On the Gaihandar Empire’s southern front, stationed among gently rolling foothills that seemed to carry on forever in every direction, was a garrison. Refreshing winds blew across the scenic plains around it, sending stubby blades of grass swaying. The lush, verdant turf was a rare sight in the imperial capital that lay to the distant north, but it had become all too familiar to those stationed in this particular location.
Eight years.
That was how long war had been raging between the Gaihandar Empire and its neighbor. It was also how long it’d been since a certain man had last departed the imperial capital.
For eight long years, he and his fellow soldiers had been glaring across these scenic plains at invading enemy forces.
But now, finally, after all that time, an armistice had been agreed upon. And in the blink of an eye, news of the pact had begun to sweep through the empire.
It was in the midst of the ensuing commotion that a single letter reached one of the soldiers who had been left behind in the garrison to tie up the remaining loose ends of the war.
The moment the man opened the envelope, the usual pleasant warmth of the plains was superseded by a chill in the air, reminiscent of the snows that usually covered the Mittlehorn mountains that surrounded the capital.
“It’s uncommon for you to receive a letter from home.”
Arnald Swangan looked up from the letter in his hand to the friend and fellow lieutenant colonel sitting opposite him at the desk. Arnald’s eyes—almond shaped and emerald green—had a coolness to them that complimented his porcelain skin. These features had made him famous for his dashing good looks, and no stranger to the odd love letter, but a missive from his relatives back home was a novelty indeed. As he scanned its contents, the corners of Arnald’s lips curled into a faint smile.
Then he passed the letter to his friend without a word.
“What? Does it say something amusing?”
Arnald’s friend read through the letter expectantly, waiting for a punch line. Then, out of nowhere, his jaw dropped.
“How can you be so flippant about this…?”
Arnald stroked his chin in an intrigued sort of way while his friend began to fret. A callous light seemed to radiate from Arnald’s sharp eyes, as if the cogs of a strategic mind had suddenly begun to grind into motion.
Corner the enemy and force them straight into your trap. Such was the strategy of the Silver Fox of the Battlefield, a moniker Arnald had earned in part due to his ash-colored hair. And yet it seemed this wily man’s next adversary would be no political opponent, but strangely enough, the author of the letter—his own wife.
On the tail of one war, the scent of another already lingered in the air.
While Arnald appreciated an opponent who would assail him with everything they had, there was not much to infer from the letter itself.
But it was this element of the unknown that intrigued him most about his new campaign.
“Well, whatever she intends to achieve, devising a way to bring her to heel may be amusing.”
“Come, now. You’re talking about your wife here.”
It seemed his horrified friend was suggesting he should have mercy on his foe. But why should he, when she had brought the fight to him?
The letter itself was written in a feminine hand and elegantly composed. It had been snugly enclosed in its envelope with a wax seal bearing the Swangan family crest and Arnald’s father’s signature. Which meant even his father was in on this.
A smile spread across Arnald’s face as he realized the true depths of his opponent’s resolve.
He thought of his wife—a woman he had never so much as seen, yet whose reputation preceded her—and ruminated over the contents of her correspondence.
Even the first line read like a gauntlet thrown: “Dear husband whom I have never met”…
Dear husband whom I have never met,
I hear we have reached an agreement that will bring an effective end to the war. You and I are now eight years wed, but nary has a word passed betwixt us. I know not your face or your voice, nor you mine. I am your wife in name only.
Thus, given the circumstances, I would like to request a divorce.
Sincerely,
The Wife You Could Never Pick Out in a Crowd