"There are no civilians here, for we are all soldiers in the fight for freedom!" - Jacques Trerieux from the battlements of Treris on the 5th of Pictosh, 268 PR. The next day the beseiging Desramaux forces would break through and level the city.

2nd of Darsu, 346PR,

Betrayal does not even begin to explain the feelings coursing through my veins this morning. My own family would seek to spill its own blood, in the name of preserving it. Uncle Thierry will pay for this crime, for the lives taken, for the lives that will continue to be lost for this reckless cause of his. I cannot call myself King if I do not see this through. My heart breaks for those lost from yesterday's attack, an attack meant for me and my Queen. It was only the comfort of her hand in mine that allowed me rest last night. Allowed a distraction from what is to come next, what retribution will look like as our kingdom's grow divided.

King Phillipe waited a moment before placing his journal back onto the shelf, allowing for the ink to dry before closing it. Looking over to his bed, Jolijn had already left to her old quarters so that she might change with help from her attendants before the morning's meeting. Phillipe knew there were only two attendants with her, out of the usual five, along with Larynwy standing over them, sword drawn. Despite his lack of desire to, the king knew he must look as put together as possible this morning, he had to stand resolute and be a rock for others to look to as the proverbial seas battered them with great waves from all around, only the beginning from the coming storm. With jacket buttoned, and sword at his hip, Phillipe made his way out of his chambers and down the hall to where they would meet. It was a smaller room at the very end of the hallway which housed the royal sleeping chambers. Over the course of several rules its purposes have changed. King Jean-Phillipe II, Phillipe's great-grandfather, had used it as a private parlor, which was used to entertain foreign dignitaries and countless lovers. His father had it converted into a small library that he mostly used as a study when he needed time alone to think, often going through the volumes within to help in his thought process. With most of his short reign having been focused on the wedding and some smaller affairs of state, Phillipe had yet to make any change to the room, however, it's seclusion and open floor plan was perfect as a private meeting place. Two guards in full plate wielding halberds flanked the door. With a nod of his head, the one on the left opened the door and closed it behind the king. Everyone is here, good.

Standing by the back bookshelves was Prince Mathias and Prince Mathi, both leaning up against the shelves, facing out to the rest of the room. In the back right corner sat Prince Renault with his father seated next to him, the old prince was biting down on his pipe, though it did not seem he was smoking anything from it. By the left wall of shelves sat Prince Hein, along with King Jurrien II and Priest Volka by his side. His wound had continued to bleed during the night, it would seem. Closer to the center of the room, in front of King Francois III's desk, sat Princess Jolijn with Larynwy standing behind her, hand on the hilt of her blade.

"What do we know?" Phillipe made his way to the center of the room so that he could be seen and heard by all. Mathi approached his cousin.

"No doubt, the Duchess Hekket Zelderloo and Prince Thierry Desramaux were responsible for the orchestration of the attacks. There were a total of twelve assailants, two more than originally thought. Two of which are still alive, one is unwilling to talk, while the other is surprisingly willing." Hein piped up, drawing the attention with his sudden coughing.

"His name is Nils. He was my mother's latest play thing. From what I gathered in interrogating him, he feels slighted by her, that she left him with no other choice but to carry this out for her. He has given us a list of names of those he knew to have been directly involved with the planning."

"Aside from Hein's mother and our dear Uncle Thierry, Duke Guyard Pelariaux, Duke Lars Van Niljveld II, Duke Vaars Zelderloo VIII, and Prince Claude Desramaux were named as co-conspirators by Nils. We have to assume there were others not directly associated with the plotted assassination but who are supporters of the conspirators all the same." Mathi looked around to those in the room.

"Yes, cousin. We unfortunately have to assume anyone who was not in attendance is a potential supporter, and therefore traitor. Have we received word from the riders we sent out last night?"

"No, cousin."

"Then we must proceed with mobilizing our forces to meet there's."

"Do you not think that is acting to hastily? We might still catch the traitors." Prince Guillaume removed his pipe just long enough to utter these words before placing it back in his mouth.

"It is a ten days ride from here to Pelaresse, we must presume that is where they are headed and they are headed there with haste. That puts them at just nine days away, possibly with relief horses lined up for them. All in all, I say they will reach Pelaresse in at most eight days from the time of their departure last night. Mathi, you did send the cavalry out with orders to muster the forces of Hemroux and Renangers, yes?"

"Yes."

