"I, Vaars Zelderloo III, swear mine and all future generations of House Zelderloo's fealty to House Biljvank. I make this pledge on pain of death should I or any of my descendants break it. May the gods bless this union and keep House Zelderloo to their word." - Vaars Zelderloo III at the age of twelve, with a sword at his neck, swearing fealty to King Jorgen Bijlvank after his father, grandfather, and four uncles were killed by Biljvank forces, 14th of Pictosh, 172 PR

Prince Thierry patiently awaited his co-conspirators to arrive. They had received word by falcon the night before that a contingent of the Van Niljveld forces were returning to Pelaresse. The three were not entirely sure why Lars would be sending any of his forces back, considering he was supposedly awaiting their reinforcements at Renangers. Thierry looked around the parlor of Pelariaux Estate, a feeling of disgust sinking into his stomach. This estate should not be standing. It will not be standing for much longer. The old prince stood swiftly and poured himself a glass of ice brandy. Soft footsteps hit the old prince's ears just as they reached the threshold to the room.

"Drinking so soon?" Guyard slowly approached the bar.

"I find ice brandy helps to waken the senses."

"As do I. Would you be so kind as to pour me a glass as well?" Thierry turned to face the retched duke that stood before him, expectantly. Their eyes met briefly, the duke squinted, and then looked away. "Perhaps it is too early for myself, but - "

"I will take a glass of amethyst wine. I do not care the time of day, gentlemen, but I fear we must be prepared for the worst." Duchess Hekket sauntered her way into the parlor, her hair done into plates down the back with a silver dragon pin through the top. Prince Thierry removed himself from the bar, eyes fixated on the duke who, after rolling his, made his way to the bar to pour himself and the duchess a glass.

"The letter read a small contingent. I must say I am not entirely familiar with the Hastrian methods of speech, but I cannot imagine it is more than a few hundred, maybe one-thousand total. The rest of his force should have just established their base camp and are constructing siege-engines now." Prince Thierry began to take a seat after speaking when horns were heard from outside. The three looked over to each other, fresh glasses in the duke and duchess' hands, as they then raced from the estate to the gates of the third walls which encircled the estate and the immediate grounds. A regiment of cavalry were seen slowly approaching, one carried two armored soldiers. The first rider in the group stepped down and approached.

"Lords, lady, I am afraid I must report... em - that we were forced to retreat. Duke Lars was seriously wounded." Prince Thierry felt rage course through his veins.

"What of his son? Could he not keep fighting?" The soldier took a step back, swallowed hard, and then perked back up to speak again.

"Apologies, I have misspoken. Duke Lars III has been seriously wounded. Duke Lars II fell in battle." The old prince did not turn to face his allies, but could feel the smug expression forming on Guyard's face. The horse with two riders approached, as the almost unrecognizable blood coated Lars III was helped down by two soldiers and laid down on a stretcher that was brought up from passed the gates and into the city. The three gathered around the young duke.

"Lars, what happened." The young duke, no more than twenty-five, coughed as he struggled to raise his head to face them.

"He was struck in the side by a spear. He continued to fight until word reached us of his father's death. That was when he had us call the retreat." The soldier who had been speaking this whole time was now kneeling beside his lord, his hair a short brunette.

"We were... ambushed... They knew... knew we were... they attacked us from - from... the road and... the forests to the - the north... heavy losses... we -" The young duke exhaled a slow, eerie sigh.

"Duke Lars... Lars!" Prince Thierry shouted at the young man, but to no avail.

"He is dead. Duke Lars III, has died." Prince Thierry gritted his teeth almost to the point of cracking a tooth.

"Prince Thierry - "

"King! I am King Thierry." the old prince cut off Duke Guyard without turning to face him, glass shaking in his hand.

"Then I am sure you know to refer to me as such also, King Thierry." Thierry looked up to face the slimy man, and just passed could see the widest grin come over the Duchess Hekket's face. The bastard, the smug bastard! Thierry stood tall, preparing himself to unleash a torrent upon the duke before him, but felt himself stop short as he saw the banner of House Pelariaux high in the sky over the estate. Looking down, seeing the blood covered crest of House Van Niljveld on the now deceased Duke Lars III. No banners. No banners of his own. Gritting his teeth, Thierry straightened himself out and turned to face the cavalry before them.

"How many losses. Answer me lieutenant!"

"Captain, my lord, I am a captain."

"If your rank meant anything to me I would know what it was. Losses."

"We... we have not been able to make a full tally, my lord. But, but our estimates are between... between twelve and fifteen thousand." All the color left the old princes face as he nearly dropped his drink.

"That is nearly half..."

"Yes, my lord. We estimate we lost between five and seven when we began our retreat, and they... well they had us encircled. Another five or six thousand were either captured or executed while we lost more in our retreat as they pursued." Thierry stumbled back.

"Well. I must say, this war has been going for less than a month, and already we have lost one of our major allies..." Duke Guyard sipped from his glass.

"House Van Niljveld has not been lost. Lars' other son, Dirk-Jan, he will inherit. We will send a falcon to him in Niljden to begin raising more of his levy, they certainly have the numbers. And in the mean time, you should do the same, King Guyard." Thierry swung around to face Duchess Hekket as she said that title before that name. She simply raised her eyebrow at him and sipped from her glass.

"I now apparently have a large army marching my way, Duchess. I fear my recruiting will have to be quick if at all. I have fifteen thousand here in the city with another ten from Lutherloo and the Van Niljveld reinforcements." Prince Thierry downed his drink and turned to his co-conspirators.

