Libertatis Imperium (Gate)

[charclone]

Richard tried not to stare as Giselle wolfed down her own body weight in food.

His own half-finished meat pie was forgotten as she downed whatever was on the table, ordering seconds between bites. Salads, sausages, meat fillets, and even a roasted chicken were torn apart before his eyes, vanishing down the blue draconian's gullet, washed down with what he knew was a relatively expensive beer from Canada.

After several moments, and several meals' worth of food gone, he interjected.

"I take it you don't get to eat very often?"

She paused a whole baked potato, still steaming, halfway to her mouth. She coughed lightly, though Richard wasn't sure if it was out of embarrassment or simply because of how fast she had been eating. She certainly didn't seem to care about her image.

Then again, Rory didn't care much either, not that she needed to, what with her ability to bisect a man with her strength and giant halberd.

"Hardy sends me out to so many places," She groaned, slumping in her chair. The potato vanished in a few bites before she continued. "I can't starve, but it sucks feeling your stomach be empty. Not that she cares. It's always 'Go and stand on top of this canyon for three months, and don't leave until I say.' or 'Guard this temple for three years. No, there isn't any food inside.'"

Giselle picked at her food.

"At least here I get decent food," She grumbled. "I don't recognise some of it. It's from the other side of the Gate, then?"

Richard frowned, nodding.

"Yes, some of it is. The beer for example," He said, before changing the subject. "I get the impression you don't like me."

Giselle flinched.

"…no," She admitted, sighing. "I… my kind live longer than humans. Because of that, I was passed over for promotion in the priesthood, for decades. I had friends that started lower than me, and died as leaders of temples."

"So, being told to obey a mortal reminds you of that, which you dislike?"

Giselle snorted, her wings twitching in the process.

"Fuck no," She gave a toothy grin, displaying her inhuman dentition. "I hate being under mortals, who should be cowering before my power."

Richard raised an eyebrow at her bravado, noting the faint hollow tone in her voice. He said nothing, finishing his meat pie.

Any further conversation was interrupted by a member of the long patrol storming into the establishment.

"Sir Richard, there is a merchant at the gate to the town," The wolfman in chainmail breathlessly said. "An argument started, and several others are accusing him of owning slaves."

Richard groaned.

"Not this crap again," He stood from the chair. "Bet it's that feud again,"

As he left, he told a server that he would be back.

Giselle stood, hesitating to glance at Richard's retreating form as it disappeared out the door, and the food still on the table.

A hand grasped her wing.

Giselle flinched, both at the crushing grip and at the strength behind the small hand.

"Sister," Giselle gasped out. "Is there something you need?"

"Sit," Rory smiled. "He'll be back. But I'd like a word with you, first."

Giselle glanced at the older demigod suspiciously.

"You have something on your face," Rory said, still smiling, as she sat down in Richard's seat. Her smile became gentler for a moment, as Giselle wiped water from her eyes. "Now, what is going on!?"

Several heads turned to look at the pair. After a moment, all but the marines Rory had been sitting with glanced away, unwilling to attract the ire of a pair of demigods.

"Emroy and Hardy are working together, gods are drawing dividing lines," Rory hissed, leaning over the table, both hands pressed onto its surface. "There is a new god that has been born, one with power over Apocryph. What. Is Going. On.?"

Giselle blinked, shrugging.

"I don't know," She admitted with a huff. "After the dragon was killed, Hardy berated me, and sent me off here."

Rory glared. Silence hung between them, before Rory gave in, hanging her head with a huff.

"And this is why you are an errand girl," She jabbed without heat. "Fine."

As Rory got up to leave, she paused.

"By the way, what exactly did Hardy order you to do, regarding Richard?"

"Erm," Stammered Giselle, before glancing to the side. "I was to serve him and aid in his efforts."

Rory laughed.

"Well, you don't have to worry about him… using you like a follower of Miritta," She said, her tone teasing. "He seems devoted to Tara and his culture doesn't permit multiple wives nor accept mistresses. He won't approach you unless you seem interested."

"I'm not. Not my type, not enough scales," Giselle relaxed.

"By the way, you do plan on paying for half of the meal, don't you?" Rory's grin became sharkish.

Giselle frowned, confused.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Part of a… Terran courting ritual," Rory explained, leaving out details for her amusement. "They call it a 'date', and in it, one, usually the man, pays for the meal. He and Tara have gone on several already, I believe."

Giselle felt dread bubble up in her stomach.

If she caused problems with Richard's courting of this 'Tara', Hardy would be mad at her, for creating trouble for Richard, against orders. Even if she was lucky, and it caused no problems, she had no interest in Richard.

She had already noted, with the way people deferred to Rory, that the town was her territory, likely due to her assistance in building it. That meant that there were no temples to Hardy she could borrow money from. That left money lenders.

She glanced at the food. The large amount of food, that she had ordered and eaten.

She glanced at Rory, already back with the Marines, laughing about something.

"Uh, oh."

---

Yao Haa Dushi was at a loss.

The Fire Dragon was dead at the hands of NATO. Exactly what her tribe's elders had desired her to achieve.

But she had failed to do anything. She was not so stupid as to lie, claiming credit for ensuring it happened, and while the elders had not explicitly exiled her, her foul luck was well known, as was her mission.

The diamond, a treasure of her tribe, sent with her to achieve her goals through payment, hung heavy at her side in its pouch. Between it and her body, it was hoped that the dragon's death could be bought.

She couldn't go back in failure.

Worse, her attempts to award the dragonslayers had been blocked. Bureaucracy was not unknown to the dark elves, from their dealings with Saderan traders and mercenary work, but she had been shocked to learn that slavery was outlawed and that there was a lengthy process to awards.

The NATO officer she had spoken with had been sympathetic and had established some allowances for her, such as a room in an inn. The head-sized diamond had not been explicitly refused, but the officer had explained that it was not a simple matter, given the number of people that were involved, NATO's policies, and the fact that it had been a force composed of a mix of several nations' soldiers and citizens that had slain the beast.

In the end, it left her stuck in the town while the issue was resolved.

She was being housed as an emissary, but once the matter of the diamond was dealt with, Yao was unsure of what would happen to her. The tribe would not want her back, even with their depleted numbers. Few female dark elves were accepted as mercenaries, even with her skills with bow, blade, and magic.

She blinked as an elf, dressed in a red coat with black pants, sat next to her in the bar.

Unlike her dark complexion, this elf was fair-skinned, possibly a wood or high elf.

She gave Yao a nod, before ordering a drink.

"That's… that is an otherworlder uniform," She said, frowning as she heard a slight slur in her voice. Perhaps she had gotten deeper into her cups than she had realised. Or the otherworlder drinks were stronger. "Sorry, just…" She hiccupped. "Just trying to figure out my life."

The other elf smiled.

"I understand," She said. "Most of my village was destroyed by a Fire Dragon. Only a few others survived. Hodor, his daughter, and a few others. We only survived because of NATO soldiers, from the Canadian 4th Division. They drove off the Dragon, wounding it."

Yao nodded sympathetically.

"It had slain most of my tribe," She explained. "I was sent to get help from NATO when we first heard about them, but when I got here, I saw the corpse being flown to the Gate, carried by one of those metal birds."

"Helicopter, they call them," The elf explained. "I take it you don't have anything to go back to?"

"I was… told to use whatever I could to get their help," Yao said. "Including a treasure of the tribe and my body."

"But NATO outlawed slavery," The elf noted. "So, you were exiled? Why?"

Yao considered how to answer.

"Bad luck. It… harmed everyone close to me," She said morosely, ordering another drink. "Three boyfriends, taken by either my best friend, chance, and the dragon. Then there are all the times I ruined a hunt or was ambushed by the dragon, being one of the few survivors."

The high elf, based on her accent, winced.

"Well, the Long Patrol is hiring," She suggested. "There are only a few elves that have joined, most former Saderan slaves that were freed or escaped."

"The Long Patrol?"

"Sir Richard's personal forces," The elf grinned. "You heard about the Black Knight that drove the Saderans from Sacred Alnus? He was also one to wound the Fire Dragon."

Yao bolted from her seat.

"What about my luck? How long would it be for?"

The high elf waved her hands at the tide of questions.

"One at a time please," She said. "From what I have heard, it is for six years, renewed every four if you want to stay in. I even am being considered for an officer slot. And it would be nice to have a few more elves. There are so many humans and Warrior Bunnies joining."

Yao bit her lip.

"I'll… consider it."

 

[charclone]

Molt ignored the way his eldest son grumbled, instead sipping his wine. They had arrived a few hours earlier than expected, mostly due to Zorzal's impatience.

Molt had felt it necessary to bring all of his children to this gathering. It was, after all, part of the peace efforts, and he would not be the one to insult 'NATO'. With them, he had brought an appropriate number of his best troops, as well as gifts, such as a set of armour, once worn by Molt himself, for Sir Richard, after he had heard the news of his last set being damaged by a Fire Dragon. He intended to use the gift to get some information on just what had transpired, as the usual covert lines were awash with contradictory rumours.

Other gifts had been brought, but one, in particular, was the source of Zorzal's ire. He had not been pleased with being forced to give up his trophy, even if she was soon to be a source of strife.

Still, Count Arruns Lu Bonifatius was being a gracious host. Despite retiring from politics to educate his adopted children, he retained sufficient influence to arrange for a wealth of luxuries to be available for guests.

Some, Molt noted, were from beyond the Gate. Others, however, were from the Empire's southern colonies, or across the western deserts, and there were even game that had been caught and transported from the Warrior Bunny's homeland, far to the East.

In different situations, Molt might have suspected the Count was trying to curry favour with NATO and its Warrior Bunny vassals.

But the Count was too direct a man for that sort of intrigue.

Spies had confirmed that he was doing his best to be a good host, even going so far as to cater to each culture that was present and request assistance from NATO and the Imperial Household to tailor the spread.

A bizarre sound shook Molt from his reverie. A strange choppy hum.

His daughter pointed to the sky.

"There," She shouted. "NATO's helicopters."

Molt watched, snorting, as the giant metal boxes came closer.

"Bah, our wyvern riders should be able to bring those down!" Zorzal boasted. "Look at how they fly, with no grace, like lumbering beasts."

"So much like yourself," Diabo muttered, barely heard by Molt. "A lumbering brute."

"Diabo," Molt said. "From what Pina has told us, what role could you see those machines serving in an army?"

His more politically competent son gave him a startled and confused look.

"Well," He started, tentatively, before Zorzal interjected.

"Transportation, like a barge, but one that can fly," He huffed. "Slow and easy pickings for a real force, but useful."

Molt simply raised an eyebrow at the interjection.

Diabo shrugged, apparently uncaring, and unwilling to risk greater guesses.

"Pina?" Molt asked as the transports landed.

"They are transports, like barges, but they are used to carry troops, supplies, wounded, or even as headquarters," Pina explained. "So closer to a large wagon than a barge, but Zorzal was fairly correct."

"And what is this?" Molt asked.

Pina and Diabo both blinked.

Alongside the NATO troops and entourage, soldiers wearing a red coat, white helms, and black pants mustered in the landing field. Their discipline and order were equal to any Imperial Legion, though below that of the Praetorian Guard.

Molt winced as a band suddenly began to play, as the NATO soldiers and unknowns marched as two separate, but equally coordinated, formations. Pina herself seemed nonplussed, and Diabo visibly recoiled at the assault on his ears.

Zorzal on the other hand, seemed amused, even entertained, at the loud, shriek-like wails that came from the band, nearly drowning out the more normal drums.

"Hah!" He laughed. "I should get a few of those instruments. It sounds like the wailing of defeated foes!"

Molt did his best to ignore the wailing of what he later learned were called bagpipes, draining his wine to assist in that matter, and instead studied the unknowns.

A sudden shout from other guests distracted him.

He saw three shapes fly in and land.

Two were unnerving to be so close to. Juvenile Flame Dragons.

The third was less disturbing but no less unnerving. A Draconian, dressed in the attire of a priest of Hardy. Likely her demigod, then, if some rumours were to be believed.

The demigod kept pace with the officer leading the redcoat force.

"That would be Sir Richard then?" He asked Pina. "At the front? I see he has replaced his sword."

Indeed, there was something mystical about the blade on his back, the black contrasting sharply with the bright red.

Shapes became clearer as they came closer, and Molt began to distinguish individual species amongst them.

While all the NATO soldiers were human, there were many demihumans amongst Richard's force. From wolfmen to Draconians, to many Warrior Bunnies and many others besides. He blinked when he caught sight of what might have been a Dar.

"Ah, that would be Richard's Long Patrol then," Pina said. "The Alnus Militia."

"Bah, even with those fancy guns they are carrying, I bet any Imperial force could crush them," Zorzal snorted. "Father, are you sure we can't keep fighting?"

"Yes," Molt bit back his initial, less polite response. "They just flew, with only three of those helicopters, a decent raiding force over the Dumas mountains. Replace the dignitaries with supplies, and those could be used as an effective force to cripple our ability to coordinate our armies. Given they slew a Fire Dragon, and now two demigods are amongst them, I suspect the gods do not want us to wage another war."

Zorzal's face flickered as an emotion bubbled to the surface, before being forced back down.

Pina was unsurprised at this. What surprised her was that she saw something similar in both her brothers and that Zorzal had the self-control not to push the issue further, again.

"Well, I suppose we should greet them," Molt stood, stepping away from the pavilion, headed towards where the NATO delegation would be greeted by their host.

---

Richard steeled himself as the Count greeted the higher-ranked members of the delegation first, going down the line. Behind him, the Long Patrol, or rather the thirty of them that were best at marching and had not embarrassed themselves off duty, stood stiffly at attention. Inch-Pattern FALs, empty and with locked safeties, lay against their shoulders, polished and oiled.

Finally, Count Arruns stepped towards him.

They stared at each other for a moment.

The Saderan that had tried to take him prisoner and participated in the invasion of Canada.

The Black Knight that had slain his son, and evaded recapture, slaying many of the Count's men.

General Jameson shot Richard a concerned look.

Finally, the Count gave a slight smile. Pain was behind his eyes, but he did not place the blame for his son's death at the hands of the otherworlder, not anymore.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance," The Count said. "Sir Richard. I must profess my apologies for the way we met, months ago. It was unbecoming of civilised nations and it cost all things dear to them. I trust you are doing better?"

Richard swallowed, his throat feeling dry.

"Quite," He strangled out, before coughing into his fist. "I hope I find you and your family likewise doing better?"

He felt sweat trickle down the back of his neck and moisten his forehead beneath the pith helm.

"Indeed," Count Arruns chortled. "Now, I welcome, you and yours, to my estate. Be welcome and enjoy yourselves. While it may be too early to celebrate a treaty, it is not too late to celebrate the cessation of hostilities and what the future may bring. As well as your victory over the Ancient Fire Dragon."

Richard twitched.

"I was merely present and dealt it a wound. It was a joint effort between NATO soldiers."

"Then we celebrate that monster's death, regardless," Giselle scowled, near the front of the line, the dark look unseen by the Count. "Now, my wife and I would like the chance to speak to you in private, if you would be comfortable with that. We… have matters that need to be settled. I swear we bear you no ill intent."

"I… will consider it," Richard said, tentatively.

The Count nodded sagely, smiling, before continuing onwards to greet others.

Tara laid a hand on Richard's shoulder.

"You alright?" She discreetly asked him, her voice low.

"I'm fine, just… nervous," Richard replied as the delegation began to head past the boundary of the estate. "Weren't you enslaved by him?"

"One of his subordinates, yes," Tara's face darkened. "But I settled that account the day we escaped the camp. This… is more complex and delicate, with the peace treaty."

Richard snorted.

"That's an understatement."

 

[charclone]

Pina sighed as she reclined in a seat, within her private quarters. The first day of these sorts of celebrations was always exhausting, filled with formality, social codes, and greeting other nobles. NATO threw several of the social codes out the window, but Pina had made the mistake of choosing to wear a pair of shoes from the other side of the Gate. They had seemed similar to her riding shoes, albeit with a slightly higher and thinner heel, obviously for aesthetic reasons, but she had underestimated how uncomfortable they would be wearing them for the entire day.

Still, Pina was confident she could recognise every dignitary and noble, and many of their aids, present for the festivities.

She set the 'high heels' to one side. Tomorrow, given the planned festivities, she intended to wear something more practical.

Her father had made sure that she was involved and presented to each of the dignitaries as his daughter. Not quite as a favoured child, he introduced each of his children, despite Zorzal alternating between irreverence and hostility, but it was clear he was presenting her as someone with his confidence.

The NATO dignitaries all could speak Saderan, if not well, then at least understandably and in a manner that conveyed their learned backgrounds. A fact that resulted in Diabo spending more than a little time with them.

From what Pina overheard, he spent most of his time talking over refreshments about the differences in who the upper classes were of each society, what their cultures saw as high class and other topics related to the lifestyle of the powerful.

Why he was so focused on it, Pina wasn't sure, but she suspected he was plotting something. She just hoped it wasn't going to restart the war.

Her other brother, Zorzal, was off muttering darkly for the most part, joined by some of his cronies, younger members of the nobility, keeping to themselves. Pina prayed that he wasn't planning to restart the war.

Count Bonifatius himself, despite having lost his son to Richard on the other side of the Gate, had volunteered to host this festival, which also served to permit some level of discussion between NATO and the Empire. While Pina was suspicious of his motives, he had retired from politics to raise his adopted children. She found it unlikely that he would start anything, as the Senate would eat him alive now that he had given up his on-feudal powers and many political connections.

Pina shook her head and sighed.

She was stressing herself out worrying.

She reached for a bell to summon a servant, when her page, Hamilton Uno Ror entered.

"My apologies for the intrusion your highness," She said bowing.

"It is no trouble, Hamilton," Pina smiled. "I was just about to summon a servant for some rosewater to soak my feet in. Those 'high heels' are painful. How does anyone get anything done wearing them?"

"I'm afraid I don't know, your highness," Hamilton said. "However, your brother, his Highness Prince Diabo, is outside, requesting to meet with you."

Pina pouted, slouching in her chair.

"Did he mention if it was urgent?"

"No, your highness," Hamilton reported. "Just that he wished to speak with you. He was not dressed formally."

Pina chewed her lip briefly. She was certain that Diabo was up to something.

"Very well, but send for a servant for me when you do," She said after a moment with a sigh. "My feet are killing me."

Diabo appeared a few moments after Hamilton vanished.

"Sister," He greeted with faux warmth. "I trust you are well?"

"Brother," Pina smiled back. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

His eyes briefly flickered to a purple silk wall hanging, before refocusing back on her.

"I have some questions, regarding NATO," He replied. "I hope it would not be too much trouble. Just some details that were missed in your reports."

Pina sat up and gestured at the chair across a small table from her.

"Shall I call for refreshments? It is growing late, but I'm sure something can be put together."

Diabo's smile grew from one of politeness to one of humour and shook his head.

"If there is anything available, I suspect our brother will have already claimed and consumed it," He joked as he sat down. "Now, my point of confusion is that the… nation that we invaded, 'Canada'. It has the smallest military in their alliance, yet, why do they have a primary seat in the negotiations?"

"While they are not a military power, Canada has connections to several other nations, and lacks land borders with most of them," Pina explained. "From what I understand, it acted as a neutral party and negotiator between several members of NATO, as well as maintained a non-aggressive stance, to attain a reputation of a peacemaker and negotiator on the other side of the Gate."