"Good, we must have Duke Yves and Duchess Emilie ride out immediately to gather their forces."

"Both of them are in mourning, Phillipe, we must give them time. By the gods, the Duchess has lost both of her loves in one night and the Duke his father, who died defending you I might add. They deserve the proper time to mourn."

"Dear Prince Guillaume, time is not something we can enjoy right now. And many more of us will be in mourning if we waste what little we have to prepare. Send the Duke and Duchess to their forces along with my condolences." Prince Guillaume let out a loud scoff as he finally began filling his pipe with coffee. The room looked to Phillipe for a response, but Prince Mathias interrupted before he could.

"Dear nephew, if I may. The Duke and Duchess should not be sent alone, send one of us along with our own forces. The Desramaux army should be the one that raises its banners to charge at the enemy first."

"Believe me, uncle, I have already considered this. You and Prince Guillaume will lead the Desramaux forces east. With any hope, our forces, combined with those from Hemroux and Renangers, will stop whatever the conspirators have already sent our way, or at least lay siege to them wherever they should rest. Is everything alright, cousin?" Guillaume had nearly spat out his pipe at the mention of his being at the head of an army. The old prince did a small circle around the room with his eyes before simply nodding his head slowly. His eyes locked with Prince Mathias, who simply rolled his and sighed.

"What other allies do we know of?" Prince Mathi looked down to his feet in thought, but Prince Hein spoke first.

"Of your vassals, aside from those already mentioned, we know that the Duke D'Aurrennes, the Duchess Parseille, the Duke Garlennes, and Count Lefeuvre are loyal to you."

"How are we certain of this?" asked Mathi.

"By virtue of their attendance at the wedding. As for Pelariaux, Jaquignon, Lebatou, and Licon, we must assume they were waiting the outcome of the wedding or will rise at the chance to fight against it."

"Pelariaux no doubt has a hand in this, and Jaquignon will simply follow whatever Pelariaux does. Lebatou and Licon did not attend out of protest, it is possible we can convince them to fight for us, but it is more than likely that they will join the conspirators. What of the Biljvank vassals?" Prince Mathi looked over to his new cousins. King Jurrien opened his mouth to speak but quickly stopped himself as he winced in pain. Prince Hein looked to Jolijn to speak, and after a brief moment, she hesitantly turned her gaze to Phillipe as she spoke.

"With the death of Rie Heerma, until we here from her son, the new Duke Heerzijl, we have no way of knowing which side they will join. A falcon was sent this morning by my father informing the young duke of his mother's death. Duke Alloopen was publicly against this wedding but still came with his entire family, while his sister fled with hers; we can count him as an ally, but he may not reach his army before she does. The Duke Rodizijl has not woken up since he fell asleep last night, though he still shows signs of life. If he dies, his eldest, Krisje, will become Duchess. The Duchess Obbinkerloo did not attend the wedding, but she has always been a friend to the Biljvank household, as with the Duke Diependam. The Duchess Mathieden was in attendance and will support us. The Duke Lutherloo will do whatever Van Niljveld tells him." Glances from the rest of the room were shared by most, as many in attendance shifted their feet and hands in response to the princess' report.

"This does not sound very certain. It seems we should send messages to the great houses of the Biljvank as well. What of Biljrend? Without you two home, who defends the city? Who will muster your forces?" Hein stood to speak.

"My brother should be in the city, his grandchild having been born recently. Aside from him there is Prince Thijn, the King's brother. The city is in good hands, our forces will join. We are also forgetting of other allies we might have, other's we could reach out to. Within your borders lives the Mannes tribe of Centaurs. They are a powerful force of cavalry, fearsome warriors who we should call upon."

"The Mannes are not our vassal. They enjoy rights within our kingdom, but I have not been able to meet with their chief since my coronation. I know they will not answer the call from a king they do not know."

"Then I will go meet with them. Send me with some of your troops and I will bring you an army of centaur. Consider it a wedding gift, Phillipe."

"You do not understand, Hein. If anyone is to meet with them, it must be me. Otherwise they will not help us." A brief silence fell over the room, then Jolijn spoke.

"I count nine banners on our side for certain, with five against us for certain. Seven others are left as questions for us to answer. I shall go and meet with Krisje and Duke Alloopen to secure their loyalty. We must send falcons to Obbinkerloo, Diependam, Lebatou, and Licon to determine their loyalty. All vassals who are in Desramaux Castle must ride home at once, ready to assist however we find we need them, while those who we have already mentioned ride east to Pelaresse."