"It would not be opportune for us all to be present when they reach Pelaresse for a siege, gentle Kings. I suggest King Thierry and I relocate to Niljden, taking the survivors of Lars' forces with us. You will wait out a siege with yours, Lutherloo, and the fresh Nijlveld forces. We will muster as much as we can from both Lutherloo and Van Niljveld and come back to break the siege. Expect us back within a month."

"And I am to just let my city fall?"

"No, King Guyard, you are to wait out a siege. I hope you can hold out for a month?" Hekket smirked at the duke.

"Pelaresse has withstood sieges for as along as a year. However, do not dally."

"We would never dream of it. And if things really do seem dire, send for Jaquignon, by now they should have mustered another eight-thousand with Prince Claude at their helm. Captain, take your liege's body back with us, he will be buried properly with his ancestors. King Thierry, shall we?" Prince Thierry looked to his allies, his raged having mostly subsided though the kindles still kept his contempt alight.

"We shall. May the gods be with you... King... Guyard." The old prince gave his glass to the duke and made his way for the estate to quickly pack.

"And may the wind be swift at your back, King Thierry." Guyard sipped his glass and slowly made his way to the gate, presumably to command all of his troops to begin camping within the walls to prepare for a siege. Duchess Hekket followed Thierry close behind.

"Was that really so hard?" The duchess asked playfully as they entered the building.

"I could kill you for this."

"For what? Completely securing a much needed alliance so that we might regroup and counter? I received word this morning that my son has begun the siege of Mathieden, and I suspect he will have taken the city by the end of the month. In this same amount of time, the Niljveld army has been halved and their morale crushed. If it were not for my sons success at Rodizijl and Biljrend, we would have just lost our only army. But we will soon have the South Road secured, from Biljrend to Parseille. Lebatou will hold Garlennes and Licon will help my son squeeze Diependam and Obbinkerloo. All we have to do is keep your brother from advancing too far before my son can come north and crush them."

"You find me so useless, do you not?" Prince Thierry found himself glaring at his ally, waiting for her response as his son entered the room. He and the duchess looked at Louis briefly and then back to one another.

"Guyard has been so gracious in his hosting us. But King Thierry, at the end of the day, he provides us with Pelaresse and Jaquignon, who thus far have done nothing but provide us shelter. Lebatou marches west while Licon marches east to join Rikkert. Your allies may be less than mine, but they are more than Guyard's. Is that what you would like me to say? Or have you finished being so needy and have regained your composure as the leader you claim to be?" Thierry simply smiled and nodded at the duchess who sipped her glass and left for her room.

"Prince Louis, you look well today. I think you will like Niljden, do pack lightly though if you can, we do not want to dally. Thierry, my estimates the army will be ready to march east by noon, let us not keep them, most of them will be eager to return at least close to home." The Duchess Zelderloo made her way out, Louis looked at his father, his head tilted to the side and mouth stuck in the formation of a word as if he wanted to ask something but could not.

"We are relocating further east, to Niljden. The enemy is approaching much faster than we anticipated and must move our primary location accordingly."

"What of the Van Niljveld army? Are they not enough to repel the - " Louis stopped midsentence, eyes wide with a slight quiver in his lip.

"The what, son?" Thierry stared for a moment longer, waiting for his son to finish his thought.

"the, um... Uncle Mathias' army. Duke Lars is not able to repel them?" Thierry clenched his fists by his side, quickly moving his arms behind his back to cover the sight from his son.

"It would seem that the enemy was quicker at mobilizing than we had first anticipated, and they knew that Duke Lars was marching his army west. They ambushed our army, and through their guile and underhandedness won the day. It is one victory, son, and we will not let them cherish it." Prince Louis looked down at this feet, his right hand rubbing his left.

"So we go further away from home?"

"Son, we are doing what must be done to ensure our safety and victory at the end. We will recruit more and return here to put down the enemy before we continue west to retake our home."

"You keep calling them the enemy, but it is Uncle Mathias, is it not?"

"I have not misspoken, son. Your uncle has chosen his side, and as such has chosen his fate. You had best get used to us striking down those who bare the crest of our house, son. They are no longer our family, no longer our friends. Now, go and pack our things, I must go to the carriage house and have the drivers prepare to leave as soon as possible. And son... do not be afraid of what I say. We are fighting for the survival of our house, of our family, against those who would willingly destroy it. Remember this."

Blue and green pendants flew high above the battlements of Niljden and the Van Niljveld Estate. Having arrived just the day before, the Duchess Zelderloo was enjoying a refreshing glass of amethyst wine in the courtyard, he hair allowed to descend the length of her back in a pony tail, a silver loop in the shape of a dragon eating its own tail held it together at the base of her skull. Her gown was a flowing grey with golden embroidery along the seems. Sipping her wine, the warmth of the afternoon spring sun brought back memories of a time long passed, a time when she was young; when the slightest breeze did not upset her comfort, when men fell over themselves attempting to say a single word to her. Running her left hand through her hair, she wrapped the length across her shoulder, draping it over herself for warmth. The approaching steps of a disgruntled man who could heard a mile away to the Duchess. Without turning to face the old prince, Hekket raised a secondary wine glass for her compatriot.