"I see, so they have a great deal of political weight?"

"Not quite, more they appear to have many connections with which they could attain such political weight, as well as the fact that they appear tied through trade to a great many other nations."

"So, not quite a power we should be immediately wary of," Diabo mused, rubbing his chin. "But instead one that could quickly become one, should the need arise during negotiations, if pushed?"

"That is my understanding of things, yes," Pina nodded.

"I see. Then, the other members of the delegation…."

As Diabo continued to ask questions, and was answered in turn, Pina struggled to see a pattern in them. Wondering just what her brother was after.

Eventually, as a servant arrived with her steaming rosewater, with another carrying candles in tow, Diabo ended his slew of questions, bidding her a good night.

Pina frowned, as she caught him staring once more at the purple silk wall hanging, just before he left. Aside from the expensive colour, there was nothing special about it. It had been a gift from her father, used alongside others, to keep the interior of her rooms warm, as insulation.

"Is there something about the wall hanging draws your eye?"

Diabo looked back at her for a moment.

"Not at all," he said, and turned back around, leaving Pina confused, with her purple wall hanging.

 

[charclone]

True to form, when Diabo entered his brother Zorzal's tent, he was wolfing down food while reclining on a couch.

"Come try this," He said through a mouthful. "NATO may be cowards who fight at range, but they have quality spices."

Diabo sighed.

"Please tell me you didn't pilfer from their stores," He groaned. "We do not need them taking offence."

"Nah," Zorzal swallowed, then snorted in amusement. "Our host provided them. He bought large amounts for the party."

He ended his answer by grabbing a handful of sweetmeats and eating them all in one go.

Diabo found his brother's gluttony repulsive. He took no time to savour the delicacies, simply wolfing them down in number.

"Anyway, what did you want to talk about?" Zorzal asked before draining a glass he pulled from somewhere. "Ah, would you like a glass? It's Saderan wine."

"No, thank you, brother," Diabo rolled his eyes. The colour and consistency as it had sloshed around in the glass had revealed it was more than just wine. "I wanted to discuss our sister."

"Oh? What's she done now?" Zorzal asked with an irreverent tone, pouring himself another glass of the expensive and rare wine. "Decided to marry one of her knights? Ran off somewhere to rescue peasants?"

"Father intends to make her heir."

Zorzal spat the wine out, staining the distant wall of the tent. Diabo gave it a distasteful glance, even if the distance was impressive.

"Explain," Zorzal sat up. His muscles suddenly taught as he regarded his brother with a level of attention and focus that Diabo couldn't say he had ever seen on his face.

"I spoke with her, just a few minutes ago," He explained. "She has always regarded us warmly, if distantly. But Father has been spending a great deal of time with her, more than just his usual doting. He has been pushing her to become more involved with politics. Many of her knights' families are powerful, well-connected, or both, even if they are not all patrician familia. Further, they have been networking. Unskilled and unsubtle, but they are doing so, and they are coordinating. When I met with her, there was a foreign look of suspicion in her eyes. One I recall seeing on those being introduced to politics for the first time."

Zorzal shrugged, as if not caring.

"So?" He said. Yet, Diabo saw the flicker of fear in his eyes. "So, father is forcing her to be a politician. It was to be expected, and even I have to be present and involved in those boring senate meetings."

"Because you are the firstborn," Diabo countered. "I choose to be involved. But neither of us are Porphyrogenitus. Neither of us were born while Father was Emperor, only Pina was after he ascended to the throne. The fact that she was born to a concubine was irrelevant, in the grand scheme of things, should the senate choose to appoint her as heir."

Diabo stared at his brother for a moment, before he opened his mouth to continue.

Zorzal interrupted him.

"I know there have been Empresses before," He sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Fine, what are we going to do about it?"

"My preferred option would be to… dissuade her, but with father assisting her, I feel that may be the most difficult," Diabo replied. "Thus, I believe the best option would be to undermine her in the eyes of the Senate. I propose we coordinate. You have many allies in the military and senate, and when combined with my own, I am confident we can leverage enough political power to keep her from being named heir. However, our father is still an issue. We will need to somehow convince him to support either of us."

Zorzal, with a thoughtful look on his face that looked completely out of place to Diabo, hummed.

"A few slave rebellions aren't headed to Alnus," He said. "I could crush them easily enough. Could I count on your support in the Senate to properly leverage those victories?"

"You may," Diabo felt a chill at his brother's unexpected display of intelligence.

"Although, there is the question of which one of us would be best suited to be heir," Zorzal said.

Diabo relaxed. The look in Zorzal's eye was one of ambition. Something familiar, and easier to manipulate.

"You, I believe, would be best," Diabo smiled as he spoke. "I am… not militarily inclined enough to be trusted as Emperor by the soldiers. No, I believe High Seneschal, with a seat on the Senate, would be enough for me."

Zorzal snorted as if amused by something.

"Fine," He said, waving his hand. "Although, if our father decides to, say, name you heir, then I would have you swear on the gods that I would be made Imperial General."

"I doubt father, or the senate, would make me heir," Diabo forced a laugh. "But very well."

He scrambled in surprise as Zorzal tossed him a glass, before holding out a clear bottle. Diabo could barely see the clear contents splashing inside.

"Here, a gift from one of the NATO dignitaries. I already had it tested for poison," Zorzal said. "A toast to seal our alliance, for the good of the Empire."

Diabo let Zorzal pour him a glass of the clear liquid.

He swirled it around in the glass.

"What is this?"

"Uh," Zorzal made an expression of attempting to think. "I think it was called 'Absolute Crystal Vodka' by the servant that delivered it?"

"Well, it lives up to the name," Diabo admitted, watching the clear liquid swish in the glass. "Very well, to the good of the Empire."

Diabo winced at the force with which Zorzal knocked the glasses together before they downed the drink.

Diabo gave a sputtering cough at the burning sensation of the unfamiliar alcohol going down his throat.

Zorzal simply laughed at his brother's discomfort.

"So, what else do you have in mind?"

Neither of them noticed a shadow, moving contrary to the sputtering light from the candles, creep away.

---

"So," Molt sighed. "My sons think to prove themselves more suited to rule? We shall see."

He took a deep breath, sinking deep into the cushioned chair he had favoured for years.

"Thank you, Bouro, for bringing this to my attention."

The strange creature bowed before the emperor.

"It is my pleasure to serve the Empire," He truthfully said. "By your leave?"

Molt dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

He considered how to deal with his sons. In the end, he decided to let it be, for now. He would deal with their attempts to undermine Pina, and the senate obeyed him. They would choose his chosen heir when the time came.

 

[charclone]

Molt, the next morning, met with a representative from the NATO nations.

"Your Imperial Majesty," The representative greeted with a smile. A member of the US' own senate. Part of him found it strangely familiar that they also had a senate, but the absence of a monarch was baffling, especially given how long their nation had apparently lasted.

The Saderan Republic had barely lasted a generation, before corruption and greed tore it apart, being replaced by the current Empire, nearly a thousand years ago.

"Senator," Molt Sol Augustus returned the friendly look.

They, along with a small entourage of aides, sat within a pavilion, hidden in a more private part of the Count's estate.

"As I understand it, you did not request this meeting to discuss details of the treaty?"

"Correct," Molt nodded with a sigh. "I intend to negotiate a show of good faith. NATO is supporting the Warrior Bunnies, yes?"

"As well as others," The senator, who had earlier introduced himself as Jeff Palmer, nodded. "What are you getting at?"

"I have gathered a large number of Warrior Bunnies, as well as some other demihumans, that had been enslaved. I hereby release them into NATO custody," Molt said. "This is the total number, with several august personages amongst them named."

Jeff blinked as he took the offered gold embossed vellum note from one of Molt's aides.

His eyes blinked, then narrowed as he saw the number of people and one particular name.

"I… see. On behalf of NATO I formally accept this gesture in the manner that it was offered," He frowned. "However, I must ask, I was under the impression that Queen Tyuule was the… property of your son. Is he likely to cause any issues over this?"

"I have seen to it he will not cause any issues on this matter," Molt frowned, ignoring the distaste with which the senator spoke of slavery.

"I see," The senator nodded. "Now, how do you intend to transfer these people to us?"

"I have brought several of them with me, the rest would need to be supplied either on their march to your territory or transported with your flying… things. They are not beasts, from what I understand?"

The senator winced as he realised the sheer number of supplies and logistical complications that would arise.

'Not so easy to build up an army, while feeding refugees, is it?' Molt kept the smile from his face. 'Both need food, supplies, bedding. You can't invade the Empire should negotiations break down, if you have a refugee crisis to deal with.'

"Correct. They are machines, but I will let others discuss those details with you," He sighed. "Alright, I'll get on the horn and call in some support to transport them. About the ones you brought with you, however…."

"I felt it would impolite of me to deny them the ability to reunite with family," Molt said. "And Queen Tyuule needed aides and courtiers appropriate to her station."

---

Tara glanced between Richard and Giselle later that evening.

"How!?" She demanded, careful to not raise her voice too much.

Giselle just gave her a look to convey her confusion before returning to the platter of food she had secured from the servants.

Richard, sitting on a bench in one of the Count's more secluded gardens, simply continued to give the twin dragon hatchlings attention, rubbing their chins and necks.

"Fire dragons are considered impossible to train," Tara groaned as one of the dragons nudged her hand. It leaned into her touch as she petted it. "How did you tame them?"

"Giselle did," Richard shrugged.

"Yeah, but they weren't like this," The Demigod countered through a mouthful of food before swallowing. "You've somehow turned them soft. Most of what I did was magic and raising them away from their mother."

Richard noted the synchronised look the two dragons gave her. Their expressions were too inhuman to be easily readable.

Tara sighed and sat next to him.

"Something wrong?" Richard asked as the two dragons moved away.

"I'm just… nervous," She admitted. "We tried so hard to avoid him, the count that is, yet, here we are in his estate, at a party. It's… not what I am used to."

Richard snorted.

"You at least have some idea of what to expect of the politics here," He said. "I'm fumbling and running off of second and third-hand accounts of six-to-ten-hundred-year-old politics to make an educated guess. I don't have the goodwill like I do at Alnus to cover up or excuse mistakes or insults."

"Oh, if we insult the wrong person, we might damage the treaty," Tara realised with a groan.

"…Riiiight, Molt's children are here, as are several of the senators and their families," Richard slumped. "We're going to need to be careful."

The pair sat in a depressed silence. After a moment, Tara put her arm around Richard.

Giselle gave a squawk of surprise as Mowto knocked her over, letting the two dragons snatch her snacks from where they fell.

With a shout of anger, Giselle leapt up and chased after the two, who bolted into the air.

"Should we be concerned?" A voice asked.

Richard and Tara leapt up in surprise, blinking.

Molt, his face impassive, stood next to Senator Jeff Palmer.

Tara's eyes flickered over them, to focus on a third figure with them.

Richard paled at the appearance of the Saderan Emperor, but he didn't notice the way the Warrior Bunny who was part of Tara and his protection detail tensed.

"Tyuule, I presume," He said.

Molt suppressed a slight smile at the absence of Tyuule's title.

"This is Queen Tyuule, yes," Jeff confirmed in English. "Ah, my apologies. Sir Richard, may I introduce His Imperial Majesty, Molt Sol Augustus, Emperor of the Saderan Empire. I am Jeff Palmer; I believe my friend General Jameson has mentioned me?"

"Yes, I believe you called during a meeting about this festival, actually," Richard replied, giving Tara a sidelong glance at her continued silence.

"Yes, well," Jeff gave a nervous cough. "Why don't we continue our discussion and leave Tara and her sister to talk in private?"

Richard glanced at Tara.

With a deep breath, she shook her head and shooed him off.

"Alright," Richard said, tentatively, falling into step alongside Molt and Senator Palmer. "What do you wish to speak about?"

"Well," Jeff began. "I suppose I should explain the situation. His Imperial Majesty has made the effort to secure the release of many of the Warrior Bunnies taken as slaves. Including Queen Tyuule. NATO is organising the logistical concerns to transport them to Alnus."

Richard winced.

"Senator, I don't suppose it would be possible to organise additional support for the Alnus community?" He asked, thinking of the troubles faced from the last surge of refugees. "Construction, funding, food, etc."

"Oh, yes, certainly," Jeff blinked. "I will see what I can do. But… I don't suppose, either yourself, Sir Richard, or you, Your Imperial Highness, know much about healing magic?"

Molt hummed.

"Healers of various sorts will promise miracles, I find, for pay," He said. "But rarely do they fulfil my expectations."

"I seem to recall something about a god of healing," Richard said. "But that was just rumours. As for the rest, most of what I have heard is the result of elixirs, and within the realm of our medical technology, allowing for embellishments."

Jeff sighed.

"I see, thank you,"

"You are in good health, I hope?" Molt asked, glancing at the senator.

"Oh, I am well, yes," Jeff replied. "Thank you for your concern, your Imperial Majesty. But it is my daughter who is unwell. Beyond what our capabilities can restore, though she is at least stable."

"My condolences," Molt expressed his sympathy. "My firstborn was lost to plague. It is… unpleasant to lose a child before their time."

"Now, speaking of children and the future," Molt glanced at Richard. "Sir Richard, what do you think of my daughter?"

He didn't miss the way the senator stiffened.

"Why do you ask, your Imperial Majesty?" Richard asked. Emotion bleeding into his voice. Fear and unease.

"If this treaty is to be sealed, there need to be ties between our nations," Emperor Molt explained. "I acknowledge that your traditions are likely different, but surely family is still sacred?"

"Ah," Jeff interjected. "Not particularly. I will spare you the long-winded explanation, as it can vary between individual nations, but no, family is seen as too easily broken."

"Compared to reputation and legitimacy in politics, anyway," Richard said, relieved to have avoided the topic of Pina. "That isn't to say dynasties don't exist, but they are generally informal and not all of them are viewed with respect, dependant upon their related politics."

"I see," Molt hummed. "But, there is still the matter of this world and it's politics. From what I understand, you are of noble descent, Sir Richard? What of your relationship with your king?"

Richard blinked.

"Uh," He fumbled. "I only met his Majesty once, and… I think the noble family I am distantly related to was related matrilineally to the House of Stuart?"

Molt frowned.

"And the current ruling house is…?"

"The House of Windsor, formerly House of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, now a cadet branch with the death of her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth the Second," Richard replied, more confidently. At Jeff's look, he shrugged. "A matter related to one of the papers I wrote for university."

Molt hummed in understanding.

---

Tara offered her sister a seat as she stared.

On the surface, it appeared the rumours had been true, that she had been a pampered prisoner, not a slave.

She was dressed in a blue dress in Saderan fashion, made from exotic fabrics, that went well with her eyes and hair. She smelled of what once might have been called expensive perfume – though Tara had encountered superior products through the Gate – and jewellery decorated her form.

But there were gaps. Cracks in the facade.

The way she walked showed signs of injuries that didn't heal quite right. Suspiciously placed, if well done, patches of make-up. Scars that could be seen beneath the dress.

And the hollow look in her eyes, almost in shock.

Tara remembered the look well, having worn it while escaping from a Saderan camp, under the nose of a sentry, with Richard.

The look seemed completely alien, more than any of the bureaucracy of NATO had been to Tara, on Tyuule's face, who had always either worn a look of impassivity and determination or when they were along with family, away from prying eyes when they were younger, a warm smile.

"So, is Molt really just… letting you go?" Tara asked. "What about Prince Zorzal?"

Tyuule glanced at the singular guard a short distance away.

"Do you trust them?" She asked in a low voice.

"Yes?" Tara replied, confused. "He fought alongside us when we broke out of enslavement."

Tyuule's face twisted into a sadistic smirk.

"Molt and his eldest are opposed. Zorzal is most likely infuriated with my freedom," She looked at her sister. "I've been slowly feeding poison into his ear, even as he abused me. If he takes the throne, it will destroy the Empire."

Her breathing was erratic, even as she forced her features to form a collected mask.

Tara saw the fire behind her eyes.

"But with the treaty…" Tyuule narrowed her eyes. "What prevents the otherworlders from destroying the Empire?"

Tara blinked. The fire… scared her.

"Is… is revenge all that is on your mind?" She asked. "The destruction of the Empire your only goal?"

"Our people hate me," Tyuule hissed. "Our homeland is gone. Our people are scattered and enslaved. It is all I have left, and at least if the Empire falls, our people at least have a chance."

Tara slumped. She had had a hope, however faint, that her sister might be able to take the throne.

"Richard and NATO have been helping us rebuild. Our homeland is lost, yes, but our traditions are being restored. Our people survive. NATO is strongly against all slavery, which will likely be a point of the treaty," Tara explained. "As for the treaty, NATO fears the results if they did crush the Empire. Warlords across Falmart, disease, famines, guerrillas, chaos."

"Emroy's halls would be overflowing, as would Hardy's," Tyuule sighed, slumping. "Was it all for nothing?"

Tara winced, reaching up to comfort her sister, as her shoulders shook.

A noise came from Tyuule, a sobbing laugh that grew with each breath.

---

"You never answered my question, Sir Richard."

Richard suppressed a flinch as Molt spoke.

"You daughter," He began. "Is a stalwart, clever, and principled woman. But I have gotten the impression she does not particularly like me."

Molt nodded.

"She seemed to have been under the impression you were one of the people that stood to gain from the Empire's destruction, initially. However, now I believe the dislike is a matter of perceived interests," Molt said. "I suggest you take the time to speak to her. Now, I believe we have taken enough of your time today. Return to your lover and her sister."

Jeff snorted.

"Just don't miss the banquet in a few hours that our host is putting on," He called out to Richard as he began to leave.

 

[charclone]

As Richard stepped back into the secluded part of the garden, he paused as he caught sight of Tara and Tyuule, sitting close together.

"I'm not intruding, am I?" He asked.

"You're fine," Tara motioned him over.

"This is your lover, then?" Tyuule asked, straitening. Richard frowned as he caught a hint of something in the tone of her voice and noted her slightly dishevelled look. "Why don't you introduce me, Tara?"

"Of course," Tara said, her tone deferential, something that made Tyuule's face flicker in displeasure. "This is Sir Richard, de facto ruler of the Alnus Community, commanding officer and liege of the Long Patrol. Sir Richard, this is Tyuule… former queen of the Warrior Bunnies, and my half-sister."

"A pleasure," Richard nodded a greeting as he sat next to Tara.

"Hardly," Tyuule snorted. "I failed my people, I am despised by them, was used as a Saderan Princes' whore, and I am being used as a bargaining chip to hurt your people's attempt at uniting my people."

"What do you mean?" Tara blinked.

"I already told you that I would not be accepted being restored to the throne," Tyuule sighed. "But with all our siblings dead, that leaves only you and I as eligible. With you being connected to Richard, there are likely fears of you producing no pureblood heirs."

Tara cocked her head to the side, one ear drooping.

"But… I'm not pureblood myself?" She pointed out. "My father was… either an elf or a human?"

Tyuule shook her head.

"Mother wasn't entirely sure," She explained. "She told me, when I took the throne, that she didn't know if your father was mine, or one of the other men she slept with during that time. Once she had me, there was less pressure for her to produce a pureblood heir. She pointed out that historically, in times of a succession crisis, those of unsure parentage were accepted as pureblooded. Thus, I would have a spare I could rely on."

"Probably because it helped keep inbreeding down," Richard interjected.

