Chapter 240: The Earl of Frost [2]

Amelia held her breath, her gaze flickering between her father and Julies. The air was thick—so thick it felt like every breath could cut her tongue on the silence.Earl Frost leaned back in his chair, eyes half-lidded in amusement, but Amelia could tell. Behind that calm facade, his mind was already moving like a seasoned predator circling prey.

"Possibility, you say?" he murmured. "Quite the choice of words, Julies Evans. You make it sound as though my daughter’s claim to the crest is not yet... certain."

Julies didn’t blink. "Because it isn’t, is it?" he replied smoothly. "At least not officially."

A faint, dangerous smile tugged at the Earl’s lips. "You speak boldly for a guest under my roof."

"I’ve learned that honesty is often the best way to measure a man’s reaction," Julies said, his voice calm, almost casual. "And from where I stand, it seems to be working."

The Earl chuckled lowly, a dry, humorless sound. "You’re testing me?"

Julies tilted his head slightly, feigning politeness. "Would you prefer I lied to you instead?"

The silence that followed was razor-sharp. Amelia’s hand trembled ever so slightly, still trapped in Julies’s firm grasp. She could feel her father’s stare drilling into both of them, weighing every word, every movement.

Finally, the Earl spoke again, his tone measured and smooth. "You talk as though the crest is something to be negotiated over tea, Julies Evans. Tell me—do you even understand what it means to hold it?"

Julies met his gaze head-on. "Power. Legacy. And a responsibility that can either crush you... or define you."

That made the Earl pause. His amusement faded for the briefest moment, replaced by a flicker of curiosity.

"Hmm... a poetic answer," he said after a moment. "But a dangerous one. You think yourself capable of bearing that kind of weight?"

Julies’s lips curved again, but this time, it wasn’t arrogance. It was confidence—the quiet kind that carried steel beneath its calm surface.

"I don’t need to bear it, my lord. I just need to make sure the one who does isn’t crushed by it." He turned slightly toward Amelia, his thumb brushing the back of her hand—subtle, possessive. "That’s my role as her fiancé, isn’t it?"

Amelia’s heart skipped a beat.

’What are you doing?’ she screamed internally. But she kept her face composed, nodding slightly, as if in silent agreement.

"I do agree that Amelia has potential," the Earl said, his tone even, almost dismissive, "but I also have two sons. One of them will inherit the title."

Julies couldn’t help the faint chuckle that escaped him. It wasn’t loud—barely more than a breath—but it was enough to make Amelia glance at him, startled.

"The prodigal eldest son," Julies began, his voice calm but edged with irony, "and the younger one—brilliant, perhaps, but too content to wait for opportunities instead of taking them. Forgive my boldness, my lord, but I believe Lady Amelia suits the role of successor far better than either of them."


The Earl’s eyes narrowed slightly. Amelia’s breath caught.

’Could it be...?’ she thought, staring at Julies.

Even if he had some uncanny ability to read people, how could he know that—her unspoken ambition, her secret wish to prove herself, buried beneath layers of duty and silence?

Her heart thudded painfully in her chest.

Amelia’s gaze hardened despite herself. For the first time, her deepest desire was laid bare before the one person she had never dared to confront with it—her father.

Slowly, she lifted her chin and met the Earl’s eyes. His face was unreadable, but the faintest flicker of surprise danced there before his composure returned.

"...Surprisingly," he said after a pause, "that makes sense. However, there have been no female nobles in the North until now."

His tone was mild, but the underlying message was as cold as the frost crest itself.

’Of course,’ Amelia thought bitterly.

The North was a land of iron and tradition—of soldiers, knights, and stern men who believed strength was something only wielded by them. Women were decorations, not leaders. Exceptions like Duchess Alice Draken were rare enough to be considered miracles.

But then Julies stepped forward, his voice low but unwavering.

"That can change—with a precedent," he said. "There are already women in other regions who have inherited titles. Alice Draken, a duchess. Why not Amelia Frost, a countess? It’s time the North allowed a new wind to blow through its halls."

His words carried weight—bold, deliberate, dangerous.

Amelia’s father studied him for a long moment, then gave a quiet, humorless laugh. "You speak as if tradition can be overturned with words alone."