"Thank you, Duchess." Prince Thierry took the glass from her hand and took a seat beside her in the courtyard. He sat straight up in his seat, which was something the old duchess both admired and found so peculiar. It was as if he never allowed himself to truly relax. His posture was always straight up and down, whether standing or seated, even when leaning over a table to look at a map, his back remained rigid. Even his attire was never allowed to fall out of place, spending much of his movements adjusting his clothing here and there - though, through years of practice she imagined, he would do so with almost imperceptible movements. After a short time, with neither saying a word to another, their host could be heard approaching now too. Dirk-Jan Van Niljveld was Lars II's younger son, being two years his brothers junior. The young man has short, shaggy black hair with a long curled mustache; his frame was slender like his brothers and of average height, though not quite as built. Of his features, the only thing of note, as far as the duchess was concerned, was his heterochromia - his left eye was blue and his right eye was green. Many oracles would have proclaimed him duke at his birth. Thank the gods we no longer listen to oracles.

"Prince Thierry, Duchess Hekket, I trust you have adjusted well after your fifteen day journey?" Thierry turned his head just enough to catch the young man in his peripheral.

"King Thierry." Dirk-Jan gave a forced smile to his guests, blinked his eyes once for a second too long, and went to pour himself a glass of wine.

"Yes, of course, King Thierry. Not Prince, but King. Of all the reasons for you both to join me today, I am sure that is the most important." The young duke turned to face his guests, his allies, and took a small sip of his ruby liquid, his large smile having not faded.

"We are terribly bereaved at the loss of your father and brother, Duke Dirk-Jan, truly we are. The underhanded tactics of my brother will not win them this war, however. Furthermore, it only proves my nephew's inability to rule properly." Dirk-Jan raised an eyebrow briefly before taking another small sip.

"Yes, underhanded. Unlike setting an assassination attempt at your nephews wedding not one month after his fathers, your brothers, own death. Or perhaps we have different definitions for the term, underhanded?" Thierry's face became the color of the duke's wine. Before he could speak, Hekket stood between the two.

"I understand you are upset, Dirk-Jan. As well you should be. This war is not going as planned, in fact it is going quite poorly on our main front. Your father and brother have paid an ultimate sacrifice, as have many of your people. But - "

"But now you want me to send more of them to their demise, yes? Twelve-thousand Van Niljveld's was not enough dead for you?" Hekket gave a grin to the young duke.

"Now, Dirk-Jan, this is no way to have a constructive conversation. We had no knowledge of Prince Mathias' ambush. By definition, that is a large portion of what makes it an ambush. Your forces fought valiantly in spite of their disadvantage, and the fact that more than half returned is a miracle by Darion himself." Dirk-Jan looked from Hekket, to Thierry, and then back to Hekket before taking another moment to respond.

"Tell me, King Thierry, how was it your brother knew of the approaching Van Niljveld forces?"

"I imagine scouts were sent well in advance, ones that we were unable to detect. Or is that not the answer you are hoping for?"

"It is the answer I will accept. And now, Pelaresse is being laid siege to, and we are hoping to arrive with an army large enough to stop them? All of them being from Lutherloo and my holdings?"

"In a very simplified way, yes, that is the most immediate plan." Hekket took a large sip from her wine glass before going back to refill it.

"And where are the soldiers from your supporters, King Thierry? As King, I imagine you must command a large host of your own loyal subjects, why else would you be so confident in your self coronation?"

"You are not very wise, are you, Dirk-Jan?" Thierry allowed his eyes to burrow into the back of the young duke's skull, who simply smiled in return.

"What of the forces of Zelderloo or Biljvank? They are unable to answer the call to defend your allies in Pelaresse?"

"Those forces are being led by my son, your king, along the Southern Road, cleaning up those who refuse to recognize him."

"Ah, yes. Very good of him. What of your other son?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You do have two sons, where is Prince Hein?

"He is not with us."

"What do you mean? He is your son, is he not? So you would fight him?" The old duchess looked over to Thierry, who was intently waiting her response also.

"My son, made his decision. He was more interested in his new liege than being my son."

"Is that so? Or perhaps it was simply no longer beneficial for you to be his mother?" Silence swallowed the room, as fire shot through Duchess Zelderloo's veins, her wine glass shaking in her hand. She raised her other hand to grasp her wrist, a vain attempt to stop the shaking.

"How am I to trust someone who is willing to throw away their own kin when they longer suit them? I am to lead my people at the head of another army for you both? And what of when I die? Will you rescue my uncle and cousin from prison to lead? And when every last Van Niljveld is dead, when all of my people able to wield a spear has fallen, you will move on from us in hopes of another ally who will do as you say? It frankly surprises me that Guyard is so willing to undergo a siege for the likes of you both. Unwilling to fight yourselves, but oh so willing to send others to die for you." King Thierry stood from his seat, but was stopped by the Duchess Zelderloo lifting her finger to him. A signal which the old prince understood, settling himself though not sitting back down.

"As we speak, my son and nephew march at the head of armies, risking life and limb for our cause. It could have been Rikkert, it could have been Vaars and the Zelderloo forces who were ambushed and butchered by Prince Mathias. It gives me great pains that my other child will not fight for his mother, will not fight for the survival of his own family. However, he has made that decision on his own, despite my best efforts. My people currently march for Diependam, having given life and limb to put down those in Mathieden, and they will do the same in Obbinkerloo after House Dietmas has surrendered too." Duchess Hekket took a sip from her glass, allowing her words to float in the air a bit longer before she continued them.