Tyuule blinked at him with her red eyes as her ears, previously drooping down the sides of her face, stood up straight. She cocked her head to the side in thought.

"Yes, that might have been part of the reasoning," She accepted. "Certainly, the Queens that married their male siblings tended to be or produce poor rulers."

"Wait, wait," Tara held up her hands, glancing between the two of them. "Are you telling me that our mother kept me as a spare heir!? I don't have the training or, or… or the knowledge to be a ruler! I don't want to be queen!"

"Then who will?" Tyuule asked. "Who will ensure our people's survival? Will we be beholden to NATO? Reliant on their largess for as long as we still survive?"

The former queen laughed. It was a hollow, sad sound.

"Besides, why do you think you were always part of the lessons I received?" Tyuule smiled at her sister. "Why were you given the same training I was?"

"I was being taught to be your captain of the royal guard," Tara protested. "I… I saw what sort of stress you were under, as our queen. The sort of decisions you had to make. I don't want to have to make those decisions."

Tyuule shook her head.

"Unfortunately, we do not get to choose our paths."

Abruptly, Tara stood and stomped off. The Long Patrol Warrior Bunny hurried off after her.

Richard glanced at Tyuule, who sadly shook her head.

---

Later that evening, just as Richard was getting ready for the feast, Tara poked her head into his quarters.

"Richard?" She asked. "Sorry, I just wanted to apologise for running off earlier. I…"

Richard stepped forward, rubbing her back, as she fell silent.

"I understand," He said. "Just don't let this turn into the same sort of issue I have with my sister, alright?"

"Oh, gods," Tara paled. "If her employers find out, they'll want to be the ones tailoring the royal fashion."

"And/or use your people's fashion to sell to Earth as something 'new', modified to fit within people's tastes," Richard agreed with a groan. "I'm not telling her."

He shook his head.

"Anyway," He said, looking at her. "Are we headed to the banquet? Or should I say that you are feeling unwell?"

"No," Tara shook her head. "No, we shouldn't feed the gossip. I'm coming, but… together."

"Together," Richard agreed.

---

Pina loaded her platter.

The dishes being served were the usual Saderan fare. The required flaunting of wealth expected by society was in the range of spices used and the skill with which they had been prepared.

And the results spoke for themselves.

The amount of salt was almost eye-watering on some foods and exorbitant expense, but it was paired quite well so that while one could taste it, it did not detract from the flavour of the food.

Other spices, both familiar and foreign and all equally exotic to her senses, had been equally balanced. The product of coordinating with some NATO chefs, Pina noted.

Based on Zorzal's cries and shouts, as well as demands for more, he too was enjoying the food.

"Must you make so much of a fuss, brother?" Diabo complained. Pina noted, with no little amount of amusement, that his platter was just as full as Zorzal's.

Pina let her gaze wander as she reclined on the reclining couch, eating a few morsels.

She noted the way the parties had gathered in the feasting hall, around a large fire that provided warmth and light as the sunlight dimmed. She and her family, alongside courtiers, were in one corner, while the NATO party had split into three.

Those in the black garments, with a white undershirt, were making their rounds, speaking with other guests, often through translators, while those she recognised as NATO soldiers, officers presumably, seemed content to hang near, but still separate, from Richard's group.

Richard's group, including Tara and Tyuule, alongside people dressed in the uniform of the Long Patrol, seemed content to simply stay in their corner, for now, at least.

What Pina noted strange was the presence of Countess Myui among Richard's group. As Pina watched, the young girl seemed to chat with great excitement to the foreign knight, displaying a ring with a five-pointed gold star and a silver crescent moon on its surface, gems inset flickering.

While Pina didn't know the significance, she did note the way Richard seemed both amused and surprised by it.

While Pina was curious, the distance was too great, and the fire's cracking too loud, for her to overhear the conversation without moving closer.

She shrugged, chewing a piece of cheese, and set her curiosity aside.

---

"…and several of the maids have begun quietly debating the conversations in the game," Myui grinned as she recounted the repercussions of the Elder Scrolls series being unleashed on her demesne. "I have been having great fun with it, myself, even if I don't understand how the machine works."

"Honestly, I only know the most basic principles," Richard admitted to the countess. "Still, I'm glad to see you are enjoying them, and my compliments to the ring smith who made the replica of the Moon-and-Star ring."

"Thank you," Myui giggled. "Have you introduced Tara to the series?"

"No," Richard glanced at Tara as she let out a sudden laugh, Tyuule having said something that elicited the response. He turned back to the countess before continuing "Honestly, between Alnus and the Long Patrol, we've been too busy."

"Oh," Myui nodded. "I understand. I've only been able to play a few hours a day and it counts as my lessons in English. I suppose I am fortunate that my father trusted the maids to assist in the governance of Italica."

"The downside of rulership," Richard said, with another glance at Tara. "If you're doing your job properly, you don't have the luxury of doing other things, unless you have people you can rely on."

 

[charclone]

As the second phase of the dinner loomed, Count Arruns Lu Bonifatius fumed, nearly shaking from nerves and anger.

"Damn him," He muttered, pacing in front of his wife.

The woman he had married, three decades ago, simply ignored her husband's muttering, continuing to write letters in the dying light.

"He's made a damned mess of things," Count Arruns continued. "Now what am I supposed to do? Months of our planning is about to go up in smoke."

The countess sighed, rolling her eyes, and set the otherworlder pen aside, turning to her husband.

"If you are quite finished ranting about it, why not help me solve the problem?"

Her husband flinched under her gaze.

"Of course, of course," He sighed. "It's just… everything was upset, by something I never expected him to pull…. In hindsight, I should have. Prince Zorzal had gotten lazy, so of course the Emperor would take the opportunity. Well, we can't separate Sir Richard from Lady Tara, and we can't in good conscience separate her from Queen Tyuule."

His wife snorted.

"Yes, that I already know dear husband," She rolled her eyes. "The problem is how to organise the tables without slighting anyone."

"Oh," Count Arruns said. "Yes, yes of course dear, my apologies."

"Now, we have less than an hour until the musicians finish their entertainment, and the main course begins. We need to reorganise the seating arrangement in time for the servants to reorganise the tables," His wife explained. "Simply organising them based on social rank won't work, now. We can't split tables between factions, that would lead to conflict. What about based on military accomplishment, balanced by social rank?"

Count Arruns hummed.

"No… I don't think Sir Richard has the sufficient rank or accomplishment to sit near the head table. He would likely share a table with Princess Pina, sitting lower than Prince Zorzal. That would keep them away from each other… but might split up Tara and Tyuule, depending on how their ranks are interpreted."

"Tara was the leader of Tyuule's royal guard, was she not?" the countess pointed out. "That should be enough to put her at the same table as Sir Richard and Tyuule… but Princess Pina represents an issue."

The count frowned.

"What do you mean?" He asked, sitting next to her. "She participated in the defence of Italica, has a high social rank, commands her knights… I do not see the issue."

"One of the servants overheard a rumour, that the Emperor is considering offering Princess Pina's hand to Sir Richard, both to stabilise the Empire and tie ourselves to NATO," His wife explained. "Whether it is true or not, especially if it is not, it risks stepping on the Emperor's toes. What if it appears we are trying to push that issue?"

Count Arruns sighed.

"My dearest, you know as well as I that there are always risks like that," He sighed. "Better than I, even, given the spat that nearly kept us apart."

She fell silent for several moments before breaking into a cackle.

"Oh, oh my, yes," She placed the pen down as the cackles turned into full-blown laughter. "Ah, how could I forget? I introduced you to a friend of mine, and that nearly dragged you into a feud her family had with, who was it again, the governor of the Blue Sea coast's family? Your parents nearly ended our betrothal to avoid it."

"And I, in protest, threatened to throw away my inheritance just to be with you," He smiled at her. "Oh, and I duelled the governor's son. I even won."

"Yes," She sighed, resting her hand on his. "… I think that might have been why he was so sure of himself. We raised him on stories of victories, but never told him of the costs, never tried to temper him."

The count winced at the mention of his deceased son.

A duel, with lives on only one side, and honour on the other. The count knew he shouldn't have acted as he had when his son lost. Sir Richard had more to lose, and nothing to gain, than he did, even with the loss of his son. Count Arruns had tarnished the honour of his house, when he lashed out, swapping Sir Richard with soldiers, intent on capturing the murderer of his son.

The Count had no intention of making the same mistake again, not when it had quickly cost him, and others, more lives when he tried to pursue Sir Richard before NATO took Alnus hill.

A small, timid shape poked its head into the study.

"C-Count Arruns," A small child said, stuttering. "Um, the servants are asking about the seating."

The count stood, gently lifting the small boy into his arms. One of the children of his soldiers who had died following his orders to pursue Sir Richard. Count Arruns had taken them in, all of those orphaned by his madness and loss, adopting them as his own. It was a mere fraction of what he felt necessary to make amends, but he would do all he could.

"Thank you," The count said, smiling sadly. "We just finished discussing the arrangements. Have you been enjoying your party?"

The children had been given their own section of the estate, overseen by servants, where they wouldn't bother their parents, entertained by a hired troupe, and given a feast.

The small boy nodded.

"Countess Myui was showing us art from a story she was gifted by Sir Richard," The boy muttered. He visibly missed his father, as did others. The count did his best to comfort them, but he knew the agony they felt in their hearts was not one easily quelled.

"Ah, I am glad to hear that," He smiled at the boy. "Now… why did the servants ask you to find me, instead of one of them?"

"'Dunno," Came the answer. "They smelled a little funny though."

The count frowned, waryness creeping into his features. His eyes focused on a patch of shadow, in the hallway, near where the boy had poked his head in.

The patch of shadow didn't flicker in time with the light from the flames.

Gently the count set the boy down, giving him a few words of encouragement, before sending him back to the children's party, making to walk out the door and down the hallway in another direction.

Instead, he swung around, pulling a hidden knife from his robes and flicked it end over end at the person hidden in the shadows.

They were faster, stepping aside and leaning downwards to avoid the blade, they darted down along the flagstones, before leaping through a window. The shadow that obscured them never left their body as they moved.

The count hissed as he collected his knife.

"Shadow breath cloaks," He cursed silently. "Expensive, very expensive, but not an assassin, they didn't position themselves for it."

Those who could afford the ruinously expensive elixir were rare, especially those who could afford enough to douse a cloak in the substance long enough to give the cloak that effect. The ingredients were rare, found only in places with extremely high concentrations of magic, with the knowledge of how to refine them into the elixir just as rare.

Most senators couldn't afford it, though a group of them pooling their resources together might pull it off. Prince Diabo certainly could. Prince Zorzal might have been able to, right after he conquered the Warrior Bunnies, but he had squandered all of it since then. Princess Pina certainly couldn't, she spent her money on her knights, as well as maintaining her estates.

A few governors could, but those were the ones who controlled the sources anyway.

Count Arruns told his wife to organise the servants for the upcoming dinner, before stalking down the hallway.

He had no idea who would want to spy on him. But they were well funded and half-decent at it.

But half-decent wasn't the same as being good enough. His guards at the estate were not amateurs, nor were the NATO soldiers, or the emperor's guards.

True, one of the other two parties might be behind it, but even if they were, he doubted it would cause problems in the search. At the very least, two parties would be searching for them. They would be found.

Count Arruns refused to let himself be made a fool of, not again. Not when there is more on the line than just his tarnished honour.

 

[charclone]

Prince Zorzal, eldest child of Molt Sol Augustus, Propraetor Bellatrix Lepus Terra, and who, in his mind, should be crown prince, fumed.

Despite the front he put on and the mask he wore, he was angry.

Furious.

His father stole his prize, won fairly in war, to placate NATO. As if they were the supplicants! The Saderan Empire was the largest, greatest empire to have ever existed on Falmart, yet his father squandered that, showing his belly after only a single fight.

The Arctic War had not been won because the Empire negotiated or surrendered after the first defeat, no! It had held on, struggled through the loss of several legions, and prevailed!

Zorzal grit his teeth and kept his fury contained.

The idiot count was in league with his father. During the second half of the dinner, Tyuule had been kept away from him.

Zorzal was also not blind.

He knew his brother Diabo planned to stab him in the back and claim the throne, just as his father was planning to either use him as a puppet after he retired or Pina.

He would admit, it was a decent plan. Pina was a poor political player, so wrapped up in her childish ideas of chivalry and not understanding the way the real world worked, that she would be chained to Molt through his advice.

But that still was a slap in the face of everything Zorzal had accomplished. All the glories earned from defeating the Warrior Bunnies and conquering their lands, cast aside.

So wrapped up in his fury, even as he outwardly seemed bored, sitting alone in his quarters, he almost missed Bouro stepping from the shadows.

The rat-faced demihuman bowed, showing the proper deference for someone of his station.

"My prince," He growled. "My apologies for my spy's failure, their attempt at getting close to the Count resulted in heightened security."

"You punished them?" Zorzal grunted the question.

"Severely. They will not repeat this mistake," Bouru said.

"Good," Zorzal sighed. "What of Tyuule and my siblings?"

"We were… unable to get close to any of them," Bouro flinched, still bowed. "Due to the heightened security."

Zorzal snarled.

"I expect better of you, Burou," He spat. "Is there anything else to report?"

"Yes, it would seem that the count wishes to speak with Sir Richard, in the morning, just after the morning meal," Bouru said. "It would be risky, but I could send an agent to listen in."

"No, bribe a servant," Zorzal waved him off. "I suspect I know what will be discussed. My father is using the count as his agent to secure his connections to NATO. Too much of a coward to admit he is submitting to them."

The prince spat.

"Leave me."

"As you wish, Your Highness."

---

Breakfast had been a simple fare, but it sat heavy in his stomach. He was nervous due to the request to speak to him from the count, as he walked towards the main residence of the estate.

A servant guided him to the inner courtyard where Count Arruns waited.

The countess appeared, briefly, as Richard was shown a seat, to place a tray of snacks, while another servant prepared tea.

Richard, despite knowing the insult it presented in this setting, refused the offered cup.

The count's eyes flickered to the member of the Long Patrol standing just far away enough to be polite, without being so out of reach the Warrior Bunny would be unable to intercept an attacker headed for her charge. His expression remained relaxed.

He deliberately ignored the click of taloned feet on the roof tiles above them.

Richard noted it was only after the countess was gone that the count spoke.

"Thank you, Sir Richard, for agreeing to meet with me," Count Arruns said, taking a sip from his cup of tea. "I… wished to speak of the… wounds between us."

As the Count spoke, hesitantly, Richard kept his nerves from showing by noting the design of the teacup, which was a handless design, not introduced to Europe until around the 17th century, suggesting either a facet of culture carried over by relatively recent immigrants, such as Hannah's sword, or perhaps influences from East Asia, a Gate appearing in the distant past carrying those influences.

"I made mistakes," The count admitted, continuing. "One of them was going through the Gate, but worse was the insult and indignity I forced upon you, made worse by my conduct after the death of my son. You may have held the blade but my own failures as his father are what killed him."

Richard flinched.

A spot on his head ached with the memory of the blow from a shield. For a moment, his suit felt restricting.

His hand clenched and he resisted the urge to swallow.

"I… see," He said, lamely.

The Count sighed.

"I understand your hesitance to believe me," He said, nodding sadly. "I hounded you back to the Gate, and the conduct I showed, as well as that of my countrymen, has no doubt done nothing to improve your opinion of us. Regardless, I am compelled by conscience, more than honour or pride, to apologise, and offer what I can in recompense."

Richard forced himself not to react as his mind raced.

He knew what this was. A negotiation for settlement. Something he was ill-prepared for.

His mind raced as he struggled to come up with a reply.

"I…" He stopped himself before he sounded like a broken record. The silence began to drag on. "… why blame yourself for your son's death?"

"Because," The count sighed, sorrow bleeding into his tone. "I failed him as a father. Too lenient, I didn't impress upon him the importance of caution, of listening to others. Worse, I had encouraged him to join the expedition into your world. I let his arrogance grow, when I should have curbed it, I…"

Count Arruns gave a sad sigh.

"My apologies," Richard said, regretting his words. "It was not my intention to dredge up pain."

"No, no," The count waved him off. "You asked an honest question. Given what I have done to you, the question was well warranted."

The count refilled his cup.

"The soldiers of mine that were lost… I have adopted their children as my own, and I fully intend on doing well by them," Count Arruns stared into his cup and chuckled. "At least my house is not at risk of dying out, now."

"Now," He looked back up at Richard. "How can I begin to make amends?"

Richard stared at the man for several moments.

Blinking, he made to reply, slowly and uncertain.

"I… don't know," He said, answering honestly. "I… can understand your position… but… I…."

Richard found himself, once more, struggling for words.

"I… my apologies," He struggled out. "I… think I need some time to think this over."

The Count started, blinking, his face flushed with embarrassment.

"Of course, of course," He nodded rapidly. "I did not mean to force the issue, not at all, my apologies. I understand that this is a... difficult topic, for the both of us. Still, at least there is peace between our nations, or will be soon."

"Oh, don't jinx it," Richard groaned.

The Count gave him a confused look.

---

"Will none of you will see reason?" Zufmuut pleaded. "The threat-"

"Is no longer present," The god of the sea responded. "With a god to rule Apocryph, the threat is gone, and we have clearly made mistakes. NATO is more powerful, powerful enough I doubt all our demigods could crush them."

"I will side with you, Zufmuut, but there is a price," The goddess of the southern wind said. "I want the Empire to crush the pirates within my domain. They have begun to worship an old god of piracy, one that should learn to stay dead."

Zufmuut hid his wince. That was his fault. The god of piracy had offered his support, in exchange for being permitted to re-establish his cult on Falmart.

"I will consider it, but thank you," He said. He might be able to convince the pirates to head elsewhere or serve as privateers for the Empire.

The other gods, who ruled things beyond Falmart, were more split. Some, it seemed, remembered tales of Apocryph, and sided with him, while others wanted the Empire gone.

Most were content to sit on the sidelines.

Zufmuut despaired. It wouldn't be enough. Too few of worth sided with him, and even fewer wouldn't betray him.

At this rate, he would have to take actions he dreaded.

The God of Piracy had been gone, but not outright forgotten, not dead. Other gods, however, were nearly dead. They, however, might be willing, in exchange for a return to power and mortal worship, to aid him.

But there was a reason some of them had been forgotten by mortals.

 

[charclone]

Despite the heightened security, the party continued.

Richard found the anachronistic mix of events amusing, though he would have been fine not participating in the 'hunt' that the count had arranged, where prey animals local to Falmart were chased through a garden, boxed in by walls that 'hunters' could stand behind and shoot short bows at, with prizes being awarded to those who killed the largest creatures, most difficult to hit, and the most animals.

The movie had been one he had already seen, though based on the shouts he had heard, Zorzal had enjoyed it.

The dance, however, he had enjoyed. As it turned out, Tara knew how to dance. He would have preferred if it hadn't been necessary to dance with a few others. He could swear that Pina was quite disgruntled by the dance they had been forced to share.

The final event, however, was a play.

As Hamlet faked his kidnapping, Richard found himself pulled away by Senator Palmer.

"My apologies, but could I borrow a moment of your time?" The American senator asked, leading him away from the amphitheatre, Tara, and a pair of Long Patrol soldiers in tow. Once a safe distance away from any crowd, the senator turned back to Richard. "Now, as I understand it, the meeting with the Count was him essentially asking how to apologise?"

