Konrad let out a long breath and slumped back into his chair.

Blueprints, sketches of interlocking gears, and torn pieces of expensive Hanseatic vellum covered every inch of the large desk and most of the floorboards.

Lady Katarina remained standing near the door, her arms crossed over her dress. She watched him with that sharp gaze of hers, unfazed by the mess or the late hour.

"You are stalling, Konrad," Katarina finally said, "My father’s patience is not infinite, and neither is the Holy Roman Empire’s."

"I am not stalling..." Konrad muttered, rubbing his temples. "I am simply busy trying to keep us all alive in a world that wants to burn us at the stake."

However, the Bavarian noblewoman wasn’t easily deterred by his complaints. "A wedding is a crucial matter of state. Duke Wilhelm wants a legitimate grandson to bind our houses, not just a verbal promise made in a muddy war camp."

"And he will get one," Konrad replied flatly, picking up a fresh piece of charcoal to darken a line on his sketch. " will marry you in four months’ time. Late May. Right now, my forges are running day and night, the Teutonic Knights are starving in the north but still dangerous, and I don’t have the time to sit through a three-day feast and listen to fat priests bless our bed."

Katarina raised an eyebrow, stepping over a discarded drawing of a water wheel. "Four months. You speak of our marriage as if it were a delayed shipment of Hanseatic grain."

"Isn’t it?" 𝐟𝗿𝐞𝚎𝚠𝐞𝚋𝕟𝐨𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝕔𝕠𝚖

Thus, a strange silence settled between them... she couldn’t genuinely argue with his logic, mostly because that was how her own father treated the alliance.

"Even so," Katarina sighed, walking closer to the desk. "You must throw the Duke a bone. A firm date. May it is. I will send a ciphered letter to Munich tomorrow."

"Good," Konrad agreed easily, not looking up from his intricate drawing of the steam cylinder. "While you are here, Katarina... what do you think we should call the new boy?"

After hearing such words, Katarina stopped dead in her tracks.

She stared at him, genuinely taken aback by the audacity of the question. "Are you asking me... your future wife... to name your child born of your spymaster?"

"Yes," Konrad said, finally looking up to meet her gaze. "You have an excellent head for Bavarian politics. Isolde doesn’t care much for noble naming traditions, and I don’t have the energy to sift through the useless genealogies of dead kings right now. Give me a name that sounds strong, but won’t openly insult your father or the Swabian Diet."

Katarina let out a short laugh.

"Just give me a name, Katarina."

She tapped her chin, her eyes scanning the room as she seriously considered the weight of the request. "Albrecht," she said finally. "Albrecht von Frundsberg. It is a traditional name. Strong. It commands immediate respect in the southern courts, yet it doesn’t threaten the direct Wittelsbach line of my family.

It tells the lords that he is recognized as a noble son, but firmly places him as a shield for the realm, not a king."

"Albrecht." Konrad tested the word on his tongue, he gave a sharp nod. "Albrecht it is."

Before she could say another word about his lack of romantic tact, Konrad abruptly stood up.

He grabbed the final, crude drawing of the steam engine, rolling it tightly into a tube.

"Where are you going?" Katarina asked, clearly exasperated.

"To the smithy," Konrad answered, "If I don’t give Master Klemens these measurements tonight, he’ll waste another batch of good iron tomorrow morning."

The biting winter wind whipped across the courtyard as Konrad made his way to the main armory.

The sky was pitch black, illuminated only by the orange light spilling from the blast furnaces.

He pushed open the iron-banded doors of the forge.

Dozens of bare-chested men swung massive hammers in unison, striking glowing steel with deafening clangs.

Master Klemens was standing near the main casting pit, wiping grime and sweat from his forehead with a dirty rag.

When he saw Konrad approaching through the smoke, he quickly bowed.

"My Lord." Klemens shouted. "The new twelve-pounders are cooling in their clay molds. We’ll have three more ready for the carriages by tomorrow evening."

"Forget the cannons for a moment," Konrad commanded, unrolling the blueprint onto a soot-stained wooden workbench. "Look closely at this."

Master Klemens squinted at the drawing. He traced a finger over the large vertical cylinder, the strange piping, and the rocking beam. "What... what is this, Lord Konrad? A new kind of water pump for the deep copper mines?"

"Something like that." Konrad said. "I need you to cast this main cylinder. It has to be round on the inside. Absolutely smooth. No seams, Klemens. If the internal iron piston doesn’t fit tightly, the steam vapor will escape, and the whole thing will be utterly useless."

After hearing such words, the old master smith looked highly doubtful. "My Lord, casting an iron pipe this thick, with these strange interlocking valves... the pressure could easily shatter the metal.

If water boils rapidly inside a sealed iron pot, the pot eventually explodes and kills everyone in the room."

"Which is why it needs to be cast at least an inch and a half thick," Konrad stated, tapping the vellum. "And the valves must be made of fine brass, not iron. I need your best men on this. Get it done."

"..." Klemens scratched his beard. "It will take away our best hands from boring the new musket barrels."

"Do it anyway." Konrad ordered, his voice brooking no argument.

Klemens’s eyes widened slightly. "I’ll start building the clay molds tonight, My Lord."

By the time Konrad finally left the stifling heat of the smithy, the moon was high in the night sky.

His muscles ached terribly, and his mind was still buzzing with pressure ratios and water displacement calculations... but he had one last strict duty to perform before he could finally find his bed.

He walked back to the lord’s wing of the keep. The halls were quiet now, the panicked energy of the day’s birth having finally settled down.

Two elite gunners in blackened half-plate stood guard outside Isolde’s chamber. They snapped to rigid attention as he approached.

Konrad pushed the door open. The room was comfortably warm, heavily heated by a roaring fire in the hearth.

Isolde was awake, propped up against a mountain of soft pillows.

"You came back." Isolde whispered, her voice rough and dry.

"How are you feeling?" Konrad asked, his tone slightly softer than his usual bark.