"Either of my sons could die in this fight, a fight which I have started. I may very well sacrifice everything for this cause, but it will have been worth it when we see victory for ourselves. We have had a set back, however, Duke Dirk-Jan Van Niljveld, we cannot overcome and persevere without you and your house. Do not let your father and brother die in vain."

The young duke squinted his eyes briefly before returning his eyes to their normal shape. Their dueling colorations drew in the viewer, filling them with pride for House Van Niljveld, for the Biljvank Kingdom, and for ones own family. Thierry raised his glass, took a sip, and turned to Dirk-Jan.

"I could not have put that any better myself, thank you Duchess Zelderloo. We need you, Duke. And at this moment in time, you also need us." Dirk-Jan rolled his eyes, sipped his wine, and looked back to the old king.

"No, King Thierry, what I need is more soldiers. I can raise maybe another ten-thousand levies, combined with the other forces you've returned to me with, we just barely rebuild what was lost to your brother."

"What of the soldiers from Lutherloo?"

"Another fifteen-thousand. Still not enough. Not enough to continue risking the lives of my people or myself."

"Are there no others we could draw from?"

"Duke Hendrik Heerma, the Duke Heerzijl, to the north of us. He could easily raise between ten and twenty thousand, depending on how well he is convinced." Hekket laughed at this.

"His mother was killed by our assassins, why would he join us? I fear we are better off with him cowering in his castle."

"Underhanded tactics aside," Dirk-Jan gave Thierry a stern look followed by a small grin. "That could be used to our advantage. Some people respond very well to being threatened. Or perhaps, if not a threat, a bending of the truth, that she died for those who did not care for her in life. Something along those lines. I am sure your son will think of something, King Thierry." Thierry's eyes widened for a moment, nearly losing his posture, but quickly saving himself.

"My son? Louis? Why would I send him into potentially hostile territory?"

"The same reason I will send my troops to fight for you, again. Or is that reason not strong enough? Is our cause of unseating the false monarchs and saving family lineages only important enough to throw others at?" Hekket could not help herself but give a faint grin as the young duke spoke. Twice now, you have forced your own hand. The old duchess could see the anger in Thierry's eyes. However, she did not see any sign of him relenting. Unlike back in Pelaresse, where she could see the fire slowly subside so that reason could break through, the Duchess Zelderloo felt fear creep in. Was this where he could draw the line? Louis' involvement? If you do not do this, we may as well give ourselves up now. King Thierry slowly approached the young Duke, who by now had finished his glass of wine and was pouring another of the same red liquid. The two men stared at each other for a moment, peering deep into their other one's eyes, though what they were searching for, the duchess did not know.

"Will you provide him supplies and a retinue?" Dirk-Jan's face returned to its smiling self, the curled ends of his mustache being pushed up higher by his cheek bones as his grin widened.

"Of course, what are allies for? In fact, why not get everyone together? We have time, yes? Guyard is buying us time, so then let us use it. Your son will march to Heerzijl, I shall gather more levy from here and Lutherloo, and you, Duchess Hekket, shall write our friends."

"What shall I tell them, Duke Van Niljveld?"

"Tell them, if they do not wish to see us all perish at the next battle, for you two will be joining me, that they should send all that they can here. Rodzijl, Zelderloo, Biljden, and your son Rikkert."

"What of Castle Alloopen to the north east? Has Frida changer her mind?" Dirk-Jan gave a look of unease.

"She and her brother are taring each other apart right now, I am afraid. And until there is a clear victor at Castle Alloopen, no one can count on them. No, just Rodzijl, Zelderloo, Biljden, and Rikkert."

"He should be taking Diependam soon, should he not?" Thierry looked to his co-conspirator.

"Yes. Diependam should fall within the next week or so, and from there, Obbinkerloo. Once those are taken, we will have control over all of the Biljvank Kingdom, with Pelaresse as a buffer on the Northern Road and Lebatou and Licon on the Southern."

"Do we think Pelaresse can wait that long? That is roughly two full months before we would all be gathered here." Thierry scratched is chin and looked to the ceiling to think.

"I believe so, yes. And with such a force marching west, even if it does fall, they would not be able to stop our advance regardless."

"So quickly you are to let your ally fall for you, King Thierry." Dirk-Jan pulled out a pipe and began lighting his coffee, blowing a puff a smoke nearly into the old king's face.

"Guyard is not - Guyard is a capable ruler and leader. He will not fall so quickly and easily."

"Careful there, Thierry, you may have just complimented the head of House Pelariaux." Duchess Hekket gave a smirk as she returned to her seat, away from the smoke.

"And why should I not compliment our ally? After all, we need them, and they need us. A wonderful idea, Duke Dirk-Jan. We shall send falcons to Rodzijl,  Zelderloo, Biljden, Mathieden, Licon, and Lebatou with our new plans. Send another to Rikkert, once Obbinkerloo falls, he is to march north and meet us here. We will head West when he arrives."

Duke Guyard Pelariaux stood on the battlement above the gates to the tertiary walls, a glass of ice brandy in his hand, elbow bent at a right angle to as to hold the glass just above his hip. Smoldering in tray on the table beside him sat the remains of a cofferette from earlier. Smoldering beside that, in a chair which propped its user just high enough to see above the walls, and wearing a jacket that had not fit him for several years, was Prince Claude Desramaux. The old "prince" leaned back in his chair, a freshly packed pipe sent wisps of coffee scented fumes towards the dukes breathing space, an assault of three senses: his nostrils by the combination of spices which the old fop insisted on adding to his coffee; his sight was harassed by the smoke, which burnt darker and heavier than that of just coffee; and his taste buds were forced to share in the onslaught, due to the very unfortunate anatomical fact of the sense of taste being heavily linked to that of smell.