"Correct," Richard responded, curious as to why the Senator was asking. "He… asked how it could amends could be made. I… asked for time to think it over."

"Good, good," Jeff sighed. "If I may be so bold as to offer advice, keep in mind his potential goals and position."

"What, are you suggesting I try and fleece him?" Richard snorted, his mind wandering to stereotypes about politicians. "Honestly, I'd rather not have to be around him. I… don't hate him. Hell, I can empathise with him, given the loss of my own father despite the age of the wound."

"So can I," Jeff sat down on a delicately carved bench. "I still remember that gut-wrenching terror when I nearly lost my daughter. But distancing yourself is a bad idea, at least for now. He likely has political reasons for the steps, probably wants the same as you, to simply avoid you."

"I'm not suggesting you ask anything grand from him. Just that you ask him to… say, add his weight to secure a peace treaty and help abolish slavery?" The senator shrugged. "I'm not expecting much, not yet, but the sooner that movement gets going, the better it will be for everyone."

"What do you mean by that?" Tara spoke up, standing next to Richard. "I agree with ending slavery, but how would it make things better?"

"Trade," Jeff shrugged. "Better economy, lots of reasons. When we get back to Alnus, before I head back state-side, I can give you a rundown. Did a project on this in university. But the short of it is that, due to industrialisation, slavery is a deadweight and a blight, for more than just the moral reasons."

He held up his hands.

"That isn't to say we expect Falmart to be a major market, but as long as the Gate stays open, there are interest groups that believe it is worth investing here, expecting it to become a major market over time."

"And… the treaty facilitates that," Richard noted.

"Well, I'm personally more invested in medical advances from studying the new flora, fauna, alchemy, and magic," Jeff admitted. "But yes. It would, if quietly publicised, earn you some goodwill in certain circles."

Tara gave a low groan of disgust.

"Politics," She grimaced.

Senator Palmer shrugged.

"Honestly, I enjoy it," He stated. "The negotiating, the puzzling out of people's intentions and goals, the finding of acceptable compromises. But I can understand why some might turn away at the thought."

"Anyway," Richard interjected. "I will take your advice under consideration… and I suppose I should speak to him before the festival ends and we leave."

"That would likely be best," Jeff grinned. "Relax, it won't be that bad."

He waved and walked off back towards the play.

Richard sighed and sat on the now vacant bench.

"Look on the bright side," Tara offered with a weak smile as she sat next to him. "At least you know how my people feel, at the idea of working with the Empire."

Richard shook his head.

"Sorry," Tara apologised, leaning against him.

"Don't make light of your people's suffering," Richard grunted. "Long as it doesn't dictate their future. But… honestly, I'm just… confused? I think? And off put by the situation. I've read about plenty of medieval and classical diplomacy and culture, but… this is different, real, not simply ancient history. No advantage of hindsight to weigh the costs."

The pair sat in silence for some time, taking solace in each other's company, while mulling things over in their minds.

"How about we change the subject?" Tara suggested. "What do you think about the treaty?"

"As far as I know, the details haven't been hammered out. I know NATO is going to retain control of Alnus, under conditions considering its religious significance, and the surrounding territory is going to be handed over as well," Richard said. "I also know that the Empire will be paying some form of reparations for the invasion, and damages it inflicted, but I don't know if that will go towards your people."

Tara hummed, taking a moment to consider things before speaking.

"Do you think it will last?" She finally asked. "The Empire… didn't keep to Tyuule's agreement. I've also heard rumours that it slowly erodes its vassals over time. Between that and the sudden invasion, I am loathe to trust them."

"I think Molt is smart enough to see the dangers in antagonising NATO," Richard thought about it. "I don't know about the rest of the Saderan's government, but if it does end, I suspect there will be an ocean of Saderan blood. The question I'm worried about is who gets caught up in the flood that causes."

"How lurid and ghastly an image," Tara snorted. "A flood of blood washing people away."

"Given the expected casualties of the collapse of the Empire, as well as the numbers of legionaries killed on the battlefield by modern armaments?" Richard said. "It's not completely hyperbole."

"Well, I won't shed any tears about the soldiers," Tara said. "But I'll agree with you that the Empire collapsing into anarchy and civil war bodes poorly. At the very least, it would mean a lot of refugees headed to Alnus town, and we are barely keeping on top of that as it is."

Richard nodded.

"… Probably the best option, Senator Palmer's suggestions, that is," He said after a moment. "If we use his offered contacts, with the price being the support for the treaty, it might make us better off for the refugee situation, especially with more Warrior Bunnies coming, freed from slavery."

Tara winced.

"More people wanting me to be queen," She groaned.

Richard reached around and rubbed her shoulders in sympathy.

---

"Then your father will support the treaty?" Pina asked.

The young knight, a member of the Red Roses lance, Pina's command, nodded. Her father was, while only a baron, highly influential, with several of his siblings married to more powerful noble families. His word carried a great deal of weight.

"Yes, Your Highness," She said. "He has also sent my younger brother to serve under your command as a show of support."

"Thank you," Pina dismissed her a moment later.

As she reclined on a couch, she considered her political position.

There was a steady flow of new recruits for the Order of the Rose, many from nobles, middling in rank, seeking to further their political relevance. Others believed in the codes of chivalry and honour, graduates from the few knightly schools scattered around the Empire's major cities, directed her way by her father, rather than sent to any of the more regimented knightly orders that served under the emperor.

So far, few senators had been willing to voice an opinion, probably waiting for her father to take a stance.

It wasn't bad, not with how the Senatoria Familia relied on the Equestria Familia to manage and run lands, as well as provide officers for the Imperial Army.

But it wasn't enough to guarantee a permanent end to the war. Her father was schooling her in politics, but he had yet to explain why he was waiting for the draft of the treaty before he made more public statements about ending the war.

She could guess; perhaps he wanted to see which of the senate was reliable, or perhaps he wanted her to gather enough political power to stand on her own – something that scared her, if she was honest to herself since she had no political ambitions, her knights were enough – or perhaps he was simply waiting to see what NATO demanded for peace.

Pina found it unlikely NATO would demand a great deal. They had so much more, and were capable of so much more, than the Empire. It had little to offer them, especially with NATO's stance on slavery.

She rubbed her head.

"Of course, with him not being part of the negotiations, Sir Richard is probably basking in his victory still, like Zorzal did after he conquered the Warrior Bunnies," She grumbled. "Part of me wishes he had to suffer as I do."

 

[charclone]

A.N. No jokes about the number, please. Not that kind of story.

---

"I am surprised, brother," Diabo said, reclining aboard Zorzal's carriage, facing his brother. "That you are not more… upset at father taking your trophy."

Zorzal merely grunted, staring at the half-empty goblet in his hands.

"So, I have a few ideas about who we could bring over to our side," Diabo shrugged and carried on with the reason he wasn't using his carriage. "Most of the senators are either jingoists, spineless, or blindly follow our father. The former will side with us if we can give them a target, perhaps building up the military and stealing secrets from NATO. The spineless can be persuaded once they see the way the wind is blowing. We can deal with our father's fanatics once those are behind us."

"Bah!" Zorzal scoffed. "You know I have no head for politics. I'll handle the soldiers and generals. My service in the Legions should swing some of them. I can get the rest to see sense, remind them why they should be patriots of the Empire."

"I agree, brother," Diabo sighed. "But we need to present a united front. Now, General Virilis' son, he was one of your aides, yes?"

"Yes," Zorzal groaned, rolling his eyes. "We often go out hunting together. Why?"

"Ah, you are still in contact with him? Good. See if you can persuade his son to join our camp and convince his father to do the same."

The pair lapsed into silence. Diabo frowned at his brother, still staring at the cup.

"Something bothers you?"

Zorzal was silent for several more moments. The sounds of marching feet, whinnying of horses, and barks of orders from sergeants were muffled by the covering around the carriage.

When Diabo's older brother spoke, it was with a quiet, pained tone.

"Do you… remember Kati?" Diabo winced at the mention of their deceased 'brother'.

"I do," Diabo sighed. "… I believe father has… softened significantly since then, and we are only looking to force the issue of the heir, not seize the throne from him."

Kati had been the son of Molt's third wife, brought into the family after he had seized the throne before Pina had been born. Shortly afterwards, Kati made a play for the throne, seeking to overthrow Molt. He had no claim, beyond being Molt's adopted son through marriage. The consensus was that, combined with Molt having only reigned as Emperor for four years at that point and thus being seen as vulnerable, Kati's mother had pushed for him to make the attempt.

Kati had been tortured to death. His mother had been smart enough to keep poison nearby, rather than be captured. Exile was deemed too light and too risky, for someone to bring forward a claimant later.

Molt, as well as the other nearby members of the Imperial Family, had watched the execution. For three hours, Kati had screamed under the cruel ministrations of the best torturers in the Empire. In the end, he bit his tongue off and bled out, rather than endure it any further.

For that mistake, the torturers were beheaded.

Molt married Pina's mother, later that year, and she herself was born thusly in the purple as a member of the Imperial Family, swaddled in rich purple silks and cloth.

Both Zorzal and Diabo had been present for both events. While Diabo had been young enough to slowly forget the horror, Zorzal still found himself, on lonely nights, remembering Kati's cries.

"But," Diabo continued. "That just means we need to be careful not to be caught doing anything that might antagonise father. He believes Pina is the better heir, we merely need to change his mind."

Zorzal slowly looked up from the goblet. His face twisted into a smile.

"May none of our family ever spill its own blood," Zorzal raised the cup.

Diabo smiled, nodded, and poured a small amount of nearby wine into his own goblet, raising it to join his brother's toast.

"May father and our sister be reasonable," Diabo said.

---

Zufmuut undid the bindings, one at a time.

It wasn't difficult work, as the god that had been sealed away had done so voluntarily, on certain conditions.

But Zufmuut didn't trust him. Their domains were too similar, yet also contradictory in application. The sealed god was also far too ambitious.

But the conditions of his imprisonment were now jeopardised.

The God of Light reached out, and the sealed god awoke, pulled from its slumber.

"Hail, Sol Invictus, August one of the Empire," Zufmuut greeted. "The Empire you forged from the scattered castoffs from your ancient home of Roma is threatened. Will you aid my cause, and save it?"

The first Emperor of the Saderan Empire, who had taken the name Sol Invictus when he became a god, smiled.

"What god of the sun and the Empire would I be if I abandoned it in its time of need?" The once-Roman citizen asked rhetorically. "I presume that given its risk of falling to something you dislike, the other gods are with us?"

"No," Zufmuut sighed. "Let me tell you of Apocryph and NATO."

---

Richard yawned as he watched the Long Patrol sort themselves out under Tara's direction as they boarded the helicopters.

With the festival done, there was no reason to stick around. Others would handle the actual negotiation of the treaty, with the preliminary discussions complete.

But he wasn't sure why it was so damn early in the morning that they were leaving. Possibly something related to Molt having left around the same time?

"Ah, Sir Richard," King Duran called out, walking over to him and abandoning some of the nobles from his kingdom. The king with prosthetic limbs stood next to the Canadian, watching the Long Patrol march aboard. "Honestly, I can see the utility in these vessels, but the ride… well, I suppose horses would also seem uncomfortable to those unused to them, but I'm too old to adapt to these."

"The usual method of air travel is more comfortable," Richard said. "But jets require a great deal of infrastructure to build and maintain. You've seen the runway at Alnus?"

"Yes," Duran nodded. "That long strip of concrete?"

"Asphalt, or tarmac, I don't remember the distinction, but they are similar, and both are used for runways."

Duran hummed.

"Speaking of infrastructure, I received an… interesting proposal," The king said. "Now, as I understand it, your nation is still debating whether or not it is legal to grant you the lands offered for the death of the Ancient Fire Dragon?"

Richard blinked, frowning.

"I had heard there were rewards put forward by several nearby kingdoms," He admitted, confused. "But as far as I was aware, there wasn't anything put forward to me specifically."

"Ah, I see," Duran chuckled. "Well, yes, a few titles were put forward for you and other officers. As I understand it, several… guilds, I believe they are roughly equal to, want those to go through, and for them to rent the land using you as a way to get around several laws in place."

Richard winced.

"I've heard quite a few debates on the matter of uplifting," He said. "But the work needed to even get basic industrial steel production would be difficult and time-consuming. From what I know, it would require specific tools as well, just to work with that more modern steel."

"A few groups have said the same thing," King Duran nodded. "It is expected to take five generations before we can stand near your people, but not doing so, I fear, would be a grave mistake. Thus, I want your thoughts. In the Northern part of my kingdom, where the Dark Elves live, there is a large mountain range. I expect the Elves to abandon it and return to their valleys, more arable land. But those mountains are rich with mineral wealth."

"You are offering me a holding there," Richard blinked. "… and because I helped kill the Fire Dragon…"

"Not just that, they worship Hardy."

Richard blinked as the realisation sunk in.

"Oh… you haven't been able to access that wealth, but because of my reputation and connection to their goddess, they will likely permit it," He realised. "And with support from Earth, you could exploit it at a greater degree… and it would pay for itself in short order."

King Duran of Elbe grinned, nodding his head.

"I would, of course, hand the land itself over to NATO, separating it from my Kingdom, in exchange for material compensation and the 'industry'," The king explained. "In addition… I have organised a gift for your Long Patrol. A celebration of the peace. Your Long Patrol lacks cavalry, yes?"

"Horses are no small gift, your highness…" Richard said. "Is this a bribe?"

"Oh… just a little," Duran snorted. "But it isn't just horses. The Kingdom of Elbe might not have the size of the Imperial Rider Corp, but our Wyverns are just as good as any of the aerial mounts in the Empire."

Richard froze.

Tara walked over to them, moments later.

"The Long Patrol is aboard," She said. "We're just waiting on NATO to get the last of the dignitaries."

She glanced between the two of them.

"King Duran," Tara sighed at the older man, his face showing how hard he was trying to not laugh. "Even with the proposed support, we have no way to train or maintain such a gracious gift. We could care for the horses, of course, but Wyverns, especially of such a fine breeding, require a great deal of care."

"Ah, true, but many of your people have expressed an interest in studying the breeds," Duran countered. "Ah, NATO, that is, my apologies Lady Tara. I am sure you can count on support. Further, they would make for greater ability to protect the land from bandits, without needing NATO's larger craft or infrastructure."

The King waved them off before either could reply.

"All I ask is you consider the idea of the fiefdoms. I'm sure both our people could benefit from the wealth buried there," Duran chortled before heading off back towards his nobles, and the helicopter awaiting them.

Richard sighed.

"We're not going to escape politics, are we?" He groaned. "And doing nothing is worse. My own advice comes back to bite me in the ass."

Tara snorted, before wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

"Come on," She said. "We can stress about it back at Alnus. At least there we can rely on other friends and do so in comfort. I wonder what Tyuule will think of the Killer Rabbit of Caerbannog, Queen Boudica, and Zulu?"

 

[charclone]

Radya watched as the Long Patrol, riding NATO machines, returned to Alnus. She scoffed. So much for Sir Richard, already off playing noble with the Empire.

The rows of trucks, filled with soldiers, stopped just outside of the town.

Radya frowned as she saw supplies brought out to the trucks, rather than the soldiers head in as she would have expected. Tents and crates of supplies were lifted into the trucks, which soon headed towards where more tents were being erected by NATO soldiers, in an extension to Alnus town.

She quietly moved around the forming crowds, her face set with a scowl, many cheering the Long Patrol as they passed, carrying more supplies meant for refugees.

She froze when she saw the helicopters take off. More than had initially carried the diplomatic party back.

Two possibilities appeared in her mind. Either something bad had happened to the Imperials, which she wanted to celebrate and curse NATO for helping them, or NATO had restarted the war and was moving refugees again.

If the latter, then she would begrudgingly keep from troubling them while they made the Saderan's soon-to-be shortened lives miserable.

She didn't let herself be swept up in the crowd of gawkers, leaving the slack-jawed fools to stare senselessly. Instead, she headed deeper into Alnus.

She had intended to stir up some rumours, in both directions and use the chaos to persuade or at least needle a few people still on the fence regarding Tara.

Instead, a runner, one of the people she had observing Richard's domicile, met her partway.

"I just saw," The woman gasped for breath, her ears drooping in exhaustion. "Tyuule… they found Tyuule."

"What?" Radya squawked before catching herself and pulling the runner into an alley where they couldn't be overheard. "Tell me what you saw."

"Tyuule. She was aboard a… NATO mount. With Sir Richard and Tara," The runner said after a moment to catch her breath. "She was dressed in those clothes NATO gives to refugees that they take to the healers when they arrive."

"Where did she go? Was she speaking to anyone else?"

"No, just Tara. Sir Richard left with the mount, I overheard him talking about more people coming," The runner replied. "Tara and Tyuule entered Sir Richard's house. I then went to report to you."

Radya clenched her fists.

"Good…" She muttered, thinking.

If Tyuule was here… then either NATO had killed Zorzal or the Empire had exiled her, likely because she had no use to them. Or, Radya pondered, thinking that the Empire might have somehow known and cared about her plans, sending Tyuule as an agent to counter her.

"More fool them," She snorted beneath her breath. She looked at the runner. "Despite the rumours Tara has tried to circulate, only fools trust Tyuule didn't betray us. We cannot allow her to regain power."

The runner nodded fervently.

"So, return to watching them," Radya ordered. "I will spread the word. This, I think, will be enough to splinter those backing Tara. We'll soon be free of our dependence on NATO. But we also need to know more about those refugees coming. NATO and the Long Patrol have been setting up tents, lots of them, and moving supplies. I want to know who they are."

"Understood. I'll pay extra attention if they are mentioned."

---

Radya soon learned that her information-gathering efforts were in vain.

Mere hours later, a volunteer call was put forward over the speaker system. Within, Radya learned just who was coming, as the message asked for construction volunteers to assist in building more of Alnus for Warrior Bunnies.

Those taken as slaves by the Empire… were being released.

Radya, despite her self-absorption, saw the threat. She was disappointed in the Empire, that it was reduced to using refugees in a vain attempt to starve NATO. But she also saw the threat to her power base.

Over a thousand Warrior Bunnies would be coming. And they owed their freedom not to her, but to Sir Richard, NATO, and Tara.

It was practically an army.

That very evening, Radya sat in her domicile, shared with other members of her clan, and ground her teeth in fury. She was powerless to stop them if they tried to take the queenship by force.

Worse, Tara had enough support she could keep it.

Assassination would end poorly, even if she succeeded. She had been too blatant in her opposition to Tara. Perhaps subverting the refugees?

Radya frowned.

No, there was the risk that someone with more claim to her title was still alive. The clan leadership might default to them since there had been no election to confirm her position.

Radya paused.

But… what if another pureblood had survived?

Radya snickered. Oh, that would be perfect. And if one hadn't… well, purity was always rather… subjective in many cases, historically, anyway. Even Tara herself was of questionable purity, according to rumours. Her and Tyuule's mother did, despite being queen, have quite the reputation.

---

Unaware of any political considerations, the Long Patrol worked.

Some were happy to see a break from the constant drilling, while others groaned under the labour.

The Warrior Bunnies of the Long Patrol were in heightened spirits, as word spread of just who they were building housing for. Gossip slipped between the timbers as they were maneuverer, smiles and jokes shared with the movements of trenching tools.

Yao wiped the sweat from her brow.

She was no stranger to setting up tents, her people preferring to move between campsites in their territory to settle down in one place, if not using a cave network for their dwelling, but this work was different.

