As the Emperor officially declared, “I grant Baron de Rothschild dominion over the lands surrounding the Rothschild Baronetcy, which shall henceforth be renamed the Barony of Rothschild,” the gathered nobles responded with polite applause.

    The decision was practical. When the Emperor elevated someone to nobility, it was customary to grant them lucrative lands to ensure financial stability. Nobles had no means of income outside their estates, and the Emperor’s gesture reflected both generosity and prudence.

    In my case, however, it was clear this grant served a different purpose. The Emperor was not bestowing a gold mine or a prestigious vineyard but rather granting me lands that would make it easier to expand my ventures without threatening the crown’s interests.

    ‘Not that I’m complaining. I already have my colonial operations quietly growing in Southern Ifriqiya.’

    I bowed deeply, expressing my gratitude. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

    “May you continue to be the sword and shield of our empire,” the Emperor intoned. “A shield drenched in red, if necessary.”

    A chilling remark for a wedding day, but in the Tuscan Empire, such statements were the highest compliment to a noble’s duty.

    The Emperor gestured, and a ceremonial sword, beautifully adorned with gold filigree, was brought forward. It wasn’t studded with gems but was clearly crafted for display, not combat. The Imperial crest was engraved on the hilt—a symbol of the Emperor’s favor.

    “This blade is yours, Baron. Lead bravely and stand at the forefront of our Empire’s prosperity and honor.”

    ‘Not an invitation to literal combat,’ I reassured myself. The Emperor knew I wasn’t a soldier. Instead, this was a command to support the Empire’s ambitions through trade, diplomacy, and subterfuge—much as I’d done in Granada and the Sultanate.

    “It is an honor beyond words. I pledge my life to serve your will,” I replied, bowing again.

    After the Emperor departed, I finally met with Duke Visconti and my parents.

    The Duke smiled wryly. “I thought your talents were limited to making money, but it seems you have a knack for charming women too. Take good care of Erika.”

    “Thank you, Your Grace.”

    “And what a beautiful wife you’ve secured for yourself. I envy you. It makes me wish I had a son as capable as you. A brilliant heir would make life so much less daunting, don’t you think?”

    The compliment was hollow, dripping with condescension.

    Sforza’s tone reminded me of the British nobles of old, whose flattery was often more poisonous than outright insult. His words veiled a subtle challenge, a reminder that he was watching me closely.

    “I’m honored by your words, Duke Sforza,” I said smoothly. “But perhaps the brevity of marital bliss stems not from love itself but from those who focus too much on fleeting pleasures.”

    Sforza’s smile didn’t waver, but I caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

    “Well, it seems you’re not one to follow the beaten path,” he remarked.

    “I strive to distinguish myself, Your Grace. Many young nobles content themselves with conformity, but I aim to stand apart.”

    By the end of the exhausting day, I finally returned home, eager to rest before enduring the Visconti mansion’s lengthy banquet the following evening.

    As we approached the estate, Erika turned to me, her voice tentative. “Would it be alright if I spent tonight alone? I’d like to speak with the others.”

    Her request was understandable. With a formal wife now in the picture, the dynamic in my household would inevitably shift.

    Had it been another noblewoman, I might have worried about potential hostility toward Kris and Chloe, but Erika wasn’t like that.

    ‘Still, I’ll leave a maid outside the door, just in case.’

    “Of course,” I agreed.