Through the smoky veil which the duke was forced to peer through, he watched as thousands of soldiers, all adorned in the gold and azure of his family crest, prepared for the inevitability of a long siege. Thousands of arrows were being produced by the fletchers, while the smiths fashioned the cruelest of arrow heads to serve as the tips. Oil and tar was poured to the brim of any vessel the army could get their hands on - people came streaming out of their homes providing the oil, vessels, and assisted in the tar production, so much so that the leading bailiff was forced to begin turning citizens away. Pelaresse is Pelariaux, and the people of Pelaresse are as well. The last time the gates Pelaresse were breached, the invading forces were forced to contend with the people as much as they did the defending army; so fierce was the fighting in the streets, that they never even made it to the secondary walls - the city only surrendered because Duke Antoine Pelariaux II was captured and summarily beheaded by Prince Jean Desramaux. Guyard could still remember with great accuracy the image of his father's headless body being paraded around the streets up to their estate, his legs having been strapped to a horse with a spear shoved down his torso to keep him upright; his head was never recovered. Duke Guyard turned to his adversary turned ally, then back out to his people preparing once again for a Desramaux siege of their city, and laughed.

Claude, who up until this moment had not been paying attention, perked up and faced Guyard.

"What is so funny?" Guyard allowed his smile to wane slowly until finally disappearing. He focused his attention to his family crest, flying high above them as the banner blew in a stiff afternoon breeze.

"Nothing. Nothing is funny." He looked back out to his city, his people, his army, all ready to die for their liege lord and homes. "Simply taking stock. We seem to be well prepared for this siege."

"Well, I would certainly hope so. You and your house are certainly well practiced at it, are you not?" Claude let out a chuckle, his jacket struggling under each jiggle as his laughter shook his belly.

"Yes, I suppose I am;" the duke allowed his adversary turned ally to enjoy his joke a bit longer, not entirely surprised by how long the old prince was able to amuse himself with such a small quip. "Tell me, how many soldiers was Jacquingnon able to raise?" Adjusting his jacket, the old fop responded.

"Around fifteen-thousand. Twelve-thousand infantry, and three-thousand archers."

"Very good." Guyard had expected as much. The Count Jacquingnon, currently a member of the House De Jacques named Pierre, was, at best, a puppet to the Duke of Pelariaux, and at worst a pet. Given dominion over a very small patch of land, known as Jacques Triangle, to the east of Pelaresse as a reward for their support in standing with House Pelariaux even in the face of defeat agains the Garlieux. Despite being so small a plot of land, it was very densely populated, being host to a great deal of fertile lands for farming. This allowed the Count of Jacquingnon to raise a descent sized host when called upon, typically around ten-thousand strong. In times of great defense, however, and at the behest of the Duke of Pelariaux, they will draw a levy from their people that is much larger than is advisable - in taking every able-bodied person, they leave the young, old, and infirm to tend to the fields and defend their homes. While those groups mentioned are not incapable of doing such things, there is no denying that a person in their third decade of good health will draw a plow with less effort than that of a person well into their seventh or eighth decade. It would seem, with the prospect of becoming a separate kingdom again, Count Pierre was willing to take such a risk as losing an entire generation of his people.

"Are they to stay here in the city? For the siege?"

"No, Claude. Soldiers, in that high of quantity, do not do so well sitting on the walls and eating rations all day. I would much rather those rations we have go to the soldiers actually defending the walls, as well as the people within."

"Right, yes, of course." Prince Claude paused for a moment, a thought clearly attempting to makes it way out of the idea stage and into the reality of exiting his lips. "So, what would you... you like them to do?"

"Well Claude, you are in charge of them, are you not?"

"I am." Claude stood taller, puffing out his chest a little as he said this.

"Then I should very much like for you to encamp them outside of the walls incase they are needed. Perhaps you can run some raids against the enemy siege camp. Do you think you can handle something like that, Claude?"

"Well, of course!" The old prince took a large puff from his pipe to punctuate.

"Of course you can. Why of course?"

"I am a prince!" Guyard burst out into a slow chuckle, his eyes brightening up, despite the fresh fumes clogging his vision.

"You will forgive me for laughing. Titles do not necessarily mean much, when you can not back them up." The duke turned to face his adversary turned ally to see a confused expression on his face.

"What do you mean?"

"Well... a title is just a title. Your cousin, Prince Thierry - "

"King Thierry." Guyard paused for a moment at this interruption, allowing Claude the time for his outburst to make the prince feel as though he had achieved something of note.

"Yes. He can call himself whatever he likes; hells, he could even call himself Emperor. Lord Protector of the Entire Realms."

"Well, it is not too far off." Prince Claude placed his pipe back into his mouth, drawing several small puffs before enjoying a large one. The Duke Pelariaux watched as the Prince Desramaux continued to spew his special blend of spices and coffee into the air.

"How many soldiers does your cousin command?"

"Erm... well. There is, uh, the Van Niljveld army, the army from Rodzijl. I - uh, I understand that..." the prince trailed off, returning his attention to his bowl of innumerable scents.

"Those are not his subjects, are they?"

"Erm. Well... no. There is - oh! There is Lebatou and Licon! Yes. Lebatou and Licon." Guyard allowed his smile to return to his face, spreading eerily from ear to ear.