It was also different from what she was expecting military life to be like. She had expected patrolling the streets, after they tested her skills, busting a few heads, maybe going out with the local lord in a punitive expedition against bandits, or helping fight fires. It was what she had seen from every town guard, in her three-hundred years.

Instead, here she was helping build houses, expand a town, and learning that she wasn't nearly as fit as she thought she was. The drills the Long Patrol Recruits were put through were tiring, but the 'Physical Training' left muscles she didn't know she had or needed exhausted.

She wasn't surprised at the language lessons, but the fact they were teaching her to not only speak 'English', but also read and write it was a shock. She was neither a noble nor an officer, but they were teaching her how to read and write. Why?

Putting her thoughts aside, she focused on her work, her shovel lifting the clay out of the hole where a pole would go. She understood the basic concept of lighting running along metal and that being the underlying principle behind most of NATO's ability. But she couldn't how they could generate constant light or communicate using it. Lightning flashed, it didn't glow.

She shook her head. She was getting distracted. She needed to stay focused, or she would screw up, her gods cursed foul luck striking.

A glob of dirt and clay was sent flying from her shovel as it came up, striking a wolfman's uniform.

Yao flinched as the large Demi-human glared at her, the stack of timber in his arms serving to emphasise how much stronger than her he was. She raised her hands, stuttering an apology.

The wolfman huffed, and brushed the dirt away as best he could, before continuing.

Yao sighed, resuming her work, focusing hard on where the dirt she was excavating ended up.

Eventually, the call went out for her shift to end. The members of her training platoon shuffled out, and another was put in its place.

Yao sighed, after a short but hot shower, at the sight of the mess hall. It was just a large tent set up for the Long Patrol, but it was like a paradise compared to weeks tramping through the wilderness, or baking under a hot sun eating trail rations with limited water.

The scent of warm food tickled her nose and nearly made her drool. It took only a few moments to get herself seated with her platoon, a fish of some sort fried and on her plate alongside other dishes she had grabbed, beside an orc and a Warrior Bunny.

Yao took short pauses to enjoy each bite of the foreign dish, careful to note the time.

They had half an hour to eat, before they were back doing drills, according to the instructors. At least tomorrow, after assisting with more construction, they would get some time to themselves to relax.

"So," The orc grunted next to her. "What's your story?"

Yao choked in surprise, realising after a moment he had been speaking to her.

"Sorry," The orc grunted in an apologetic tone. "Didn't mean to make you choke. But I'm curious, I'd always heard the Dark Elves were isolationist."

"We aren't," Yao denied, after a moment to clear her throat. "We just don't have much need to travel far, and the Kingdom of Elbe has always been… a shaky trade partner. Some years it's good, others it's bad, so we aren't fond or trusting of outsiders. As for me… I was sent out to look for help against the Fire Dragon."

The orc burst out in laughter.

"Let me guess, showed up just in time to see its corpse?"

"Yeah," Yao sighed. "I… had been chosen because of my bad luck on those around me. One dead lover, another stolen by my former best friend, lost family… I had been given a prize of my tribe to trade, even been ready to sell my body to see my people saved…"

"And it turned out you didn't need to do any of it," The orc snorted, tearing into the bread on his tray. "Sent into exile?"

"Kind of. If I were to return… I would probably be shamed," Yao admitted. "If not sent away again."

"Heh, yeah, I was exiled myself, outright," The orc admitted, his pig-snouted face twisting into a wry smile. "My brother became chief of our little backwards tribe because the elders hated my idea of trading with our more civilised cousins so that we weren't dependant on just hunting for food, instead growing crops. We had fought in the Arctic War against the Empire, but where others changed and adapted, our idiot ancestors chose instead a slow death. So, I ended up working as a mercenary for a while before I heard about Alnus."

"Why the Long Patrol?" The Warrior Bunny on Yao's other side asked, her soup finished. "Why join an army?"

"One, because Sir Richard is willing to accept the likes of a savage like me in his forces," The orc replied. "Two, because… have you seen NATO? I can't image what Sir Richard's homeland is like, what wonders they have, but I want to experience them. I want to see those wonders, and even help build them myself. I know fighting, and I am learning more, so that is how I can contribute."

"What about you?" Yao asked the Warrior Bunny.

She snorted. Russet-coloured hair and fur rippling as she shrugged.

"Because Alnus is the one safe place for my people. I intend to protect it."

"What about Italica?" The orc asked. "I heard they accept Demi-humans."

"Sure, in tiny villages around the countryside, but not in the militia," The Warrior Bunny replied, still looking at her food as she dug her spoon into a sweet pudding. "Like you, war is all I know."

The orc snorted, nodding in understanding.

"Well, in that case," The orc lifted a plastic cup of water. "To the Long Patrol, a new home."

Yao and the Warrior Bunny raised their own cups in a toast.

"To the Long Patrol, Sir Richard and Lady Tara!" Someone else cried before either of them could speak.

"Long Patrol!"

"Sir Richard and Lady Tara!"

"Long Patrol!"

"Queen Tara!"

"NATO and the Long Patrol!"

At another table, where they could watch the room, several instructors watched with amusement as the room erupted into an impromptu toast.

"Man, I wish things had been like this in the sandbox," One laughed. "Hell of a lot less stressful."

"Says you," Another grumbled. "Just less fear of our 'allies' 'accidentally' shelling us. On purpose anyway. None of these people are ready for a modern war."

"Nah, but they're just supposed to be local security, maybe handle anti-bandit stuff. Less wasted bombs levelling some bandit hideout because the poor SOBs raided a merchant cart," A third chimed in. "Besides, I ain't gonna complain about the eye candy."

"Keep it in your pants, regs still apply to all of us, horndog," The first grumbled. "So, how long until we start having to train them with firearms?"

"The first group starts next week," A fourth, who had been silent until now, said. "That's Richard's group so don't expect complete slack jaws at the idea of firearms. Heard Major Johnston taught him some basic firearms handling, so make sure there isn't anything that needs to be trained out of him, others might use him as an example."

"Like being stateside," The first snorted. "Anyway, they got some free time coming up. How are we going to keep them out of trouble?"

"Well," Someone muttered. "We could set up some sports games."

"Video games, movies, something to distract them?" Another instructor asked. "Or are we looking for team-building exercises?"

"Eh, they are going to go looking for a drink either way, why not just make sure the MPs are on alert?"

"Oh, sure, give them a reason to give us the stink eye when we are free to go drinking. Great idea."

The discussion went on, as instructors filtered out with platoons finishing their meals. Compared to the excitement some members of the Long Patrol were experiencing, the instructors were more relaxed and focused on their duties.

The war with the Saderans was soon to be formally over, after all, and that meant things would calm down.

 

[charclone]

Despite being out of it for some time, thanks to Exams, I have also been able to write an update for LI, so here is a chapter from the backlog.

Merry Christmas, for the little bit of the day that is left.

---

The first night back in the Imperial City, Zorzal felt restless. He found it hard to sleep, the bed feeling empty and cold. Tyuule's absence weighed on him. The lack of her body heat, the feeling of her flesh. The whispers of her voice reminding him of his greatness and prowess.

The whores he briefly considered hiring from the darker corners of Sadera seemed inadequate and pathetic compared to Tyuule, or any Warrior Bunny for that matter.

Worse, his father's decision to free so many of them had meant there simply wasn't any in the slave markets for him to purchase.

Zorzal lay awake, alone, and ground his teeth.

With a deep sigh, he sat up. The dark sky, with nary a star visible, revealed the late hour.

He began to pace. Churning the situation over in his mind.

The patter of his bare feet against the stonework floor echoed off the walls of the palace as if to mock him for just how empty the place now seemed.

With a grunt, he shoved a stand nearby over, venting his frustrations.

A servant, carrying a candle, briefly appeared to check on the noise, before Zorzal silently dismissed them.

He paused as he stared at the upturned stand. Once, it had held Tyuule's armour; a mix of leather, fur, steel and gold. Hardly befitting of a warrior, but it had accentuated her savage beauty. Zorzal had kept it nearby as a trophy. But now, his father had sent it away to NATO.

Zorzal's face twisted into an ugly scowl at the thought of the otherworlders.

Why!? Why had they been able to crush the Legions sent against them so swiftly? It made his swift victory against the Warrior Bunnies seem insignificant. An insult to his capabilities!

Zorzal paused.

Why had his victories been so swiftly forgotten, his sleep-deprived mind asked. Were the people of the Empire so fickle and mercurial in their memory?

An idea occurred to him that night.

Perhaps, then, all that was needed was a push, to remind them what the Empire could accomplish with proper strength applied. NATO could be crushed, their strengths turned against them… in time.

In Zorzal's mind, his father's decision to seek peace so early in the war was cowardly. His father had, in his eyes, become soft. But that could be an advantage.

Slowly, long rusted gears in the Imperial Prince's mind began to turn. Tyuule's poisoned words were slowly ground past, cobwebs swept away by spinning thoughts, his hedonism to hide his intelligence pushed aside.

Zorzal sat on the edge of his bed and began to think and plot.

---

Pina's horse trotted down the path towards the villa.

With her rode a dozen of her knights, dressed in polished armour as colourful pennants fluttered from their decorative lances alongside banners of the Order of the Rose and the Saderan Empire.

Her calm face covered her churning gut.

There was always a standing invitation to each member of the Imperial Family, whenever another member held a party, as per ancient custom. The absence of a formal invitation was usually used as a method of signalling whether someone would be welcome or not to the festivities, should they drop in unexpectedly.

However, her father had recommended she go to this one, hosted by Zorzal, despite not being formally invited. The sudden shift in his eldest son's behaviour a mere month after the peace negotiations began caught him by surprise and made him suspicious.

Pina was just glad that the Emperor had confirmed Zorzal was inviting a fairly broad selection of people, so it was not an unseemly party, as Zorzal occasionally threw. The fact that he had hired no prostitutes, nor other, similarly uncouth entertainers, further supported this.

The villa, located a short distance from the city, was owned by the Imperial Family, explaining how their father knew about the party's details ahead of time.

As Pina's band rode up to it, they could see the festivities all prepared. A large crow, mostly soldiers and their families, as well as officers and their families, nobility and not, stood apart from the prepared games and food. Their attention was on Zorzal, standing on a stage dressed in finery that evoked images of armour.

His voice was carried by the breeze, faint with the remaining distance though still discernible, as he recited an old poem, celebrating the Empire's resolve during the Arctic War, how its people shouldered the hardships, coming out stronger when the defeats turned to victories.

As it ended, the crowd did not applaud him.

It did not erupt into cheers.

It exploded into applause, a few soldiers breaking into victory songs.

As Pina dismounted at the front of the villa, a servant seeing to her party's horses, she realised she hadn't heard so much as a whisper from the crowd before her brother finished. As far as she could tell, it had been silent as her brother held the crowd in its entirety enthralled.

Some part of her felt jealous of his ability to command a crowd. True, she knew how to hold a debate or recite a speech before a crowd, but this was beyond her ability. Even her knights were prone to whispering on occasion during her speeches.

She shook her head, banishing the errant thoughts. It was Zorzal, after all.

"Sister!" The Imperial Prince in question called out to her, greeting her as she entered the villa. "I suppose this more martial festivity would be something you might enjoy."

Pina kept the frown from her face, as something about the way Zorzal spoke nagged her.

"Brother," She returned the greeting. "I hope we aren't intruding, but I needed to get out of the city for a short while. The additional duties Father has placed upon me…."

She trailed off with a shrug.

Zorzal laughed.

"So, of course, you come to me!" He laughed cheerfully. "Careful, people might think my reputation might rub off on you! Come, this way!"

Pina sighed before following her brother.

---

Her father was waiting for her in his study when she returned that evening.

"I trust that it was as my informants said?" Molt asked as she sat down.

"Yes," Pina nodded, warming her hands on a fire. "Games, festivities, and no prostitutes. The wine was even heavily watered down."

"And what did you notice about it?" Molt asked with sudden intensity. Pina realised that her visit had been more than a test for her eldest brother.

"At the start, just before we arrived, he had been reciting poetry, related to the Arctic War," Pina recalled. "Most of those present were martial families, mostly lowborn, though there were some officers, and their families present."

"But did you note any connections between them?" Molt pressed. "Common subjects of discussion, soldiers from the same units?"

Pina frowned. None of the soldiers had been wearing uniforms, aside from her brother's guards.

"I seem to recall most of them were from the local legions, off-duty soldiers my brother had invited," Pina said. "As well as officers from the legions my brother had commanded to the east."

Molt hummed.

"I hope you memorised faces, and your knights as well?" He asked. "You must pay attention to who your foes talk to. Both Zorzal and Diabo are making their plays for the throne, and it makes me worry. Neither of them are suitable, nor are they willing to learn. Zorzal to headstrong and hedonistic to rule, and Diabo too placating to use force when necessary. Together, I fear they will just make themselves worse."

Pina winced but nodded in agreement with her father's opinion of her brothers. As much as she hated the idea of taking the throne… the Empire would fall apart under either of her brothers. Diabo would probably invite NATO in if peace failed for a paltry sum, and Zorzal would likely start the war himself, burning the nation to ash on his self-built funeral pyre.

"If Diabo were to throw a party for his supporters, I trust you want me to make an appearance?"

"No," Molt sighed. "I have other people for that, as do you. One of your knights, he is weak to her, yes? Send her if you need someone close to him. But be cautious. Diabo is the greater threat, as he has spent the time to learn to play politics."

"I see," Pina said. "… what is this?"

She picked up a book, one clearly made by the strange tools of the otherworlders, from a table between herself and her father.

"The writings of an ancient Emperor. Sir Richard sent them to you," Molt explained. "There are other books, but they are still being looked over by the court mage. I doubt there are any curses in it, but it is tradition to be cautious of these things. I have read part of it, and I recommend you consider the words inside. The other books as well."

"Now," Molt changed the subject. "You to take charge of the negotiations with NATO. You have a better grasp of their culture and language, and we have hit a sticking point. It will do you some good to get accustomed to negotiating with others, for when your brothers' machinations begin."

---

The door to the alchemist's shop, tucked away in the gang-controlled portions of the city, creaked open.

Wrapped in rough spun cloth cloaks, Bouro led Prince Zorzal from the shadowed alley through the doorway.

The alchemist didn't bother looking up from his work. Those who knew of him knew better than to risk attacking him.

"I do not deal in poisons, but I am skilled in more magical elixirs," He said. "Now, what can I do for you?"

Bouro coughed.

The alchemist glanced up. The candle on the desk illuminated his chimeric features. Eyes of a Dar, married to the jaw of a human and the facial structure of an elf.

"Ah, Bouro," He smiled. It was cold, even as his eyes flickered with intelligence. "Ignore that bit about poison, how may I assist?"

"May I introduce his highness, crown prince-to-be Zorzal El Caesar," Bouro made a formal bow.

The alchemist gave a nod, before apologising.

"I must beg your forgiveness, Your Highness, for not rising, but this mixture requires a great deal of attention," He said. "What does the crown require of me?"

Zorzal said nothing, instead placing a brass item on the desk, alongside a roll of papers.

The alchemist raised an eyebrow.

"Bouro here says you are the best alchemist in the land," Zorzal grinned. "We need ways to arm our Legions against those. Father's alchemists are inept, his mages idiots, Rondel is refusing to be of any use, and I refuse to bow my head to foreigners."

"I see…" The alchemist picked up the bullet, rolling it along his fingers, noting every detail on its surface. "These notes here are what little they discovered?"

"And the formula for a combusting powder one developed, before immolating themselves," Bouro confirmed.

The alchemist gave the Haryo leader a look. He was well aware that several of his rivals had suffered… accidents, ones that had proven quite fortuitous for him. Accidents that were anything but.

"What do you desire, my prince?" The alchemist asked after a moment. "I may be able to replicate something like this, but I suspect the metals, something out of my area of expertise, will prove to be an issue."

"Anything for now," Zorzal shrugged. "If we can steal more from NATO, the better, if not, we will make do. The Empire has endured worse."

As the pair left, the alchemist studied the notes. The small brass bullet gleamed in the candlelight.

"Idiots, the both of them," The alchemist sighed. "NATO was able to make these, after who knows how long. I'll be lucky if I can make something that doesn't explode when a soldier looks at it funny. Alchemy is a delicate art, it takes years. Years that I feel Bouro is too impatient for."

With a sigh, he set the papers aside, instead focusing on the current work.

 

[charclone]

Ugh, ch 75 fought me. As did the Humanity's Illusion chapter I am posting today. Sorry for the slow rate of updates.

---

With a groan, Pina collapsed into a chair, finally free of the negotiations with NATO, safe in the Jade Palace, her private estate. After weeks of negotiations, her job was done. The agreement was more than the Empire hoped to preserve but less than it wanted.

She still wasn't entirely sure what NATO wanted, but territory around Alnus had been surrendered to the Alnus Community as a sort of vassal of NATO, as well as territory stretching across the northern Elbe border around the Tybe Mountain range, stopping outside of the Deabis Coastal Province Its northern border stopped at Italica, and the western border stopped at the Roh river.

The land was underdeveloped, mostly comprised of scattered villages, as the Empire had maintained its focus on the vassal states to the south and north of Sadera proper. It was, nevertheless, more territory than the Empire hoped to lose, but it saved the Empire from having to make any large reparation payments.

Those directly affected, commoner and not, would be compensated from a purse the Empire would give as its reparation payment, in addition to a manageable yearly sum for the next fifty years. The provisions NATO had offered, in exchange for the promise of trade – to be negotiated at a later date – and exchanges of scholars to study each other's records and culture, were a branch that Pina was certain could be leveraged to get the Senate to agree to it, not to mention make it look as though she was able to wring some concessions out of the otherworlders.

NATO was not completely satisfied either, of course. Pina had, per her father and the Senate's wishes, refused to budge on the issue of the Bellatrix Lepus Province. It caused some deal of strife, Pina noted. Both in the negotiation party and in the 'newsgroups', according to what her knights at Alnus gathered.

Now, her father just had to sell it to the Senate to be ratified. He had already given his assent, so it was merely a matter of time until the senate convened once more.

A servant fed logs into the fireplace, stoking it to life. Soon, despite the twilight hour, the room was bathed in light and heat, stone insulating the occupants from the nighttime chill.

A servant entered, carrying a tub of hot water. Pina sighed in contentment as she placed her feet into it.

"Ah, Your Highness," Hamilton entered mere heartbeats later. "My apologies for the late hour, but you wanted a report on the efforts of the knights?"

Pina groaned.

"Yes…" She sighed, slumping in her seat. "What are the important parts? I can read the rest myself in the morning."

"Ah, several of our supporters are reaching out to senatorial families. Some of those families have expressed support for the peace," Hamilton said. "Senator Casel is the most notable member among them. He agrees that a war with NATO is not in the Empire's interests."

"Hmm," Pina hummed, closing her eyes as she relaxed. "Hopefully, my efforts with the peace treaty don't make any of them switch sides, believing that NATO is weak for agreeing to a deal that ends it so swiftly. Is there anything else?"

"Not with how easily NATO crushed the legions sent against it," Hamilton protested. "Ah, yes, it seems your brothers have been throwing some money around at alchemists and mages, trying to entice them to join the military."

Pina pursed her lips and opened her eyes to look at Hamilton.

"Do we know why?"

