A White-Haired Beauty

The room was silent except for the faint crackle of burning wood in the fireplace.

Louis stood beside the bed, looking at the frail girl before him.

Her skin was paler than that of the Empire's people, with the cool undertone distinctive to northerners.

Her short, silver-white hair was slightly tousled, and her deep blue eyes held an air of mystery.

Though slender, she had muscle definition beneath her taut skin, like a cheetah poised to spring.

Even in her predicament, her gaze was neither submissive nor arrogant, carrying a barely perceptible wariness.

Louis asked, "What's your name?"

Sif watched him quietly without answering.

"Where did you come from?"

Still silence.

"Where were you headed?"

Firelight played across the girl's impassive face. She remained silent, as though she had not heard him.

The kind older woman beside her sighed and gently patted Sif's hand.

There was a hint of sympathy in her voice. "You poor child, don't be afraid. We're all good people here. His Lordship saved you. He won't hurt you."

Sif's mind, however, was racing.

She knew perfectly well that any identity she invented on the spot could easily be exposed.

But trying to evade his questions might only arouse his suspicions.

The best approach she could think of was to play dumb and claim to know nothing.

She did not want to reveal her identity, so she simply went along with things and kept silent.

Unexpectedly, his response was even more understanding than she had imagined.

Louis pretended to study her thoughtfully.

After a moment, he seemed to reach a conclusion and said mildly, "It seems you've lost your memory?"

Sif froze for a moment. She had not expected Louis to offer that explanation himself.

She lowered her eyes slightly, neither confirming nor denying it, tacitly accepting his explanation.

Looking at her long, silver-white hair, Louis said casually, "Since you've lost your memory, you can stay here for now."

Then, after a little thought, an inscrutable smile touched his lips. "Your hair is white, so from now on, we'll call you 'Whitey.'"

Sif's pupils contracted slightly, and anger flared within her.

Whitey?!

She was the princess of the Cold Moon Tribe. She had received a royal education from childhood, and her father had taught her that she carried noble blood and bore responsibility for her tribe's future.

And now some southern barbarian had casually given her a name fit for a pet?!

Her nails dug deep into her palms as she fought back her anger.

Sif told herself she must not show her emotions or let him discover her true identity.

So she remained silent, clenching her teeth without a word.

But she had already marked this southern barbarian who had insulted her.

"Can you read?" Louis asked casually, as though it were merely an idle question.

Still struggling to control her anger, Sif nodded instinctively.

Almost at that same instant, however, she realized she had made a mistake.

Her response had been too quick, too natural.

In the Cold Moon Tribe, only the nobility had the opportunity to learn the southerners' language and writing.

Thus, despite her father's intense hatred of southerners, he had still hired a southern teacher to teach her to speak and write their language.

Now that had become a weakness that might betray her identity.

Sif raised her eyes and discreetly studied Louis's expression, trying to determine whether he had noticed anything.

Louis seemed oblivious to her slip. He nodded thoughtfully. "Then you can be my secretary from now on."

"Secretary?"

Sif did not immediately understand, for she had never heard the word before.

Louis explained, "You'll help me write things down and handle a few miscellaneous tasks. Don't worry. It won't be difficult, and you won't have to do anything dangerous."

Sif lowered her eyes, lost in thought.

A secretary did not sound like a slave or prisoner, nor did it sound like dangerous work.

At least it was far better than being imprisoned, tortured, or even executed outright.

And she seemed to have no better choice.

So Sif gave a slight nod, tacitly accepting the arrangement.

This isn't surrender. I'm biding my time, Sif told herself.

At that, the corners of Louis's mouth lifted slightly. He stood up. "You've only just woken up. Get some rest first. We'll discuss it once you've recovered."

With that, he said nothing more and headed for the door.

Sif watched Louis leave, her fingertips tightening slightly against the bedding, her gaze conflicted.

This man had shown no obvious malice, but she could hardly call his intentions genuinely kind.

What exactly was he thinking?

She could not tell yet, nor did she dare jump to conclusions.

But one thing was perfectly clear to her: no matter what happened, her ultimate goal would not change.

Survive, then take revenge!

Meanwhile, Louis left the room with a faint smile on his lips, apparently in a good mood.

Making Sif his secretary really was a good idea.

Louis did not care that Sif was concealing her identity.

He had already learned the broad details of her background through the Intelligence System.

Who she was did not matter. What mattered was that, right now, she was nobody.

Even if an opportunity arose later to take advantage of Sif's identity, he would not need her permission.

For now, it was enough that Sif was in his territory and under his control.

Louis even found her deliberate attempts at concealment rather cute.

She was like a stray dog he had brought home, too afraid to bark, but with ever-watchful eyes and a slightly tucked tail.

She was unwilling to come close yet afraid to make any rash move, terrified that one misstep would get her slaughtered for meat.

As for her ability to write, that was an unexpected bonus.

With her help, Silco's workload could be greatly reduced, and he would finally stop complaining every day about drowning in paperwork.

Besides, having a white-haired beauty around would certainly make work a good deal more pleasant, wouldn't it?

In high spirits, he strode ahead, then turned toward the craftsmen's workshop to discuss building a castle with Mike.

Construction in the Red Tide Fief was in full swing.

Thanks to the ease of building semi-subterranean communal dwellings and the slaves' hard work, neat rows of houses had sprung up, and the communal housing had already taken shape.

It could be called a miracle in the Northern Frontier's construction history.

The knights now each had their own rooms, while soldiers shared two to a room, free commoners three, and slaves six. Households with families could even apply for separate dwellings.

Such living arrangements were an immense blessing in the impoverished northern territories.

At least when winter came, no one would be left homeless to freeze to death in the snow.

That was almost unimaginable in other fiefs, but under Louis's rule, it had all become reality.

Yet merely housing his subjects was far from enough.

Now that the Red Tide Fief's foundations were gradually becoming secure, it was time to assign half the craftsmen and laborers to begin building a proper lord's castle.