"I am inclined to point out to you, Claude, that those two do not fight for your cousin. They fight for me."

"What?"

"Lebatou and Licon are loyal to House Pelariaux. You see, when we destroyed House Garlieux, a couple hundred years ago, we crushed a few other houses along the way, leaving just House Garlens. House Trerieux, House De Licon, and House Batelle were all loyal knights to my ancestors when we conquered the Garlieux, like House Jacques. Also like House Jacques, they were granted lands for their loyalty and service, lands along the southern road; which is why they fight for us. Well, House Trerieux no longer, but, Batelle and De Licon fight for House Pelariaux, not House Desramaux."

"Um, well... um - I see." Prince Claude slowly turned his attention away from the duke and down to his feet. With his left hand, he grabbed his pipe and tapped out the ashes. Hesitating with the wooden instrument in hand, the prince made the decision to put it away into his lapel pocket.

"You see Claude, titles are very interesting. Well they are. Really, someone could have a title, but it frankly means nothing. Because power does not come from the title itself, do you get what I am saying, Prince Claude?"

"...possibly."

"You are a prince, right?"

"Yes I am."

"Right, what powers do you hold with such a title?"

"Well, umm, for a time, I was an advisor to King Francois."

"An advisor?"

"Yes, and I am trained to take military command. I have also received educations, in subjects like philosophy, and I have taken a great deal of time to study the art of smoking."

"Smoking?"

"It is in fact an artform. Not many believe that, they think it is simply, erm, you take your coffee, you put it in, you light it, and there you. But there is quite an art and science behind getting the perfect smoke." The prince held his head up quite proudly with such a statement, the duke doing everything he could to not roll his eyes in exasperation.

"Yes I am sure. And you gained these abilities, this insight, because of your title?"

"Yes, well, I have certainly had more time on my hands than perhaps your, uh, average commoner, who must work for a living."

"A truly dreadful thing, to work for a living. Now, if you were to walk down the street and command someone to do something, what is the likelihood that they would do as you say? Do you oversee any lands? Do you collect any tithes? Do you have any soldiers to beacon and command, or do you simply await to be appointed the position of commander, like you have been now?" Guyard could see the old prince furrow his brow further and further as he asked more questions. After a small pause, Claude responded as he took out and began packing another bowl in his pipe.

"I do not very much like where this conversation is going." Claude lit a match upon the stone battlements and went about buffing to light his coffee and spices, once again offending the very air around them. He continued to speak through puffs.

"Nor. Do I like. What you are. Implying."

"And what is it that I am implying?" The prince gave the duke a side glance before redirecting his attention back to his pipe.

"That I hold no power. That my cousin holds no power. We have simply, self appointed titles.

"I would never insinuate such a thing. Especially against my own allies. Ones whom I am willing to let my city be besieged for. While we are on the topic of self appointed titles, I think it interesting, our other ally, the Duchess Zelderloo. Do you know what she is duchess of?" Claude looked up at the duke, his look of confusion having easily reformed.

"Zel-Zelderloo?"

"No. She is duchess of nothing."

"What? But, that - "

"She is the daughter of a duke. That does make her a duchess, however. She oversees no lands, she collects no tithes, she can call upon no army. She did marry a prince, and gave him two children, who are themselves princes as well. But, this entire family - at least up until recent events - oversaw no lands, collected no tithes. Just like you, and your cousin. Members of the royal family who received an allowance simply by being a member of the royal family. This is of course common practice. I have cousins and other distant relations who receive an allowance; the amount of which depending on the severity of the distance in our relation. My sister and her two children, they receive a substantial allowance. However, my third cousin twice removed does not receive anything. He does bare the name Pelariaux, legally, but he is not allowed to use it. You see, he is a merchant, and he does quite well for himself, he has no need for an allowance. The funny thing is, though, that if something were to happen to me and my sons, that distant cousin might stand in line to inherit the duchy. So, I keep him in my good graces, I keep in the loop on the goings-ons of the duchy. At least, in this way, he maintains some level of power by virtue of his birth. Something that you have enjoyed, as advisor to King Francois. That was your limited power. You were kept in the loop. You could not really exercise much power, but at least you were in the know, where others were not. This was the position of the Duchess Zelderloo, who was not always the Duchess Zelderloo. No, she was simply Hekket, wife of Prince Aart Biljvank. But she would not resign herself to simply a peripheral position. She used the knowledge she had to gain herself actual powers. Favors, connections with other nobility, bribery, marriages, the wholesale of information, these all granted her access to those who did oversee land, who could call upon an army. And now, the Duchess Zelderloo, thanks to her witty guile and sons brilliant military strategies, from a position she put him in. Hekket Zelderloo, not her son, not King Rikkert, but Hekket Zelderloo, now has at her command the entire force of the Biljvank Kingdom; with the exception of at least one detracting lord. And yes, her title is self appointed. Though I do find it very humbling that she simply chose the title 'duchess,' when for all intents and purposes, she could be the Queen Zelderloo." Guyard looked out at the gold and azure all around him, the falcon and bow, emblazoned on dozens of flags and banners all flowing proudly above the city walls.

"If you have a point, Guyard, I should very much appreciate if you got to it." Prince Claude interrupted Guyards revelry in his people with a puff of smoke from his pipe. Guyard sighed.