"Ah, the alchemists were claiming they could unravel the secrets to NATO's weapons," Hamilton said. "As for the mages, I don't know anything specific."

Pina groaned and placed her face in her hands.

"Probably to make up for the difference in capability," She muttered. "Is there any talk of restarting the war?"

"Ah, no," Hamilton shook her head. "Diabo was praising your efforts in the negotiations… though, he was also… um…."

"Just say it, Hamilton," Pina shook her head, swinging her loose red locks with the motion. "I won't be irate with you."

"He… was also applauding you for doing something beyond 'playing with your knights," Hamilton winced as she repeated what she heard. "He was… dismissive of our accomplishments at Italica, as largely downplayed any other actions on your part. I… think he is trying to make you seem, um…."

"Less than ideal as heir?" Pina finished the thought for her, sighing. "Father expected as much."

Hamilton shifted nervously, uncomfortable with having repeated Diabo's lies and insults to Pina.

"That will be all Hamilton, thank you," Pina dismissed her aide. "You may take the rest of the night off. We can discuss the rest in the morning."

"Oh, um, good night, then, Your Highness."

Hamilton withdrew, leaving Pina alone with her thoughts and fears.

---

The fall weather was milder at Alnus than in Canada. It wasn't surprising, given the lower latitude and different axial tilt, but it was something unusual to Philip. The weather was not quite tropical, closer to southern France than on the Mediterranean coast, but it was still warmer than what it would have been this time of year in Canada.

Despite what some of the US soldiers claimed, Canada wasn't a frozen tundra. Not in its entirety, anyway.

It meant growing seasons were longer and meant greater harvests if the ground was good. Or simply bolstered by modern farming capabilities. Something he had been invited to oversee by the recently settled farmers.

It was obvious to King Duran that Richard was completely out of his depth. Not just being a noble, but also overseeing a harvest.

As he rode the NATO chariot, the Humvee, he watched as a farmer tried to explain why he was trying to give a tithe of his produce to the young knight.

As his escort opened the door for him, he heard the farmer get around to explaining the point of tithes.

"Well if you had started with that, things would have been much clearer," He heard Richard say in response. "When you go into Alnus to sell your produce, talk to a staff sergeant Philip, he'll help you sort out what and how much is being set aside for emergencies. He'll also explain the tax system being set up."

"Everything well, Sir Richard?" Duran called out cheerfully.

Richard gave the farmer a wave as the man bowed and left the knight before he turned to look at the King.

"King Duran, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Sir Richard greeted. "I was just about to head back to Alnus."

"Ah, then you can ride along with me," Duran smiled and gestured back to the Humvee. "I find myself enjoying these vehicles, though not as much as a horse. It is a pleasant mode of travel, if startlingly fast."

Seated in the back of the vehicle, the pair travelled in silence.

About halfway back to Alnus, Duran broached the topic he wanted to discuss with Richard.

"Have you thought about my offer?" He asked.

"The factory?" Richard sighed. "This past week, my inbox has been flooded with requests, questions, offers, and threats from businesses looking to get into Falmart. I've also looked at the laws. You don't need me to get a factory."

"Oh?" Duran gave Richard a sidelong glance. He studied the younger man for several moments as the Humvee bounced along the dirt road. "Why tell me this? Wouldn't it benefit your people?"

"My people?"

"The Warrior Bunnies, the people of Alnus, and the many slaves that have escaped the Empire and flocked to your banner," King Duran said. "Are you not the lord of Alnus?"

"No," Richard sighed. "As I was telling the farmer back there, I'm a knight of an order of chivalry, awarded the title and membership for actions in service to the good of others. I am not, however, a noble as you would define it."

"Yet, you refuse the land and title I am offering," Duran frowned in confusion. This went well beyond modesty. "Why? Why are you so opposed to a title? I have spoken with members of your… parliament. They are not opposed to granting you permission to accept the title. You already bear the responsibilities."

At the look on Richard's face as his resistance wavered; Duran pressed on.

"And consider this: if Tara were to be made queen, it would look poorly on her if her lover were a mere honorary knight, rather than a noble," He pointed out. "The factory and mines would mean wealth for you and your people, beyond simply trading and farming."

King Duran, Wolf of Elbe, gave a subtle grin as he saw Richard's resistance crack.

"Why are you so invested in the mines? I recognise that you can't access their wealth, but selling the land seems to go against it," Richard questioned, to Duran's surprise, rather than giving in. "Surely, you have other mines that could feed a factory?"

"True, but their output is limited," Duran shrugged as if it was an impossible option. "New mines would free up opportunities and workers. I am quite interested in expanding trade, both with my neighbours, and NATO. But let me ask you this: If the Gate closed, would you stay?"

Richard frowned.

"I would."

"But Alnus would not be able to support itself like it does now. It would shrink, and the location is far from fortified against attack," Duran pointed out. "Without local industry, well, like an archer requires far more than just a few fletchers to be useful on the battlefield, I suspect your soldiers would find themselves hampered by the lack of local manufacturing."

Richard squeezed his eyes shut.

"Very well, you've convinced me," He sighed, slumping into his seat. "Send the proposal to me. I will have a lawyer look over the agreement and look for a business partner to supply the expertise and machinery. I suppose we'll start with a refinery. At least it can be used as a point of pride for Alnus, something of their own labour, rather than handouts from NATO."

"That's the spirit," King Duran chuckled. Quietly, he reaffirmed his decision to be careful with the borders. The metals and industry were needed, true, but the diamonds in the mountain were far more valuable. A mine, placed on his side of the border, but close enough to share protections from the dark elves, could extract the diamonds without becoming entangled in NATO's interests. Labour might be an issue, due in part to NATO's insistence on banning slavery, but Duran hoped that the dark elves could be persuaded to work through other means.

With those diamonds and the coin from trade, Elbe's mages might become worth a damn.

Duran's thoughts were interrupted by a sudden chirp from the driver's radio. It was followed by muffled words in English and included several phrases he couldn't translate. But he recognised the tone of concern in the voice and the way the driver suddenly changed direction.

"Sir Richard, King Duran, there was an incident. I have orders to take you to FoB Alnus," The driver announced. "Someone tried to assassinate Tyuule."

 

[charclone]

The fire crackled as a servant added more wood to it. Roast animals were slowly turned above the flames, the centrepieces for the feast Diabo was throwing.

He could, through the corner of his eye, see the way Zorzal was eyeing it, nearly watering at the mouth.

It settled Diabo's nerves. His brother had in recent months begun to exhibit behaviour that was rather unlike him, so something once more in character was a calming reminder that Zorzal was still the gluttonous and hedonistic brute he had always been. Even if it turned out he had some hidden depths for poetry and oratory.

Diabo mentally shook his head as he pushed the doubts aside. His brother was a bully, of course, the poetry about war and glory would appeal to him. That he had some skill at stirring the hearts of men, well, Diabo would be lying if he said he wasn't jealous, but he supposed it wasn't that surprising, given his time as a commander. He probably learned it while on campaign, from his more experienced officers.

"My apologies, my thoughts wandered," He said to his conversation partner. "You were saying?"

"No apology necessary, Your Highness," The senator waved it off. "I tend to ramble on."

"Oh, no, not at all," Diabo said easily. "Your words simply made me think. My father does command an… unprecedented amount of power over the senate. In times, such arrangements made sense; after all, an army cannot be led by consensus among the soldiers. But you had an excellent point about the purpose of the Senate, as well."

"Indeed," The senator nodded before taking a sip of his wine. "Ah, a good vintage, an excellent choice your Highness. But as I was saying, there are other members of the Senate who hold similar views. We are not calling for the Emperor, or his heir, to relinquish their rightful powers, merely that they return some of the Senate's powers to see to it that the duties of the Senate are properly carried out."

"Sadly, I doubt my father would see it that way," Diabo made a show of sighing in sympathy. "He no doubt plans to prop Pina up as a puppet for himself, while he retires, and let her slowly take over fully by the time he passes. My sister is many things, but I fear she is unsuited to the role of leading a nation. Not to mention, she is alarmingly close to NATO."

"Oh, indeed," The senator nodded, then caught themselves. "Ah, not that your sister is incapable, of course, but… I question the Emperor's sense when there are other alternatives to her, that are much more capable."

"Oh?" Diabo hid his smile behind his own wine glass. The words were false, disguising the true conversation, but it was this sort of arena that Diabo thrived. "My brother, perhaps?"

"Ah, indeed," The senator said with only a slight blink of surprise. "True, his political strength is settled in the military, but with your assistance, and his glory, I and many others believe Sadera would be in good hands."

Diabo gave a polite thanks to the compliment, to acknowledge the pledge of support, before continuing his rounds around the feasting hall. His Lapis palace was not as prestigious as Zorzal's Silver Palace, or the Emperor's Imperial Palace of Sol, but it was by no means small. It was, after all, fit for a prince of the Empire.

Yet, the number of people present seemed to threaten the sheer size of the gargantuan hall. The cooks were hastily preparing the first course, due in an hour as the sun began to wane outside, but he had no fear about them failing to meet his standards. He selected only the best of the best, barring those chosen for the emperor.

From his scribes and cooks, down to the cleaners and guards, he made sure they were well-paid, skilled, and fully aware of what would happen if any of them let rumours be spread. Zorzal was insulated by his reputation, people expected certain behaviour from the lout, and that kept any controversy from sticking to him.

Diabo was not so well protected. He had an image and a reputation to maintain, one that required finesse, skill, charm, wit, and attention to detail. It could not tolerate controversy turning his political allies into his foes, not before he was prepared to deal with them, anyway.

Politics was a delicate game, requiring a willingness to use underhanded methods to achieve one's goals, not like fighting. While neither were clean, in Diabo's eyes, there was no real skill to fighting, armies simply marching up to each other and bludgeoning with formations away until one side won.

Politics required tact, subterfuge, acting, and strategy beyond merely putting troops into places.

Besides, with politics, one could end wars before they started, without cutting taxes by sending farmers off to die.

Secure in his superiority, Diabo quietly continued to plot, his plan of being the power behind his brother on the throne coming to fruition as many senators pledged their support.

He never noticed the two pairs of eyes, subtly watching him. One with scorn from the shadows, as one might look down on a particularly annoying pest. The other, with a sly look of a fox, whose prey was stumbling straight into its jaws.

---

Pina, across the inner city, greeted her guests as they joined her at the Jade Palace.

"Senator Tiberius, Marquis Palesti, welcome," She gave the senator and nobleman, as well as their accompanying families, a warm smile. "Marquis, your daughter is just at the entrance of the gardens, if you wish to speak with her. My cooks have several foreign delicacies being prepared, obtained from Alnus."

"Oh?" Marquis Casel El Tiberius glanced at her. "I don't suppose you would be willing to give us a hint as to what those might be?"

"Spices, meats, wines," Pina answered. "More than a small selection. My knights spent some time compiling a list of what we could acquire."

"Hoping to reinforce the pressure for a treaty, and establish trade?" Casel asked, catching Pina's plot rather quickly.

Marquis Palesti gave a polite chuckle, before making his excuses and leading his family off.

Pina gave Bozes' father a nod of acknowledgement, before sighing at Casel's deduction.

"It was that obvious?"

"It was," He shrugged. "But given the audience and your allies, the correct move."

The elderly senator gave her an encouraging smile.

"While I have my disagreements with your father, I agree that a war with NATO is not in the Empire's interests," He said. "But, if we are to broach such a topic… perhaps it might wait, or shall we head to a balcony?"

Pina nodded and led the way to an upper floor, well away from the chatter of the party. The Senator sent his family off to enjoy it, as he followed the Imperial Princes. Quickly, the sounds of people loudly speaking became muffled by decorated stone and timber.

"Now," Casel noted a knight staying nearby the Princess, just out of direct sight. One of Pina's guards. "I assume those nearby are those you trust?"

"I do," Pina replied. "What is this about?"

"Both of your brothers have been gathering power, in coordination. I cannot in good conscience tolerate either of them taking the throne," The senator said as a cool evening breeze drifted over them. "There have also been murmurs of senators and nobles with… less than perfect principles being blackmailed. Secret heirs, assassinations, Dar in the city. It is alarming."

"Are you suggesting my brothers are planning a coup?" Pina fought to keep her tone from becoming raised or accusatory. The balcony was isolated, but the sound could still carry.

"No, no," Casel shook his head. "I am saying that elements of the nobility are becoming restless, and I fear your brothers may make use of this. Despite the Emperor, the Senatoria Familia has always been cutthroat and power hungry."

"Aside from yourself, that is," Pina jibed.

"I was born to a baron and rose through service to the emperor. It is why my dissent is tolerated, I am a voice of reason," He quoted an old phrase. "'Respice post te. Hominem te esse memento. Memento mori!'; 'Look behind. Remember thou art mortal. Remember you must die!'. The Emperor tolerates me because I remind him not all blindly follow him. It likely helps that I have demonstrated greater interest in the Empire's health than in power. I would not be a senator, if not for the Emperor choosing to reward me."

Pina shook her head.

"Regardless, what are you suggesting I do about it?"

"Nothing you are not already doing," Casel shrugged. "Keep seeking allies, look for opportunities. But, know this, I know I can trust you to have the Empire's interests at heart, thus, I believe you are the best person to rule. You have my support, should you have need of it, and my counsel."

"Thank you for your pledge of support, senator," Pina nodded. "Please, enjoy the party."

After the senator left, Pina remained and looked out over the city from the balcony. Her heart clenched. While heartening to receive such support, Pina wasn't sure she could trust him. She wasn't sure she could trust anyone, thanks to her fears and doubts.

How many of her knights were in Zorzal's camp, merely bowing to oaths and obligations? How many senators were simply looking to be close to the next heir?

Was her father and Senator Tiberius correct in believing she was the best choice?

---

Dimmu clamped his jaw shut as he coughed. The damp air of the old palace, buried underneath the city of Sadera and excavated by the Haryo's predecessors, made his lungs ache. He hated this place. It smelled of rot, decay, and pain.

Forcing his twisted body straight, he kept walking. A guard, a mix of a human, Dar, elf, and dragonkin, only glanced at him before returning to huddling in front of a small fire.

Dimmu ignored him and the ache in his body. The whispers of Palapon, his god and the god of revenge, guided him to his destination.

It had only taken a few weeks of being seen in the right places for the guards to become accustomed to his presence. He was, after all, one of them. Born and raised as a member of the Haryo, the product of the previous leader's breeding program, to achieve the ideal mixes of blood, to create a perfect chimera.

Instead, Dimmu was born a twisted thing, like the rest of those born from the project. His health frail and his body barely able to sustain itself. The failure wasn't enough to condemn them, their minds came out sharp, with many having talents for magic.

But it was enough that the previous leader was ousted and a young firebrand took his place. Bouro couldn't stand the sight of the wretches. Worse, many were smarter than him.

Dimmu had gotten lucky when the others were purged. He had been close enough to a merchant's caravan that he could sneak out of the city with it. Not just close physically, but also holding some level of camaraderie with the merchant, aiding him with currency and trade secrets.

Travelling with the merchant had opened his eyes to what the world was like beyond Sadera. The books the merchant gifted him, on the Warrior Bunnies, however, left a far greater impression.

The first Haryo were born from Dar, according to the tales. The Dar were then absorbed by the only native race of Falmart, born from the composite creatures that could take the traits of any parent. The remaining Dar were in fact chimera, like himself.

But the Warrior Bunnies, claimed to be a 'pure' race and alien to the world… were the same. Their offspring, while slanted towards female births, could be the product of any race. Yet, the Haryo had maintained that the Warrior Bunnies were not natives.

It made him start to question everything he knew.

Until, one day, he encountered a priest of Palapon. The offer from the god was tempting. Life, to sustain his failing health despite his relative youth at the time, to see vengeance on Bouru, not only for the others purged, but also for the lies spread that poisoned the very air the Haryo breathed.

The price was cheap, he had thought. In truth, both of them had been surprised at how hard it had been to uncover the truth of the tale of vengeance that predated Palapon's godhood.

That it now led to the birth of a goddess to hold dominion over Apocryph and who was also Hardy's lover was an even greater surprise.

But now, revenge would soon be his.

Dimmu smiled to himself as he entered Bouro's office. Once, it had been a throne room, perhaps Sol's own when he was only a demigod. Now, it lay in ruin, the tiles on the floor and walls long fallen away, the throne removed, and dirt piled in corners.

Without a word, he bowed to the leader of the Haryo, placing a letter on the desk, before departing. Instead of leaving, he slipped into a shadow, near the door, just so, making it appear as if he had left. Moments later, Bouru went rushing past.

The idiot hadn't recognised him after all this time and so believed him to merely be a loyal, braindead lackey.

Dimmu stepped out of the shadow. Abandoning his forced gait, he hurried over to the shelf. A mental clock ticking. From his tattered robes, an otherworlder device was pulled out.

The whispers of Palapon guided his hand to pull down the best book for his purpose.

Three dozen flashes of the camera later, and the ledger was returned to its place, Dimmu left the complex entirely, vanishing into the Saderan night with a single question on his mind.

Who would be best to give this evidence to?

---

Pina yawned as the last of the guests left, either to the guestrooms or back to their estates within the city.

Her doubts remained, but she had received several more pledges of support, mostly from the families of her knights, but that numbered more than a few Senators and a large number of nobles.

She started for the stairs, her bed her aim, when the rapid footfalls of a servant caught her attention.

She sighed and waited for what she expected to be news of a guest who had drank too much and passed out, or perhaps some wine had been stolen.

"Princess, this letter was left at the servants' entrance," The servant panted, pale and shaken. "It… I think you should see what is inside."

Pina took the letter; a folded packet of cheap paper. Not something easy to obtain by a commoner, but it was also too frail for a noble to have bothered with.

Part of her expected some sort of threat as she opened it.

Instead, she found something that made her blink. Squares of material, otherworlder in nature.

But on them were images of pages from a ledger of some sort. It took Pina a moment to read the first page of the group, and it made her heart drop.

"It would seem the senator's rumours were worse than we thought," She muttered. Her mind immediately assumed he was responsible before she corrected herself. He wouldn't have access to otherworlder materials like this.

"Thank you for delivering this," She told the servant. "Go, get some rest. In the morning, I will speak to my father."

 

[charclone]

"What happened, sister?" Tara demanded the moment the MPs guarding the hospital room permitted her entrance, Richard waiting outside for the moment. "Are you safe?"

Tyuule's several moments of silence sent icy tendrils to wrap around Tara's heart.

"She didn't harm me," Tyuule finally said, after several gut-wrenching moments. "Oh, she intended to, at first but…"

Tyuule trailed off. Her face darkened with shame and a deep sorrow.

"… after she saw the scars, she wouldn't do it. She realised the truth of my captivity."

Tara winced. Her sister had not been a flawless beauty before the war; training was far from safe and their people did not live in the lap of luxury. But beneath the medical gown, scar tissue was visible, not caused by blades or a scuffle, but instead caused by bites from human teeth, badly healed whip scars, and other, equally dark sources.

"… She won't be the last," Tyuule continued. "You know very well how stubborn our people can be, sister. I will never be accepted as queen again."

"Don't say it," Tara pouted, slumping into a nearby chair. "… please don't. I… if I am made queen, they would make me marry some… 'pure-blooded' male instead of Richard, and I don't want to have to deal with running a Kingdom, I saw what the stress was doing to you."

Tyuule snorted bitterly.