"Yes, my Queen. I do not like some of these possibilities, however, and I will ride east to meet with Chief Blazing Arrow of the Mannes." King Jurrien II let out a cry of pain before finally speaking.

"That is the most foolish thing I have ever heard! If they did not attend the wedding, we must assume they are our enemy. You must lead your forces, if not from the battle field from here, King Phillipe."

"With all due respect, King Jurrien, I leave to return leading a strong host, and I do not answer to you. If what you say is true, also, that any who did not attend are our enemy, then we are in dire need of more allies, lest we want this conflict to drag on as two evenly matched forces fight for years. We must try and stop this conflict before it truly begins, that is why Mathias and Guillaume will ride east, and that is why I shall gain the aid of the Mannes tribe. The castle and kingdom are left in the very capable hands of your daughter and her cousins, new and old." King Phillipe motioned to Prince Renault, Prince Mathi, and Prince Hein. The two kings locked eyes for a moment, King Jurrien II gritted his teeth, his mind demanding he say more but his body forcing him to stop. He turned his eyes over to Jolijn, almost as if he wanted her to speak for him, but she did not. Her eyes met his and he immediately softened.

"I will ride out with you. Should things change and you need to be in two places at once, you will need someone close by to trust. Let it be a show of our strength as a unified kingdom, as unified houses." Prince Hein spoke in a way King Phillipe did not think the feeble prince could, almost as if he were demanding and not just suggesting.

"Very well then. Prince Hein and I shall take a small regiment of Desramaux cavalry and ride to meet with the Mannes tribe. All nobles in Desramaux Castle will ride home and prepare to be called upon to fight, save Elco and Stans Van Niljveld who will held as prisoners. Prince Mathias, Prince Guillaume, you two will muster our forces and gather with Hemroux and Renangers along the Northern Road where you will then prepare to march east to Pelaresse. Let us not waste any time we do not have. And may our falcons fly true."

Prince Thierry looked up at the banner flying before him. The blazon was meant to echo the family motto, which in turn echoed what the House had been best known for. Quartered, gold and azure, in the first and fourth quarter were a bow and arrow drawn gold, in the second and third quarter were a falcon azure. Ours Strike True. Thierry recounted House Pelariaux's family motto, one of the only houses in the kingdom who's motto had any amount of truth to it. The Pelariaux's were best known for their excellent archers, said to be able to strike an apple from two hundred yards away. Or a king's throat. The old prince thought back to the last time he stepped foot in the city of Pelaresse, thirty-two years ago, with an army led by his uncle Jean parading through the city streets, tearing down anywhere they saw the bow and falcon. It was impressive how well they were able to rebuild; from what Thierry could recall, a third of the city had been leveled by Prince Jean's rage. Enemies, always the Pelariaux were enemies. Scheming when next to extend their claws, to cause civil strife and bloody conflict within the kingdom in another vain attempt to regain their petty kingdom. Pelaresse was never a destination for the old prince, rather a city to be avoided. The last time he set out east on the Northern Road, the old prince went around the city, traversing small villages on his way to Jacquignon, and taking the same path on the return journey. Now, now it was a place of refuge, a place to establish his new rule, under false pretenses and false promises. Pelaresse and the estate of House Pelariaux would serve as their home base as they prepared for the worst. With his newest ally by his side, Prince Thierry road his horse to the front steps of the Pelariaux Estate.

Standing before the door, expectantly, was the lowly figure of Duke Guyard Pelariaux. His were a pair of eyes the old prince had not seen since they belonged to a small child, no older then six, whose fate laid in the hands of his "merciful" brother. Mercy is what brought us this day, brother. Mercy sewed the seeds of our shared bloodshed. Had Prince Jean had his way in 304 PR, House Pelariaux would not exist today, Pelaresse would have been renamed, and a secondary line of House Desramaux would be flourishing as the rulers of this conquered land. Instead, they were allowed to rebuild themselves, enough to pose a serious threat once again. Enough to be of use, to be a means to an end. When all was finished, Thierry had promised himself, Jean's will would finally be done. But for now, he had to play the part of the gracious ally, an equal within someone else's home. Beside the Duke, stood Thierry's only child, Prince Louis, who had stayed as a guest since arriving with his message for the Duke. To the left of the Duke, was a short, fat, offish looking man, someone the old prince did not recognize but whom the Duchess Zelderloo perked up at the sight of. Another ally, perhaps? He was adorned in blue and green, plate armor covering all of his body except for his head, with his helmet tucked under his left arm. A mace hung from his right hip, and on his chest was emblazoned an escutcheon, per pale with fret ordinaries blue and green, centered and lowered sat two red flanged maces saltire. House Van Niljveld. During their last conflict with House Pelariaux thirty-two years ago, House Van Niljveld had lead a similar revolt against the Biljvank Kingdom, leading to both houses assisting each other in their fight for independence. Prince Thierry recognized the blazon from a skirmish just south of Pelaresse that Prince Jean allowed him to watch. Two enemies in my camp. The old prince swallowed hard, gritted his teeth, dismounted, and approached the three lords.