"Power is not simply given. It is taken and achieved. Some, have a much easier time of this, by virtue of their birth and self appointed titles. You command an army. Your cousin will most likely command a large portion of an army soon. If we are victorious, you will have used your positions of limited power to attain wonderous power. But until then, your titles are very much, self, appointed. Like mine."

"You are not self appointed. You are a duke, you oversee a great swath of land."

"Yes, I do. But I am also now, a king." Prince Claude nearly spat out his pipe as he turned his whole body to face the duke.

"What?"

"Yes. Your cousin decreed it just before he left. I am King Guyard Pelariaux. And your cousin is King, Thierry Desramaux."

"Well, it is certainly fascinating. We are allies. He is - he is using his position of power to grant you, uh, you positions of power. And, and, form alliances. And, and, gain, armies, and the like."

"Yes. Well said, Claude, well said."

"How many soldiers, do you have?"

"I have raised twenty-thousand."

"Impressive. And they are all to stay here in the city?"

"No. Do you remember what I said about food, and my people needing it?"

"Oh, yes, yes. So. What are you going to do with them?"

"Well Claude, congratulations. I am using my position of power to boost your position of power. I am going to keep one-thousand archers inside the city, that should be more than enough to stand against the siege forces. The remaining nineteen-thousand will go with you and the forces of Jacquingnon."

"Oh... well... very - very..."

"Yes. Twenty-thousand infantry, ten-thousand archers, and four-thousand cavalry. Do me a favor Claude, and do not let them all die." The old prince laughed at this, despite the sternness in the dukes voice.

"Yes, well, you should not have to worry. I - I - I come from, from a long line of... my family is well known for their... military, um, abilities. In fact, we are renowned for it! Just as your family is renowned for being besieged, eh?" The old prince nearly blew a button with his laughter.

"Yes, yes."

"You will find that my father's virtues and abilities have found their way to me as well."

"Very good, yes. Your father, the same man who wished to take my head."

"Yes, well, you did kill his brother." Prince Claude's laughter subsided a little, but remained an undertone in his words.

"Did I?"

"Huh? Uh, well, well, no. Not you, your father. Your father, uh, killed his brother."

"No. No. The assassins killed his brother, my father simply hired the assassins and raised arms to fight for freedom."

"Yes, and, your father was killed."

"My father was punished for his crimes of fighting for freedom. And then your father wanted to kill me, my sister, and any other Pelariaux relations."

"Yes, well... it was war. You had killed - killed the head of our House. The King, the Dynasty and, and - again not, not you directly - it was, well, upsetting."

"I was ten years old at the time of the siege, and my father's subsequent death. We lasted for eight months. By my reckoning we should be able to last for at least a year and a half if it is necessary."

"Why did you not last that long back then?"

"Your father grew tired of waiting to starve us out and burst through the gates."

"And you do not think that will happen this time?"

"I am sure it will. But we have two other gates for a reason."

"Right. You said your father was, er, was fighting for freedom. Freedom from what?"

"From our conquerors, Claude. From you. And we are doing the same now. Only this time, you are helping."

"Right. Right, well, um. It is just the way of things, you know. You - you were conquerors, and, and then we... conquered you. You just had no revolts."

"That is right we did not, because we wiped out our foes. You allowed us to survive." Another button struggled to be free as the prince chuckled at this.

"Would you rather we had wiped out your family, your house?"

"Of course not. Merely pointing out the fact that, allowing your enemies to remain in a position of power beneath your thumb has a habit of building resentment. Resentment that might lead to the assassination of a king, or two."

"Right, yes. And yet we have been able to put you down each time! Though - well... of course, this time, uh, will be different. Making a formal alliance with a new, uh, king. Again."

"Now if only your ancestors were more like you, Claude. Perhaps our situation would be reversed."

"Yes... well... are you sure one-thousand is all you will need?"

"I will take two-thousand archers and one-thousand infantry. Arm them with spears and maces."

"Very well, it shall be done. And the rest of us will camped, er, five miles away?"

"That should be a good distance, and you can use the cavalry to raid the enemy camp more easily. Good day, Claude Desramaux." Claude widened his eyes in surprise, tapped out his pipe, and turned to leave with his new orders.

"Good day, Guyard Pelariaux."

Prince Mathias stood in his tent, his eyes fixated on the two breastplates hanging before him. To the right, hanging with the rest of his gear - gauntlets, greaves, gambeson, etc. - was the brand new piece of armor the blacksmith in Renangers had made. Hanging beside his armor, in its compressed glory, hung the caved in chest piece that nearly suffocated the old prince just fifteen days prior. Mathias' mind flashed back to that moment of fear, laying completely helpless in the sinking muck of blood and dirt, what little air he could get into his lung was made painful as his ribs screamed in agony from use. He rubbed his side, feeling the bandages under his tunic, wrapping the width of his torso in an attempt to provide support to his bruised bones. Breathing was still of some difficulty, often having to stop his breath short from the sharp spike of pain in his side as he attempt to inhale. Their priest of Darian, a dwarf with a beard and shaved head by the name of Loðbrok, who was most likely half-way through his second century, had done their best to patch up the old prince, but: 'Bones are harder, you see. Unless Ah cut ye open, which Ah am not opposed to doin', Ah cannae really get to them.' They then wandered off muttering to themselves in their native tongue. They more than likely had come from the Clandom of Loganach, a small dwarven city state deep within Mount Formaec in the Xianghar Range to the Northeast, the natural border between the Dynasty of Sun, the Northern Elven City States, the Eastern Elven City States, and the Shelvire Kingdom; the former most and latter most of the four shared a border with the new empire.