"There aren't any males left. Zorzal slaughtered them all," She gave a morbid laugh. "Besides, most of the stress was coming from the Empire on our borders. With NATO, that threat is negligible. On top of all that, you are already managing a kingdom. I can see how big Alnus is."

Tara huffed.

"Anyway," The potential queen said to her sister, changing the subject much to Tyuule's amusement. "Why do you think there will be others?"

"… because, if a former member of my guard is willing to try and kill me, then certainly others will as well," Tyuule answered. "She also mentioned, between sobbing apologies, that there was a great amount of fear amongst our people that we would be sold to NATO."

Tara snorted.

"Hah!" She scoffed. "With all the effort they are putting into avoiding stepping on our toes, and helping us, I doubt that."

"Oh? No fear that they may demand compensation for their assistance?" Tyuule quirked an eyebrow. "The Empire has tried to do the same, to force their culture on us."

"Hardly," Tara snorted. "Oh, they share their culture, but they are very careful about it. Small amounts, and only if we go looking for it, often asking about our culture more often. I've started to teach Richard how to fight with one of our knives."

Tyuule laughed. It still was tinged with sadness, but Tara considered it an improvement over her earlier dour mood.

"It's probably Radya and her ilk stirring up trouble again," Tara sighed. "She… doesn't trust NATO. No matter what they do or say."

"Well, why don't you tell me about what she has been saying?" Tyuule asked. "I suppose, since my life is in peril, I should lend my experience to my sister to help her solve the issues at hand."

Tara just gave an amused sigh before she started to explain the political situation.

---

Outside, Richard started to doze, leaning against a wall. A cough woke him.

Blinking he gazed at the man leaning against the wall next to him, wearing a US uniform, lacking rank insignia. The nametag read 'Smith'.

"So, I hear there are troubles in Alnus," He said cooly.

"You're a spook, I assume?" Richard asked. "Lack of rank insignia kind of implies that."

"I prefer intelligence officer, but yes," The man sighed. "Alright, so in short, we're concerned by the political situation in the Empire. Local issues we aren't too concerned by, but fear things could get out of hand."

Richard winced. He had feared something like this since the Long Patrol had been brought forward as an idea.

"What do you want out of me?" He asked, his throat running dry.

"Nothing major. We will do what we can on our end to smooth things over, but we recommend you look at expanding the Long Patrol, soon, just in case," The spook said. "The Empire… is following certain historical Roman trends, shall we say?"

Richard winced again, a frown settling onto his face.

"So, succession crisis or coup?" He asked. "I take it Zorzal is as much a brute as his treatment of Tyuule implies?"

"You should have received a packet on most personalities in the Empire before the party," The spook winced. "I'll investigate that little screw-up. But I recommend you read it before making any judgment calls. And it appears to be both of the emperor's sons against Pina. At the moment that doesn't directly concern us, technically, but…"

"If you wish for peace, prepare for war," Richard sighed. "Okay, so, expand the Long Patrol. Anything else?"

"Yes," The spook bit his lip and glanced at the door between the two MPs who were deliberately ignoring his presence. "We would prefer if you avoided using a coup to stabilise the local power structure; it gets too messy, but we aren't ruling it out as an option. Just make sure things stay stable and the Warrior Bunnies form some sort of government before things in the Empire kick-off."

"… you know they can hear us, right?" Richard asked. "Tara and Tyuule, that is?"

"I am aware," The spook sighed. "I already spoke a little with Queen Tyuule, prior to the assassination attempt on the matter of succession. Now, I will be in touch, if anything else happens. Best of luck."

Before Richard could say anything, the Intelligence officer walked away, disappearing around a corner. Richard sighed.

---

"Who's fault was this!" Radya screamed. "Which idiot thought killing Tyuule while she was in NATO's hands was a good idea? Now they are crawling over Alnus!"

"Only a few patrols," A newly arrived tribe leader rebuked her. "I understand the power of the otherworlders, sorry, NATO is great enough to crush the Empire, but given how they are treating us so carefully, do we really need to fear them, given they fear us?"

"There is more than one way for our people to be destroyed," Radya spat back. "Now, who was responsible?"

"None of us," One of Radya's lieutenants replied. "I think she acted on her own. She wasn't close to anyone involved."

"Fine, then it was her own stupid idea," Radya fumed. "We need her alive, for now, as proof. A point for our people to rally against, given her betrayal."

"What are you suggesting we do?" Another newcomer asked.

"I have found another pure-blood that is eligible to be queen," Radya lied. "We merely need to rally enough support for her to be crowned, over Tyuule being restored."

In truth, the young woman wasn't pure-blooded. But she looked like she was and had no one close to her that was able to verify claims to the contrary. With her in Radya's camp, alongside enough supporters that could unseat Tyuule, Radya was confident her victory was set, if not in stone, then at least in clay.

"We aren't likely to get enough support," The tribe leader replied. "Most of my people, and many others, are thankful to be free of the Empire, have roofs over our heads, warm clothes, good food, and some land to live on."

She sighed.

"The only reason I am supporting you is because we cannot have an impure on the throne, like Tara, nor a traitor," She bluntly stated. "And I am not confident in your plan."

"It will work," Radya hissed. "For our people's freedom."

---

"Expand the Long Patrol?" Tara asked as the sun was beginning to set. "Given the increased numbers here at Alnus and the increased territory, it would be prudent."

"You heard what he said, I assume?" Richard walked alongside her to their house. "It's more than that."

"No, they fear it might become more than that," Tara corrected him. "But that being said… is Alnus even making enough money that we could afford the increase?"

"Yeah," Richard sighed. "There was an agreement made just yesterday that come next spring, the farmlands are going to be greatly increased and some greenhouses built. We are going to be using Earth techniques to mass-grow local herbs and sell them, alongside some cash crops. Plus, trade is picking up and we are still selling Earth spices. The mines are also going to be profitable."

A cough from behind them attracted their attention.

"Excuse me," Lelei said gently as they turned to face her. "But if you are expanding the Long Patrol, would you have a use for mages?"

Richard blinked.

"I… am not sure," He said. "Getting bored of the scientists?"

"No," She replied laconically. "My sister is looking for work."

"Uh," Richard awkwardly rubbed his head. "What can she do?"

"Detect metals under the ground," The teal-haired mage explained. "Arpeggio studies the magic of minerals and their properties. She could be useful in a mine."

"Well," Richard said after a moment. "Invite her to Alnus and I'll talk to her. I'll cover the travel expense."

Lelei nodded, before turning and walking away.

"Well," Tara snorted. "Maybe we should discuss this more privately."

"Yup," Richard agreed. "So… what are we going to do about Radya?"

"If she keeps it to being argumentative, nothing," Tara sighed. "We don't need the council for other things, at least."

"It would mean the loss of your people's monarchical traditions," Richard pointed out.

"A small price to pay for our people's survival," Tara admitted. Then she paused. "Wait, did King Duran grant you the mine as a fief?"

"He hasn't, yet, why?"

"Well, that would make you a landed noble," Tara giggled. "How does Richard, King of Alnus sound?"

"Like the punchline of a raunchy joke," Richard sighed as he began to walk towards home once more. "Given what Alnus sounds similar to in English."

"Alright, I will admit that," Tara yielded. "Say, speaking of English, Lelei spoke in English just now… I think her English is better than mine."

"She sounded like an American, so no," Richard snorted before continuing with a faux snobbish accent. "You, on the other hand, are speaking the King's English as well as I do, much better than any American speaking their bastardised dialect."

"Yup, definitely a noble," Tara laughed.

"Hey!"

 

[charclone]

The caravan, coming from the East and just outside the borders of Sadera, came to a halt as they sighted the riders.

The Order of the Rose, in full plate, barrelled down on them. Alongside rode members of the Emperor's Guard.

The caravan master took a deep breath to settle his nerves before he stepped forward to meet them. He expected no trouble, as the Knights were well-reputed. They had even driven off bandits harassing his caravan, just a few years ago.

He very quickly paled when, instead of breaking off to carry past while a party approached for news, they came with swords drawn. To his relief, they did not charge, but instead, they wheeled around, surrounding the caravan.

His attempts to discern their moods was barred by their helms, completing their full plate. It was strange, the caravan master noted. He seemed to recall the women knights hadn't worn their helmets previously. It added weight to the pit forming in his gut.

One of the knights, dressed in fine plate and accompanied by another in a lesser suit on one side and one of the Emperor's Guards on the other, approached. A demand for the caravan master to present himself rang across the road.

Swallowing, he stepped further forward towards them.

"How may I be of service?" He asked, his voice wavering with uncertainty.

"The emperor received evidence that your caravan is being used to smuggle illicit goods banned by Senatorial decree!" Pina's voice emanated from her helm. "We, the Order of the Rose, have been dispatched to investigate."

"Of-Of course, your Highness," The caravan master paled. Part of him was furious. If one of his people was transporting illicit goods, he'd have their hide even if the knights didn't kill the fool. He took pride in his skills and integrity. But another part of him was terrified. What illicit good was so important that the Imperial Princess herself would be sent to investigate? Was it just a product of her childhood fantasies? "How may I be of assistance?"

The Guard in his red-swathed armour glared from beneath his helm.

"Have your people step away from the wagons," Pina commanded, signalling her knights forward.

The caravan master hastened to obey.

---

Pina felt sweat trickle down her neck. She was no stranger to standing for long periods in the sun, but it was unpleasant. Made worse by the anticipation.

The photos had included not just lists, but also locations, helping them find much of the goods. A sword with an outlawed enchantment. Illegal narcotics. Restricted medicine. Unregistered goods. Undocumented, and untaxed, slaves.

Pina had her doubts about whether they had even been legally enslaved. Her right as commander of the patrol gave her authority over the confiscation, so she made a point to have the slaves interrogated and freed, later. Perhaps send them to Alnus, or take them into her own service.

The caravan master, for his credit, seemed surprised at the goods' presence. Furious, even, when the sword and slaves had been brought out.

Getting admissions as to who the buyers were was easy, simply implying that they already knew, based on the photos of the pages, led to the guilty merchants confirming most of them.

Pina was furious that some of her own supporters, family to her knights, were among them, though they were a tiny majority.

Most were friends of her brother, Diabo. The slaves, in fact, had been paid for by him.

"The matter of your complicity will be debated at a later date, Caravan Master," Pina informed the man as he alternated between righteous indignation, shame at his failure to spot his subordinates' duplicity, and fear. "We will escort your caravan the rest of the way to the city. Those directly culpable will be jailed. The rest of your caravan will remain in the city while the investigation continues."

Without a further word to the man, Pina organised her knights to corral the caravan towards the city. All the while, her mind churned as she thought over the consequences.

She should have been happy to bring criminals to justice. Especially with her father's direct support, in the face of the evidence. But there was the nagging feeling of doubt.

The photos were NATO products, no other source could produce them. So the question was, how much did NATO know and why are they helping her by interfering?

Were they just looking to stabilise the Empire? Earn a debt owed to them? Undermine slavery? Cripple the Empire?

And how deeply had they infiltrated?

Those and other questions plagued Pina's mind as she led the way back to the capital.

---

"So Pina raided some caravan and arrested some smugglers," Zorzal scoffed as he swallowed a bite of fruit, a glass of wine in his other hand. "So what?"

"It matters, brother, because it makes her look like a champion of the people, more than she already did," Diabo didn't bother looking at Zorzal, lounging on a couch and eating, as he scribbled several hasty notes. "And because she has, with the Senate's permission, arrested several of the nobles behind the smuggling. Including several of our supporters."

Zorzal just scoffed, failing to hide his amusement beneath his glass.

"Serves them right," His face split into a grin. "They were spitting in the face of the emperor's laws. We don't need them."

"Brother," Diabo gave his brother a flat stare. "It has weakened our position. Worse, it makes us look incompetent for not catching them ourselves. Pina was well informed to hit that caravan. She may have blackmail against others as well."

"Pina? Blackmail?" Zorzal erupted with laughter, his body shaking, his wine spilling to the floor to Diabo's displeasure. "She couldn't live with herself if she tried!"

"So you say," Diabo countered. "But did it ever occur to you that perhaps our dear sister's honourable veneer was a façade?"

Zorzal fell silent. He stared at his brother for several moments. Then burst out laughing again, his chest heaving and tears swelling in his eyes.

With a sigh of disgust, Diabo just pointed to the door.

"If you are just going to mock, please go," He sighed, looking up at his brother. "I have letters to write and plans to enact so that we do not lose any more support."

With a wave, Zorzal left, stumbling, and leaning against walls as he continued to laugh. After several minutes, the eldest of Molt's children sat on a bench in the open-air atrium. He closed his eyes, chuckling to himself as he tried to steady his breathing.

"Are you well, my prince?" A voice came from the shrubbery behind him. "If you require a healer...?"

"I'm fine Bouro," Zorzal breathed, a smile plastered on his face. "Just amused by my brother's erroneous assumptions."

Bouro made a coughing sound.

"Ah, well, in that case, if it would please you, I have found several women who might fit your tastes," The strange creature said. "I can have them sent to your palace at your leisure."

"Perhaps," Zorzal said. "But later. Now, what is my sister up to?"

"Recently, she has been entertaining guests. She has freed several of the slaves from the caravan and is sending them to Alnus," Bouro replied, almost sounding disappointed. "And her knights have been expanding."

"Ah!" Zorzal smiled. "I should form my own knights! Soldiers and nobles who are veterans, not soft noble women."

"I shall prepare a list," Bouro said."

"No, no," Zorzal waved at the shrub. "I have some brothers in arms from my campaign coming from the East, along with my legions. Oh, and I have some friends who are being released by NATO."

"As you wish," Bouro responded. "Nevertheless, I shall endeavour to ensure you have a steady source of dependable recruits."

"Sure," Zorzal snorted. "That's fine. When I am Emperor, I will need to expand the Praetorian Guard anyway, and replace some people in it."

"That does raise an issue, your highness," Bouro cautiously said. "If your father chooses Pina as the heir…"

"She doesn't have the fortitude," Zorzal grunted, finding his earlier bemusement ruined. "Nor does she understand what being Emperor entail. She may have been born in the purple, unlike Diabo and I, but it is more than just timing. Her mother was originally a concubine, anyway."

"But what if he does choose her, despite that?" Bouro pressed. "What then?"

"We will deal with that if it happens," Zorzal shrugged, uncaring and missing the look that formed on Bouro's face behind him. "It won't. I understand you spies need to live in constant fear, but don't let your paranoia become cowardice."

"Of course not, my prince," Bouro frowned. "Never cowardice. Not if we are to succeed."

 

[charclone]

A.N. School eats up a lot of time and energy, especially papers.

---

Richard's chest heaved with each breath, and the blade in his hand wobbled as he held it in a defensive position in front of his chest. His legs ached and shook as sweat rolled off his face in thick drops to land near his feet.

He stayed crouched low, tense, ready to move.

Across from him, Tara breathed easier. Her own blade was steady, held firmly with an experienced grip. Her stance was strong and limber, she shifted her weight from foot to foot, swaying on the spot as Richard tried to guess which of his flanks she would attack.

With a lurch, she fainted to her right, then bounced to the left to lash out and tap his hip.

Caught off balance and tired, Richard stumbled as he tried to turn, landing with bruising force on his back.

Richard lay sprawled in the hard dirt of the sparring field, now disused with the end of the festival and the start of the last harvest before winter. Above him, Tara laughed, taking a seat next to him in the dust.

"I think we are done for the day," She said.

Richard replied with a tired, wordless affirmative.

"You were doing well, until that last bout," She continued, placing her hand on his. "I think we pressed too hard."

"Yup," Richard groaned as he pushed himself up and leaned against his lover. "Doesn't help that your people's fighting style is based around bursts of speed and flanking manoeuvres. Very different from how I'm used to fighting."

"Not well suited to fighting in formations, is it?" Tara laughed, sheathing her training blade. "But, like your military's method of fighting, it relies on dispersion and camouflage."

Richard hummed as he sheathed his own training blade, feeling the ache from his muscles start to set in.

"Oh, I definitely overdid it," He groaned. "I am going to be very sore tomorrow."

"Come on," Tara said, sliding beneath his arm to help him up. "Let's get a shower and then rest."

"Unfortunately, I have some paperwork I need to check on," Richard groaned as he stood. "So I need to handle that after the shower, and I think Lelei's sister is supposed to arrive today too."

Richard felt Tara tense under his arm, her arm across his back. Her ears slumped, framing her face.

"We aren't going to escape work, are we?" She said. "You are being recognised as the local lord under NATO by the nearby kings. NATO has you managing Alnus, so they aren't exactly wrong… my people want me to be queen…"

"Whether intentional or not, knowing or not, there are consequences for actions," Richard replied. "I… should have considered the perspective of the local lords. So that is partly on me. I agreed to help, due to my relationship with the slaves we, mostly you, led to the Gate. And you chose to follow me."

"And because of who my mother is, my sister being hated due to her actions, and my appearance," Tara kept pace with Richard as they walked towards their house. "I can't let Radya win, the lunatic is as arrogant as some of the Saderans. But…"

"But you don't want to be queen," Richard nodded.

"Honestly, at this point… I realise I don't get a choice," Tara sighed. "But I won't let them foist some inbred 'pureblood' male on me."

"So, plan 'coup' is a go?" Richard laughed. "More seriously, how do we achieve that?"

"Well," Tara hummed in thought as they turned a corner, joining the main street of Alnus. "Atalli's tribe, recently arrived, have always been strong supporters of my sister. They were outraged when they heard about the assassination attempt, so we can probably rely on them. But the Walled Hill tribe has a feud with them. It's suppressed due to the current displacement, but they may vote against them on principle."

"Fun," Richard groaned. "Okay, so, we need to herd cats. Let's list who we can rely on."

"Well, aside from the catfolk among the Long Patrol, we don't need to worry about them," Tara snorted. "More seriously, I'll ask my sister, but I don't know for sure the full list."

"Alright, can you do that while I head to the office?" Richard asked. "We can talk about it afterwards, before dinner."

"Sure," Tara nodded.

Then they both paused, staring. A small crowd had, once more, gathered before their residence.

It was a weekly occurrence now, with new arrivals expecting Richard to hold court, or locals expecting him to weigh in on an issue.

But there usually wasn't an air of excitement among them, nor were they usually clustered around Hannah.

The Long Patrol Warrior Bunny's face split into a wide grin when she saw the couple, nearly bouncing on her toes as she leapt towards them, a cloth-wrapped bundle in her hands.

"Richard," She grinned. "You remember that treasure my ancestor had, alongside his sword?"

"Yes," Richard strained, pulling his arm away from Tara. "… is that it?"

"Yes!" Hannah cheered. "Another member of my tribe had it, hidden until they revolted and were permitted to head to Alnus."

She gently unwrapped the object, revealing a gold figure.

"One of the Saderan ancestor's standards!" She lifted it, offering it to Richard and Tara. "My tribe agreed that it would be gifted to the Long Patrol, as a symbol of our dedication."

Gently, Richard took it.

Tara's face made a complicated expression.

"… if the question of the queenship were to come up, would your tribe support me?" She asked, her voice tentative. "And on other issues?"

"Well," Hannah blinked. "It would depend on the issue. Our tribe is also much reduced… I think you might have had a small point about our… aggression and unwillingness to fight under another's command."

Tara chewed her lip in thought before she answered. She didn't want to antagonise Hannah, even if she had admitted to the flaw. Richard spoke before she could.