"May I welcome you both to Pelaresse, Prince Thierry and Duchess Hekket. Or should I address you as king, now?" Guyard turned to Thierry, a genuine question in his eyes.

"That would all depend on what, if any, reports you have received from Desramaux City. We have ridden hard these passed eight days, and have had no correspondence." Guyard looked the two up and down, clicked his tongue, and opened the door to his estate.

"Let us discuss over some refreshments." The group followed the duke into the Pelariaux parlor. It was not as lavish as Prince Thierry had remembered, though he had not remembered the estate being sacked. Perhaps the duke was more of a minimalist than his father, perhaps he had to out of financial necessity. Staring down at them all, high above the mantle, the old prince recalled the mural of the Battle of the Last Garlieux, the establishing moment of the once Kingdom of the Pelariaux. Forever living in their past glories I see. Thierry sat at the far end of the crescent of couches, taking what he presumed was usually Guyard's seat, as it was closest to the door for escape purposes. Already seated when they entered sat two familiar and - for the first time Thierry could recall - pleasing faces to see; Prince Claude and Jean-Claude had arrived a day earlier, having left during the ceremony. Servants served the guests a variety of wines, the old prince taking his pick of a well aged sapphire and fresh coffee for his pipe. Hekket sat opposite the crescent from Thierry, her amethyst wine as dark as her thoughts. She eyed Guyard as soon as she had had her first sip, ensuring he felt her impatience with every fiber of his being.

"We received a falcon four days ago from King Phillipe Desramaux and his new bride, Princess Jolijn Biljvank. They reported the attempt on their lives, along with the deaths of several nobles in attendance -"

"Unfortunate casualties. They chose their sides poorly." Claude interrupted, already overstaying his welcome of being in Prince Thierry's good graces, as the old prince shot his cousin a dirty look, pushing him back into his seat.

"As I was saying. King Jurrien Biljvank II was wounded but they are hoping and praying for a full recovery. They are seeking answers, allies, and armies from all loyal vassals to both crowns of the Desravank Empire." At this, Guyard stood up from his seat, walked to the fireplace and stared into the flames for a moment before turning back to face them all. "Congratulations on completely botching this assassination, Prince and Duchess." The Duke raised his glass, no one joined him.

"Thank you for your blunt analysis, Duke Guyard, thank you for your hospitality, and thank you for your agreement to our alliance." Duchess Hekket took a small sip from her glass, eyes never leaving Guyard's.

"Tell me, why should I not arrest you both right now, send a falcon to King Phillipe, and be hailed as a hero of this empire?"

"And doom my brother and nephew? I have come baring arms against my liege King, admitting to this and letting you surrender our leaders will sign their fate. Why should I not simply cave your head in for backing out already?" Duke Lars II stood from his seat, eyes narrowed upon Guyard.

"Sending any of your family to the ceremony without informing them to leave in time was your own doing, Lars. If anyone has signed their fate, you have. But perhaps I could negotiate their release? Then only you will face execution."

Thierry watched as his cousins and co-conspirators shifted themselves in their seats, sitting up straighter, eyes more focused on the Duke. Lars kept his right hand resting on the handle of his mace. Thierry began to laugh. The room turned to face the old prince, who by now was leaning far back into the couch, right hand on his stomach as he attempted to control his laughter. Finally, after many seconds of quizzical stares, the prince righted himself.

