declined visits from other nobles of the Northern Frontier.
But nobles of the Northern Frontier had always valued ceremonial courtesy. Even if they did not attend in person, they would still send gifts out of respect for the Calvin Family and House Edmund.
"My lord." Bradley hurried through the door, an invitation card in hand, and bowed respectfully. "Count Grant's envoy has arrived."
Louis sighed and slowly draped a black half-cloak embroidered in gold over his shoulders. His tall boots rang crisply against the mahogany floor.
As he emerged from the side room, the attendants almost forgot that he was a young man of barely twenty. His every movement already carried the steady composure of a seasoned noble.
Obert, the Grant household's deputy steward, had been waiting in the reception hall for some time.
He was a middle-aged man nearing forty, with graying temples and a finely tailored black-and-gold robe. His bearing was proper, his expression serious, and his movements showed the composed