Julies smiled faintly. "Not with words, my lord—but with results."

Then he added, "Lady Alice Draken intends to lead a campaign against the demon threat in the North. If the Frost family were to lend their support, it would not go unrewarded. You’d not just be investing in people—but in change itself."

The Earl’s lips curved, but it wasn’t amusement—it was challenge. "You’re suggesting an investment. Yet, there’s a flaw in your argument."

His sharp eyes slid toward Amelia, assessing, dissecting.

"I have no interest in investing where there is no conviction. Tell me, Amelia... do you have the will for this?"

The question struck her harder than she expected.

So this was what Julies meant by "match my lead."

For a moment, she hesitated—but then, as if guided by instinct, Amelia smiled faintly, lifting her head.

"Father," she began quietly, "as a lady of the Frost family, I’ve always felt... sorry."

The Earl’s brows furrowed slightly.

"Sorry," she continued, her tone steady, "that despite sharing your blood, I could never understand why our family—renowned for its honor and discipline—failed to see the value of growth. Of adapting. Of prosperity."

Her father said nothing, but the faint tension in his jaw betrayed he was listening.

"I received no education as an heir," Amelia said, her words gaining strength. "Only the lessons fit for a flower in a greenhouse—something fragile, soon to be packaged and sold off. And I accepted it. I stayed silent, even when I had so much to say."

Her gaze met his, unwavering. "But not anymore."

The room fell silent. The only sound was the faint crackle of the fireplace.

Julies stood beside her, silent but steady—a quiet presence that somehow made her voice sound stronger.

For the first time in years, Amelia Frost didn’t look like a noble lady trained to smile and bow. She looked like an heir.

Her father’s eyes darkened with something unreadable—perhaps anger, perhaps pride. Then, after a long pause, he spoke.

"...You’ve grown bold," he said quietly.

Amelia smiled faintly. "You taught me to be, Father."

The Earl’s low chuckle filled the room—warm in tone, but sharp enough to cut through the air. It was the kind of sound that could mean either approval... or a warning.

"Very well," he said finally, his hands clasped behind his back as he turned toward the tall window, the evening light spilling across his shoulders. "Then tell me, Amelia. What do you intend to do?"

Her heartbeat steadied. The time for hesitation was long past.

"I, too, bear the honor of our family," she began, her voice steady but charged with conviction. "And I refuse to let it be devoured by those who would exploit its name and drag our reputation down from its rightful place. I will reveal my intentions now—clearly and without retreat. Starting with the Draken family, I intend to expand our influence, step by step, until I can rightfully challenge for the title of lord."

Her words carried through the chamber like a vow. The faint sound of wind against the glass was the only response—until Julies’s calm voice followed, almost seamlessly.

"My fiancée," he said smoothly, glancing toward her, "is not only versed in the language of commerce but also blessed with a mind that sees opportunities where others see obstacles. Her wisdom and resolve are far beyond ordinary. She will make an exceptional heir."

Amelia’s composure didn’t falter, but beneath the table, her hand darted out to pinch the back of Julies’s hand—hard.

A quiet hiss of pain escaped him, but his lips only twitched in amusement.

Her father noticed the small exchange but said nothing, his expression unreadable.

Amelia straightened, her chin lifting slightly as she met his gaze head-on.

She knew what this meant.

The words she had spoken weren’t something she could take back—not now, not ever. This was no longer a game of political posturing or polite deflection. She had declared her intent before the Earl of Frost, the man who ruled both her home and her fate.

And yet, for the first time in years, she didn’t feel trapped.

The weight that had lingered in her chest for so long—the fear of choosing the wrong path, of disappointing the very man whose approval she’d sought—was gone.

She had chosen.

The best path for the family.

And, though she wouldn’t admit it aloud, the best path for herself.

Julies had forced her hand, yes—but he had also forced her to face the truth she’d been avoiding.

At the crossroads she had feared for so long, she now stood firm—because of him.

Her father regarded her for a long moment, his sharp eyes glinting with something she couldn’t quite name.

Finally, he nodded once. "Then it seems the Frost family may yet have a future worth watching."

He turned away again, the faintest curve of a smile on his lips. "You’ve both given me much to think about."

The tension that had coiled in her chest finally began to ease, though only slightly.