"My apologies, but such a ridiculous question was evidently what I needed at this moment in time. You have been given a golden opportunity, Guyard, one that your family has hoped and dreamed for since 248 PR. One which two separate generations have attempted to fight for and lost terribly, having almost no outside support. You can fight for your kingdom in earnest, Duke Guyard Pelariaux. Lebatou and Licon will ride to our aid, they are loyal to me. Jaquignon will do as you do, while, soon, the entire Kingdom of Biljvank will be under the control of the Duchess' Zelderloo's son. As we speak, he is marching into the capital to seize the throne, taking several armies south to begin his march for Desramaux City. A kingdom is being handed over to us both, Guyard. That is why you will not imprison us, and instead you will be hailed as a hero of your own people." Thierry took a long swig from his glass, feeling the attention of the room once again turn to face the Duke. Take the bait, gods damn you. Take the bait. The old prince maintained his friendly smile, one which had not some so easily to him as of late. His eyes sparkled against the fire, he slowly lit his pipe, drawing in the first few puffs, all while staring at Guyard. The Duke had taken three surveys of the room by now, sweeping his eyes from left to right ever so slowly, his left hand twirling his glass and its contents around and around.

"I had hoped our agreement was in earnest, and you have proved that to me thusly. What are our next steps?" Guyard made his way back to his seat, Thierry took the cue to take his place before the mantle. Finally. Thierry swirled his glass before taking a small sip and directing his attention to Lars Van Niljveld II.

"We shall utilize Pelaresse as our primary base for the time being, its proximity to Desramaux Castle and their most likely allies makes it an excellent position to launch from. Duke Lars, it is a pleasure to finally meet you. I take it from your attire that your army has already been mobilized?" The large duke nodded his head slowly.

"My forces have been encamped to the north of Pelaresse for the better part of the last week, my son is with them now. We number fifteen-thousand and are ready for whatever command is given, that was what we could muster on such short notice. The Duke Lutherloo should be approaching with another five-thousand of his soldiers and five-thousand of mine within the next three days."

"Excellent, we must act swiftly, marching along the Northern Road to Renangers, who no doubt will be an enemy of ours. Their stockpiles of lumber will be of grave importance for our construction of siege craft when the time comes to take Desramaux City. Guyard, when can your armies be ready?" The Duke looked up and thought for a moment before sipping his wine and looking to Lars, then Thierry.

"I can have two-thousand armed soldiers ready to join your ranks in three days time. To gather more will take another week, I can guarantee another eight-thousand will gather here and reinforce you at Renangers along with the forces from Lutherloo. Anymore will be told to gather here also, though I do not see the need to mobilize more forces at this time."

"Duchess Zelderloo, what other forces can we expect from your side?" The wiry duchess sipped from her glass, allowing the wine to settle on her taste buds, soaking up all of the flavors of the amethyst while she soaked up all the attention in the room.

"Whether or not the Duke Alloopen is counted among those, unfortunate casualties as Prince Claude so eloquently put, the new Duchess Alloopen will be arriving to mobilize her new troops within a week, we can expect their reinforcements in two weeks time. Martien Ruuding, the brother to Duke Rodizjil and who has been left in charge whilst his brother was away, is loyal to my son, having served with him for over a decade now. On his route to the capital, Rikkert will have secured his alliance and attached his army to that of my nephews, the Duke Zelderloo. With both armies, and eventually the addition of the main Biljvank forces, he will march along the Southern Road, forcing loyalties of any who need it, and eventually joining with Lebatou and Licon. No others will be joining us here on the Northern Road, except perhaps the Kol tribes, depending on my son's success with them."

"Very good. With any luck, this entire conflict will be settled within three months time. With two grand armies marching west along both the North and South Roads, Desramaux City will fall into our hands in no time at all, and with that, all our promised rewards." Thierry raised his dark blue liquid high, glancing around the room as all others present followed suit. The bait has been taken, and all shall be mine.