"Um, I don't think this is Roman," He said, gently holding the Golden Eagle in his hands. "No SPQR on it. Instead, it says… uh, heh. Garde Impériale. This is a Napoleonic French Eagle of Napoleon's own Imperial Guard. In very good condition."

Hannah blinked.

"So…?"

"So, this is the standard of another nation, much younger," Richard explained. "… the symbology is probably lost on you and the Saderans, but, well, a young, new noble using this as their standard?"

Richard let out a giggle, causing Tara to give him a strange look.

"Well, well, well," He said, his face stretched into a grin. "If we use this, people will start joking about the Long Patrol conquering the whole damn continent. 'Soldiers of the fifth, if you would shoot your Emperor, well, here I am!' Well, it gives me an idea."

Hannah, Tara, and the other Warrior Bunnies gathered around stared at him.

"So, the issue is that the queen must take a pureblooded male as their consort, correct?" Richard asked. "But what about a different title, a different ruler? Many tribes are gone, and many traditions are already lost. So, why not forge something new, something less bound by history?"

"How does that relate to this … Napoleon?" Hannah asked.

Tara's eyes went wide.

"Well, Napoleon, at the tail end of the failing First French Republic founded the First French Empire from the ashes," Richard snorted. "He lost in the end but is well remembered for his victories and return. Conquered most of Europe. More critically to my point, he established new traditions and rules, because there was nothing related to a French Empire before."

"So, what, we form the Alnus Empire?" Hannah snorted. "Sure. Why not? Better than letting the old crones keep arguing."

"'Three days I stood the plain, liberty's course for to maintain,' Richard sang to himself as he stared at the Eagle. "Vive l'Impératrice."

---

"You are certain about this?" Radya stared at the agent. "Not some joke, not mistranslated?"

"Absolutely," The agent said. "A Dar amongst the Long Patrol, I saw him with my own eyes and heard Sir Richard talking about an Alnus Empire. He had a Saderan Eagle in his hands."

Radya snorted.

"We aren't going to die for his ambitions. Sadly, this cuts our options short," She grunted. "I will admit, seeing our people ruling over Sadera would be a soothing balm for the pain we endured because of Tyuule. But it must be us, not NATO."

She dismissed the agent, then set about thinking. She hadn't had enough time to consider who she could trust absolutely amongst the new arrivals. A handful here, a handful there, yes, but not whole tribes. She lacked a solid power block, with Tyuule's image slowly being redeemed, in part thanks to the former queen not seeking her throne.

Perhaps, then, something could be done using a small number, to force the issue of the monarchy and put her chosen puppet on the throne?

Radya churned the idea over in her head.

---

"So, this is your sister then, Lelei?" Richard, sometime after he had stashed the Eagle away, and scheduled meetings to start testing the waters about the idea, had stayed true to his word and had gone to his office to work on the paperwork, despite the aching muscles. Just as the work day began to end, Lelei had come in with a slightly older girl.

"Yes," The mage nodded. "This is Arpeggio."

The brown-haired woman gazed around the office, a dazed expression on her face until Lelei sharply drove her elbow into her side.

Arpeggio made a wheezing sound and gave a glare to her sister.

"Expecting a throne room?" Richard asked, leaning back in his chair. "Well, sorry to disappoint. I'm not technically a lord, but things are getting muddled due to politics. Anyway, your speciality, according to your sister, is mineral magic?"

"Ah, stepsister," Arpeggio corrected with a slight flush. "But I am also versed in alchemy, and I know my written words well."

"Sir Richard is also a scholar," Lelei informed her sister.

Arpeggio paled.

"Ah, well," She coughed and resumed. "I also have several letters of recommendation from archmages in Rondel."

"Given I have no frame of reference for them, I'm afraid that doesn't help much," Richard said. "But I am willing to trust your stepsister's recommendation. As I understand it, you can detect metals beneath the surface?"

"Ah, yes!" Arpeggio began to excitedly explain. "I can detect them quite deep, with high accuracy. I need a sample to attune to, but it can be done. In addition, I know a few spells that can let me move material. It is faster than a dozen men with pickaxes, but it is very exhausting. I can use it to shore up mine tunnels."

"NATO has better tunnelling machines," Lelei interjected. "And don't proposition him. Under the Rurudo tribe's laws, he would be married to Tara already."

Richard blushed, glancing away, embarrassed at Lelei's perspective of the matter.

"Who is Tara?" Arpeggio asked.

"Queen Tyuule's sister, a Warrior Bunny. And the next in line," Lelei bluntly informed her sister, without any emotion in her voice. "Don't anger her."

"Of course not! I don't want to end up dead!" Arpeggio shouted back in response. She flinched, then gave Richard a bow, her face apologetic. "Ah, forgive my outburst, your lordship. If I may be excused? I need to discuss with my sister some details about Alnus she failed to inform me of. But I am still willing to work."

"That's fine," Richard coughed. "I have my own issues with my sister. But there are a few other details first. Lelei, do tell her about your work with the scientists. She will be splitting her time and we need to better understand magic to utilise it."

Lelei gave a firm nod.

Once they vanished, Richard sighed.

"Okay, well, what next?" He moaned. "Oh, right, the meetings tomorrow about the Empire… why did I say that? What was I thinking? Gah! And I am late for my talk with Tara, she'll be pissed if we ruin dinner talking about politics!"

 

[charclone]

A.N. First off, sorry for this taking so long. Exams, school, etc. On top of that, I forgot that I had a backlog for this story. Still writing a new chapter, but this one should have been posted over a week ago.

Enjoy!

---

Giselle gave a sigh of contentment as she rested on the rooftop, her wings spread across its surface as she drank in the dawning sun's rays. Soon, it would be too cold for this, but between the heat of the sun and the heat from the building beneath her, it was still warm enough even with the wind growing cold.

Her belly stuffed full of the other world's food didn't hurt either.

Sitting up, she took a swig of beer, enjoying the strange taste of the foreign alcohol as it poured down her throat.

Richard and NATO had set up an account for her, one that was supplemented by NATO scholars paying her to tell them about Hardy, her worship, and what she knew about Falmart. Given they tended to talk over meals, she found the experience pleasant. The barrage of questions was grating at times, but it was better than starving.

Taking another swig, Giselle stretched her wings, then lay down again, letting her stomach digest the latest meal.

The vibrations of someone landing on the roof next to her interrupted her leisure.

Rory leaned over her fellow demigod, halberd lazily held behind her head across her shoulders.

"Yes?" Giselle groaned. "Is it urgent? You're in my light."

"Aren't you worried?" Rory narrowed her eyes. "The gods are going to war."

"Shouldn't you be excited about that?" Giselle raised an eyebrow. "And no. They are using proxies. Besides, I was told to stick around Richard, so I get to sit this out."

"Who do you think the proxies will be?" Rory huffed in a pout. "I would be excited, but the Marines probably aren't going to be deployed. Alas, my noble band of killers won't be riding out. Plus, I'm bored."

"So, you decide you bother me?" Giselle grumbled. "Go away. I want to… oh fuck!"

She sat up, nearly smashing her head into Rory's, not that it would have caused anything more than brief pain for the two of them.

"The Long Patrol. They're going to be the ones to fight Zufmuut's champion," Giselle grumbled, hugging her knees and gripping the roof tiles with her clawed feet so she didn't slide off. "Ugh, no wonder things have been going well for them. And they will expect Richard to lead them."

"Correct!" Rory grinned. "So! Best enjoy your free time while it lasts!"

Giselle stared at her as the short demigod didn't move.

"You're going to harass and tease me the whole time, aren't you?"

Rory's grin turned predatory.

"Consider it revenge for helping Hardy try and capture me."

"I didn't have a choice," Giselle grumbled as Rory laughed.

---

"Sir Richard, have a seat," General Jameson's face was stony as Richard entered his office. He remained silent as the younger man sat down, his finger steepled on his desk. "I assume you have some idea why I requested this meeting?"

"I'm afraid not, general," Richard replied, swallowing.

Jameson's face split into a grin as he pulled a package from his desk, handing it to Richard.

"Your parliament okayed the deal with King Duran," The general laughed. "You haven't been given an actual noble title, but they have formalised the situation here! Congratulations, your lordship!"

Richard groaned as he read the thick set of papers. Letters of congratulations, legal documents that confirmed what the general was stating, deeds for the land, and more.

"Great, more work," He sighed. "I don't suppose you are willing to tell me why it happened so fast?"

"Stability and the desire to get this done with," Jameson explained. "The Saderans see you as nobility, and I suppose they aren't wrong. Doesn't cost NATO anything to give you the land, as it's still a military FOB, and that isn't changing anytime soon, but it will make diplomacy here easier."

Richard nodded along in understanding.

"Alright, so, does that change anything?" He asked, looking away from the papers and back to the general. "I understand that the UN was discussing Falmart."

"As long as Uncle Sam has a seat, the UN won't get shit here without permission," Jameson grunted. "Charities are winding down, now that they aren't needed as badly, though some want to range further and try to end slavery."

"The Saderans would love the free stuff," Richard sighed. "So, the treaty was signed by the Senate?"

"Yeah, politicians left yesterday," The general nodded. "But you still have work to do, as do I. We need to stamp out local bandits and repair trade routes. The Long Patrol also needs to look at expanding, again, if it's to protect the local region."

"Right," Richard nodded. "Good thing Duran has sent quite a few horses. I can probably afford to buy some more… what about guns?"

"AR-10 kits are easily accessible, should make parts for the C-1s you already have easy to get," Jameson suggested. "I can help look for some good suppliers. Or… the M110 is another option. A stripped-down version could be obtained at a cheap price. It's a good weapon, similar build and handling."

Richard shrugged.

"I have no idea. I'll have to take your word for which would be better, long term," Richard said. "I know more about swords than guns, even with the training."

"That's to be expected. I'll have my staff prepare a write-up for you and find a few experts to help arm your people," Jameson said. "In the meantime, go share the good news with the missus."

---

"But you understand the threat this poses?" Radya argued. "Our peoples would be gone, absorbed by Richard's 'Alnus Empire'!"

The other tribal leaders she had invited, moderates who still were on the fence regarding Tara and Tyuule, wavered. Silent mutters spread amongst them.

Finally, one spoke.

"Tara would be his wife in this instance, yes?" The woman said. "Then I see no danger. Our people would rule in time. Perhaps if things were different, we would agree that there was a danger, but with how supportive Sir Richard has been, and with how close Tara is to him, there is nothing to fear. I knew Tara and Tyuule before our people fell. I am in favour of watching them, but I trust them to not make the old mistakes."

Radya seethed beneath her mask of calm. She gave a curt nod, then bid them farewell.

The moment they were gone, her mask fell, twisting her face into a grotesque thing of fury.

"Idiots!" She cursed. "Fools! Blind Ma-Nuga! How can we expect a failure like Tyuule to lead us? Her sister is no better!"

With a heave, the table in her domicile was overturned. Heaving, she glared at the guard who had stuck her head in to check on her at the noise.

"Any good news?" Radya demanded of the guard, who flinched and withdrew. "My chosen puppet isn't any better, but at least she is pliable. We can't abandon our old ways, nor can we keep relying on NATO. They'll just use us. But I am out of options!"

Furious, with desperation clawing at her mind, she paced.

Her attempts to gather supporters were too slow. Most of those who agreed with her were so hidebound, they would rather die than accept any change. A few were even willing to kill themselves rather than face defeat again. Far too many of them were just raring at the chance to have a second go at the Empire, relying on NATO to secure them their victory.

Radya couldn't tolerate that. The only reason those were supporting her was because she was opposed to the peace NATO had signed.

Her options and allies were few. Her pawns were untrustworthy.

There was another option, of course, but she was uncertain as to its success.

Turning that idea over in her head, trying to find alternatives, she rightened the table.

Then she paused, the table still in her hands.

She grinned.

Flipping the table would cause chaos. But, if it was a small thing, say, just the council meeting… she could trust enough people to put a force there. And she had enough friends still that, with the implications, she could force her issue without bloodshed.

It was crude, she admitted to herself. But she was out of options. Besides, Hardy herself demanded the Queen be pure-blooded, so surely this endeavour would have her blessing?

 

[charclone]

"My prince," Bouro rasped from his hidden spot amongst the bushes. "I have… concerns regarding your brother's sincerity."

"Oh? You think my brother is a schemer?" Zorzal laughed, uncaring if he was overheard, sitting 'alone' in his palace garden. "Next I suppose you shall tell me you fear that water is wet, or that a Ma Nuga takes a shit?"

Bouro sighed. The idiot was pliable, but he didn't pretend to be the fool he was beneath his muscled exterior around those he trusted. Unfortunately, counter to Bouro's goals, that trust extended to Diabo.

"No, Your Highness, I am referring to his deal with you," Bouro carefully maintained a respectful tone, yet kept a measure of concern laced in. "I have noted that he has been… crafting favourable deals, yet he has been excluding you from them, nor mentioning them to you, while at the same time, positioning them so that it would be… simple for the emperor to enact them. I fear he intends to supplant you to keep them."

"Or use me to fulfil them, keeping to his word," Zorzal pointed out, making Bouro mentally curse. "Whatever. Tell me about them later. My father has, to my surprise, invited Diabo and I to a meal. Without Pina, who he sent off to Alnus. Something about slaves. Whatever the reason, I should head over now."

The prince gave a brief laugh.

"Hah!" He grinned as he stood. "Perhaps my father has changed his mind about Pina, or her crusade against corruption angered him somehow?"

With an uncaring shrug, Zorzal cheerfully walked off without a further word.

Bouro ground his teeth.

Pliable Zorzal might be, but he was too wilful now that Tyuule was no longer whispering in his ear, feeding him lies to bolster his ego. Not to mention his arrogance and temper made him prickly to manoeuvre into place.

With a sigh of weariness, Bouro decided to make it a priority to find some whore for Zorzal to knock up. Who, it didn't matter anymore. Just so long as an heir was produced. Once that was done, Zorzal could be discarded, and Bouro's puppet-emperor could be raised heeding the whispers from the shadows until all the nobility were brought into the Haryo through blood. Then, a Haryo bride for the emperor to tie his bloodline in, assuming the child's mother isn't a Haryo, and they would have their rightful place atop all the other creatures of this world. Undisputed masters, as they should be, superior even to the other chimeras.

---

Molt greeted his sons as they entered the hall. It was one of the smaller dining halls, meant for the Imperial family to share meals in. In the past, it had been used constantly, for every meal as the Imperial family of that time had been close. Molt himself remembered when his family had shared their meals before they grew up.

Silently, he regretted that it hadn't been possible to keep the family together, but the Empire demanded service to keep it together, so he was forced to journey elsewhere far too often. It would have been cruel to force Pina's mother to endure being around the boys without him, they were not her children, nor did they like her, so Pina and her mother had spent their time at the Jade Palace, while Diabo and Zorzal spent their time at their own estates.

He wondered how things might have been if they had been of a lower station, without the calling of stately affairs to distract them from their family.

Molt dismissed the idle thoughts as he sat down. Diabo on his right, Zorzal on his left. A faint flicker of some unreadable emotion flew across Zorzal's face as he noted Diabo's placement. Doubt, perhaps?

As they sat down, servants brought out the first course. Perhaps it would have been better to talk first, but Zorzal's mood always improved when he had food in his hands. Diabo was politically savvy enough to catch this, so Molt felt that he would not be slighted.

Zorzal, with a second helping of bread and meat in his hand, was the first to start talking much to Molt's surprise.

"So, what is this about father?" He took a bite before continuing. "Pina is off at Alnus for some reason, and you decide to invite us to a meeting?"

"I should have expected you would have no interest in playing games," Molt chuckled to himself. To buy himself time to compose his response, he took another helping of food. After he took a bite, he chewed and swallowed it, giving himself a moment to enjoy the spiced meat. "You are correct in assuming that this is not, as much as I might which it to be possible, a simple family gathering. The both of you have been trying to gather support to put Zorzal on the throne, correct?"

He shifted his gaze from one son, then to the other.

Diabo swallowed the last of his first course, leaning back to wait for the servants to bring out the next course.

"One might perceive it as you changing which of us you prefer as heir," Diabo said. He frowned as Zorzal snatched a glass from the servant as they brought out the wine. He waited until Zorzal finished pouring himself the wine, before continuing. "But that isn't the case, is it? No, I suspect you want us to stop."

"Not quite," Molt picked up his glass as the servant finished pouring it. "Rather, I am disappointed in how you are going about it and wish to inform you that if you intend to actually be considered potential heirs, you need to improve. So far, you have displayed none of the qualities necessary to rule. You have cut deals, sold power to acquire more, traded favours, and whipped up support. How does any of that solve the issues of the Empire?"

As he spoke, Molt's voice hardened, raising in volume, but not quite reaching a yell. He gave a weary sigh.

"The empire faces a foe unlike it has ever seen and we have not enough information about it," The emperor said, taking a sip of wine to settle himself. "Not to mention the unrest from losing large numbers of agricultural slaves, revolts in the Warrior Bunny homeland and piracy in the south being on the rise. And what have either of you two done about it?"

Diabo held his tongue. His face betrayed his emotions, but he remained silent, at least trying to appear as if he were thinking.

Zorzal didn't even bother using the meat between his ears.

"And what has Pina done?" He demanded, his tone belligerent. "I've been rallying the people, reminding them of the greatness of the empire, of how we have faced hard times before and come out stronger!"

"Words mean little compared to action," Molt retorted. "Pina has been acting as a negotiator, mediator, and point of contact. She understands NATO better than us. More, she is learning. She is also committed to the Empire over her own benefit. While not conducive to her long-term health, it speaks well of what she would do as Empress."

Molt leaned back in his chair, taking a few bites of the second course before resuming.

"I am not angry. I am not going to disinherit my own sons," Molt said, relaxing and taking another sip of the wine. "I am just disappointed. So I am just going to say this final note; Pina asks for my advice and help. If I have given my implication that I will withhold it from you, then it was in error."

Diabo frowned and picked at his food for several moments before he resumed eating.

Zorzal just huffed, quaffed his wine, ordered more from a servant, and then began to stuff food down his gullet.

Molt gave a disappointed sigh.

By the time the third and final course was brought out and placed on the table, a disquiet mood had settled in the room, keeping anyone from speaking to each other. Zorzal gave shooting glares from the corner of his eyes at Molt as he shovelled food into his mouth, while Diabo gave him an exasperated look.

A pit formed in Molt's stomach.

The moment the meal finished; Diabo made polite excuses before he left. Zorzal didn't bother saying a word.

Molt sighed in defeat. His sons were stubborn, it would seem. If they refused to adapt to the differences between the requirements of a prince and an emperor, despite his attempts to train them with responsibilities, it would not end well for the empire.

As he stood, something hit the ground outside the room in the hall with a meaty thud. Molt heard Diabo cry Zorzal's name, but he had no time to process this fact as a sudden agony exploded in his gut.

His insides felt like they were ablaze. He stumbled in shock, leaning against the table for support.

His eyes, as his guards rushed to help him, fell upon the cups they had drunk from, remembering the servant. He had paid it no mind at the time, as he never bothered to memorise every face in the palace, there were too many, but something about them had seemed off. Unfamiliar.

He suddenly coughed, feeling a coppery wetness in his mouth.

"Get me a scribe," He rasped as he felt the fast-acting poison burn his insides, ignoring the guards calling for a doctor. "Now!"