The old throne was rather uncomfortable, or at least it was not nearly as comfortable as the chairs the old prince had grown very accustomed to. Still, he knew he had to stay seated, knowing that soon enough his cousin will march through the doors and into the throne room, expecting it to lay empty. The old fool. While it was true, that, Prince Thijn was never considered all that much by those around him for most of his life, given his ability to enjoy his position of privilege and simultaneous unimportance. Being the brother to the king did have responsibilities early on, of course. Thijn served as an advisor to his brother for years, as well as overseeing his council for the first five years of his rule. Once Jurran was born, however, and the prospect of Thijn inheriting diminished as the boy got older and then had a sister, the brother to the King slowly stepped back from the public eye and royal duties. Living the life of a bachelor, the old prince had lived the last fifteen years of his life in relative obscurity, peacefully drinking what he wanted, eating what he wanted, and playing games with his countless friends and lovers. However, disturbing news reached him earlier that morning, the cold morning of the fifteenth of Darsu, both by falcon and by messenger. This had been the second falcon he had received since the supposed wedding between his niece and King Phillipe would have taken place. From the contents of the first falcon, the beloved prince knew the wedding had happened, and ended with a great tragedy. His second falcon, however, arrived five days later and had far worse of news. Immediately upon receiving it, he gathered his most loyal guards and captains, sent messengers for any loyal knights, and prepared an escape plan from the capital. The messenger who arrived around noon only solidified his fears, though far sooner than he had been prepared for. So, the uncomfortable prince sat there, in his brother's chair, splint armor over gambeson, sword by his side, and a regiment of guards led by Captain Babette stood at the ready. He could feel the sweat pooling at the back of his neck, his thoughts racing with the words he would speak when his cousin arrived. How would he greet him? Coldly? Simply? What way did such actions deserve response? He would have to think of something in the moment, as he heard the approaching of armored soldiers and the creaking of the throne doors opening.

"Good day to you cousin, and to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?" Thijn saw the color drain from Rikkert's face briefly, before recognition returned to his eyes and the color of his face with it.

"I might ask you a similar question, Thijn." Thijn smiled a wide smile.

"I suspect you might, I take it my presence confuses you?"

"As a matter of fact, it does."

"You expected the throne room to be left empty then? Just for you?"

"What are you implying?" By now, Rikkert had entered the room fully, though still alone, no doubt his regiment awaiting his command just outside in the halls.

"Are you aware of the line of succession? As it currently stands, that is?" Thijn watched as his old cousin's face twisted in thought, not fully grasping the context to the line of questioning. Like usual, without fully understanding the purpose of the question before him, Prince Rikkert responded regardless.

"I am."

"So then you know that, in the event something should happen to my dearest brother, and your dearest cousin, then Princess Jolijn will inherit the throne of Biljvank, yes?" Rikkert simply nodded.

"And, if, though very unlikely, but, if something should happen to her also, I would be next in line. Were you aware of that, Rikkert?" Rikkert let out a sigh, his eyes down at his feet, then darting back up to meet Thijn's.

"I am aware of that, yes. May I ask the purpose to this line of questioning?" Always late to request clarification, just almost right on cue.

"You may ask such a question. However, I am afraid my answer is a question also. I find it curious, that, just two hours ago, a messenger came racing into these halls to deliver to me the news that the army's of House Zelderloo and House Ruuding have entered the city. Though, this was not the most perplexing news. What perplexed me the most, was that I was informed they were being led by none other than Prince Rikkert Biljvank."

"That is not a question, Thijn." Thijn smirked.

"What is your purpose here today? Why do you march foreign armies into Blijrend, your home?"

"House Zelderloo and Ruuding are not foreign, they are vassals to the Kingdom."

"Yet I have the distinct feeling they will not answer my command, only yours. Why were you not present at the wedding of Princess Jolijn and King Phillipe?"

"My grandchild was to be born prematurely, and I needed to be home for my son and daughter-in-law. I road like the wind to get here."

"With a silver wind at your back, I see. It is very noble of you to march fifty-thousand heavily armed soldiers into Biljrend just to help your daughter-in-law." Thijn could hear the cracking of his cousins jaw as he gritted his teeth, popping the muscles in the left side of his jaw. The two old princes did not move their gaze for what felt like an eternity, eyes locked onto one another's in a battle for who will speak first, who will address the clear problem at hand.

"I had hoped you would be talked down easily, Thijn. I thought you would see eye to eye with me, that you would understand how the survival of our house demands such actions."

"You mean seeing eye to eye with your mother, do you not? I know this was not your grand plan. Take no offense by this, Rikkert, but your tactics were only ever useful when split second military decisions were needed. You were never the one to make great plants like this. Assassinate the kings and bride to be, placing yourself on the throne just like that? You must have arrived here today for such a purpose, to place the crown upon your own head. Is that really what our house needs to survive? The sacrifice of two of its members so that one might elevate himself?"

"This is not an act for myself, it is an act for the Biljvank name, for our house, for our people. You know as well as I do that this union, this new empire being created will relegate the likes of you and me."

"You must have me mistaken for someone with a hunger for power like that of your mother's. No, Rikkert, this is not for the betterment of our house, for the betterment of our people. It is for the advancement of your mother, House Zelderloo, and yourself and nothing more. You may have ideals of a noble cause of survival in order to rationalize your next actions, but the are nothing more than imagined reasonings. What you are doing is treasonous, it is wrong, and it is self-destructive. It is not too late, Rikkert. You have done nothing so egregious so far, I know your mother is the architect and the one ultimately responsible for the attempt on my brother and niece's lives. Surrendering yourself now will certainly go a long way in winning favor with Jurrien, despite your marching the first invading force through the streets of Biljrend. Surrender yourself, or I shall be forced to arrest you where you stand." At this, Captain Babette and ten guards armed with maces made their way out of the shadows of the room, five standing on either side of the throne with Babette to the right of Thijn.

"It is not too late for you either, Thijn. Step down from the throne, place the crown on my head. No more family blood needs to be spilled." Ten soldiers, clad in steel breastplates, gauntlets, and greaves and armed with axes formed a line behind the traitorous prince. Captain Babette leaned over to Thijn's ear.

"My lord, they outnumber us. We may cut down ten, twenty, fifty of these Zelderloo swine, but there are fifty-thousand soldiers just outside the palace, ready to strike. I suggest we take the opportunity to leave, now." Thijn looked back to Rikkert, his old cousin had adjusted his stance to a wider one, this arms now crossed over his chest with a smug look having crept onto his face. No. I will not run from my duties today. Not in the immediate aftermath of the destruction the Duchess Zelderloo has already wrought. Death for death. Cruelty for betrayal. Blood for blood. Thijn leapt forth from the throne, drawing his sword swiftly as he made his to the stunned Rikkert before him, his guards leaping down to aid their liege.

"I will end this before it begins!" Thijn brought his sword crashing down, his blade meeting that of Rikkert's, the traitorous prince had pulled his sword out just in time, the flat side facing its opponent, his left hand supporting it from behind as the razor of Thijn's sword was stayed less than an inch from its targets face. Rikkert pushed back, shoving Thijn backwards as the clashing of maces to steel and axes to arms filled the room in a cacophony. Rikkert lunged forward, point out, Thijn side-stepped and slapped his cousins blade with his.

"You are as foolish as your brother." The traitor spun, swinging his blade in hopes of meeting the waste of Prince Thijn. Thijn was able to leap back, seizing the opening to thrust at this cousins exposed backside. Rikkert kept his momentum going and spun all the way around, quick enough to block the thrust with his blade, glide down Thijn's sword with his own and attempt a counter. Thijn parried and assumed a defensive position, stance wide with sword parallel to his body.

"And you are as shortsighted and arrogant as your mother." Rikkert swung for the left side, Thijn took one step back, his swords placement blocking the attack. Again Rikkert swung, Thijn shifted his weight, blocking once again with is own blade as he began to encircle the traitor. Blow after blow, Prince Thijn blocked, shifting his body with ease, never going on the offensive. Finally, He saw his opening, he lunged forward, pulling back and swinging hard for Rikkert's side. As a well established duelist, however, Rikkert was able to block the blow, using the old prince's own momentum to spin his blade around, pushing him slightly off balance, and opening his side up to be pierced by the traitor's blade. Thijn winced and ran back, two more guards immediately came to his flank, Captain Babette crushed the skull of one of the Zelderloo soldiers, the footsteps of more approaching came from down the hall.

"I think, Captain, now we must retreat." Rikkert thrust his sword forward, hoping to meet his blade once more to Thijn's body, but the blow was blocked by one of his guards, allowing Thijn to return the favor to his cousin. Holding his wound, the old prince ran from the room, his guards forming in behind him as Captain Babette helped him run. Behind him, clutching a similar wound to his left shoulder, he could hear Rikkert command his soldiers pursue. The sound of at least two dozen soldiers clad in Zelderloo colors rushed passed the throne, but were quickly cut off when the last Biljvank guard sealed the entrance behind them. To anyone else, where there once was a door, now appeared a plain wall. Thijn new Rikkert might know how to open the door, but it would at least buy him enough time to reach their carriages and horses that awaited them. Three carriages and ten horses, accompanied by ten more Biljvank guards, awaited the old prince by the southern entrance to the city. Thijn set himself down in the middle carriage, with Captain Babette joining him.

"Where to, my lord?" Prince Thijn slowly wrapped his torso while Captain Babette applied pressure to his wound.

"We must ride to Mathieden, warn them of what has happened and what is to come. Write Desramaux City to let them know. And send a falcon to the Duchess Obbinkerloo, 

"We received our first response today, father." King Jurrien II slowly turned his head to face his daughter. Princess Jolijn sat beside her father's bed, her hand in his, the same way she had been the last two days since he had become unable to leave his bed. Jurrien had been unable to speak more than short phrases since that night before, forcing him to rely on his daughter's ziende, though he still insisted she keep it as hidden as possible.

'Please, my child, I do not need to hear anymore of these affairs. You are Queen, now. These are your subjects.' Jolijn's eyes welled up with tears.

'I am not queen yet, father. Not yet.'

'Hmm.' The old king sighed, moving his eyes back to the ceiling. 'Send for Mathi and Renault.'

Jolijn simply nodded her head, turned to Larynwy, who stood vigilantly by the door, her sword had remained drawn since the attack. Priest Volka sat by the desk in the room, reading the histories of the Desramaux Dynasty.

"Volka, would you be so kind as to fetch Princes Mathi and Renault. My father would like to see them. Volka turned to face the princess, nodded solemnly, and swiftly left the room. The princess turned back to face her father. He had deteriorated so rapidly in the last seven days, his face becoming more gaunt with each passing hour. His arms felt so light, his hands so thin in hers; she remembered them being so strong, so powerful before. This was the man she saw practice sword fighting with Larynwy, sometimes being able to best her; this was the man she saw cripple an entire room of subjects with one sentence, able to speak so succinctly as to get all that he wanted to say into one punch. The color had faded from his eyes and face, his hair was suddenly wiry and his facial hair dirtied his face. So much was taken from him by one small blade, a dagger no longer than her index finger. Yet, something so small has resulted in the desolation of such a powerful person. Volka returned, the two young princes in tow. No doubt, her father would have sent for King Phillipe and Prince Hein, but the two had set out two days prior to the Trentenn woods where they would meet with the Mannes tribe.

"King Jurrien, how good it is to see you." Prince Mathi brougt himself to the opposite side of the bed of Jolijn, sitting close to the king.

"Likewise." King Jurrien was able to force the word out of his mouth, despite the pain it seemed to bring him. Though he had not known Mathi and Renault for long, he had enjoyed their time together the last two weeks, though the latter week was filled with meetings about the affairs of state in the aftermath of the assassination attempt. Her father seemed to have a natural way of determining someone's character very quickly, often finding the right person to work with or entreat with within moments of entering a room.

'Keep them close, while your husband is gone on his foolish mission.'

"May I ask why you have called us in, King Jurrien?" Though the question was phrased towards the king, it was in fact directed at Princess Jolijn. While no one was quite sure why or how, she did seem to know how to speak for her father when he found it so difficult to talk. At least, that is how it seemed. Today, however, Princess Jolijn did not know why her father had asked for the young prince, her new cousin. Her eyes moved to meet his.

'Why did you ask for them, father?' With great effort, a single tear came to Jurrien's right eye, slowly trickling down his cheek where it rested.

'I love you, my child. I have tried to give you all that I can, all that you have deserved. Now you must go on without my help, but there are those who will serve you to the best of their ability.' Jolijn felt herself begin to shake, her head felt flushed as her eyes soaked themselves from her tear ducts.

'No tears, my child, no tears. It is time, I can feel it, and I think you can feel it too. I love you, Jolijn, my sweet child.' Princess Jolijn let her eyes release from their blockade, as tears now streamed won her cheeks. Her father's eyes closed slowly, a long sigh of air exited his lungs.

"Is he - did he..." Mathi slowly looked over to the queen. Priest Volka stood, slowly making her way to the end table. Upon it sat Jolijn's crown. The Priest picked it up, holding it calmly in her palms as she looked to her crying queen. The room sat in silence, the sobs of Jolijn were the only sounds that were made. Soft, under her breath, only for herself.

"The King is dead. Long live the Queen." Priest Volka slowly placed the crown onto Jolijn's head. The priest then reached for a handkerchief and handed it to the young queen so that she might face her subjects with dignity. Slowly, shaking arms gripping her chair for assistance, face bright red with tears steins claiming their territory, Queen Jolijn stood. Mathi stood, hands clasped behind his back. Renault sat up straight, leaning close to his cousin.

"They have inadvertently expedited that which they hoped to destroy - the Desravank Empire. Behold, our Empress."

"Long live, Empress Jolijn."