Mathias ran his ringers along the circumference of the saved in section of his breastplate. Along the inside, he could see and feel the sections of metal that were pierced through, causing jagged edges that poked into his gambeson. One more blow from the mace and he would have been a corpse, laying there with his entire chest cavity bare for the all to see. A wince took over his face as he attempted a deep sigh, followed by immediate regret. Grunting, the old prince made his way out of his tent to observe the forces. Two days after what would be known as the Battle of King's Road by Auris, the Desravank forces had continued a days journey east along the Northern Road, setting up camp just within the borders of the Pelariaux territory, a wide open landscape known as the Pelari Fields. Now, just a three days journey further east, sat the city of Pelaresse, no doubt preparing itself for a long siege. Searching through the camp, Mathias could see the lumber having been piled high, at least one hundred trees from Guillaume's Woods having been felled and hewn over the course of the last two weeks. They would not begin constructing the siege engines until they reached Pelaresse. As tedious as it was to carry several tons of lumber across one-hundred miles, it would be far more taxing to push and pull siege towers, trebuchets, ladders, and battering rams; effectively, they would be slowed down so much from all of their gear, it would take almost two extra days to reach their target. Two days may not seem like a lot, but that is two more days their enemy can be preparing, two extra days for them to gather more banners to their cause, and two more days away from ending this gods forsaken conflict. Over to his left, the old prince recognized the hunched frame of his cousin approaching, also in simply trousers and a black tunic.

"Cousin, how are you this morning?" Guillaume's face was bright with a smile, a smile he had carried since piercing and bludgeoning the skull of Duke Lars II.

"As fine as I can be, cousin. How have our new recruits been adjusting to the new color of their garments?" Prince Mathias scanned over to one of the training areas, in which a squadron of ten were practicing maintaining their shield wall against another squadron of ten who were practicing breaking enemy lines. The entire exercise was being carried out by a knight in a brown gambeson who wielded a battle axe - most likely one of the Duchess Renangers banners, most of those who served her favored the axe to the sword, as well as the color brown in their coat of arms.

"Surprisingly well. Of the three and a half thousand we captured, just under five hundred of them refused to join our forces."

"What did you do with those few who refused?"

"They've been put on forced labor, most of them felled the very lumber we'll be using to take the city of Pelaresse, and possibly their home of Niljrend."

"They are still being housed and fed though, yes?" Guillaume allowed his smile to drop for the first time in two weeks to shift to an expression of confusion and slight disgust.

"Why would we bother with such niceties?"

"They are not our enemies. They are people of the land, far from home, who were simply answering the call of their liege lords. No different than those two squadrons over there. Should those twenty levy be captured, how would you like our foes to treat them?" Guillaume looked out to the squadron, his eyes squinting in the late morning sun.

"I - well, with dignity. I would like them to be treated with dignity. Very well. Point taken." Guillaume looked away from the squadron, to his cousin, and landed away to his left, southwest towards Aurrennes. Mathias looked southwest as well. It had been ten days since they last heard anything from Duke Fleury Aurreau, saying that he was approaching by way of the Aurrel Fields to the Northern Road and would meet them with his forces by the Thirtieth of Darsu. It was now the Thirty-Second. Though the old prince trusted the young duke, he could not help but feel anxious about the delay. Aurrennes Duchy was one of the largest in land the Desramaux Dynasty, second only to the Pelariaux Duchy, but not by much, and the largest in terms of population. It also housed nearly eighty-percent of all horses within the Dynasty, allowing the Duke to have drafted the largest army in times of war, with nearly a third of it being cavalry. Whenever a soldier was on horseback fighting for the House Desramaux, there was a high probability they came from the Aurrennes Duchy. To lose him to the enemy would destroy them. The combined might of the rest of the loyal nobility within the borders of the Desramaux Dynasty would only just barely be able to outnumber Aurrennes. The Duchy of Renangers was large, yes, but predominantly woodlands, the same was true for the Duchy of Garlennes along the Southern Road. Parseille could match Hemroux, with Hemroux only having gathered what they could in the rush to raise an army after the wedding. Given enough time to prepare, perhaps a month, Mathias estimated the Duchy's of Renangers and Garlennes could muster twenty thousand soldiers each, Parseille and Hemroux could gather around thirty thousand each, and the County of Guillesse would pick up the rear with roughly fifteen thousand. Despite that total of one-hundred-fifteen thousand, they still would be just under the might of Aurrennes, which the old prince estimated could gather around one-hundred-twenty soldiers in the same amount of time given to the rest. All of that math having been said, with the Duke still in somewhat of a rush, Mathias expected an additional twenty-five thousand from Fleury Aurreau - assuming he still fought for them.

"I want to make amends, cousin." Mathias whirled his head around the make eye contact with Guillaume.

"What?"

"Well, I - I have taken time to think upon all that you said, just before the battle. And, well... you are right. This is my fault, this entire war. If I - if only... if I had just - "

"Guillaume, I understand what you are trying to say. And it is appreciated that you have taken the time to reflect."

"I will do everything in my power to bring a swift end to this conflict. One that could have been avoided if not for me. Every one of our people who dies in this war, is on my head, and my conscience. I recognize that, and I will be forced to face the gods judgement for that. But, I will do what I can to limit the total number."

"Good. As should be all of our goals. Well put, cousin." Just then, completely out of breath, a soldier in black and gold quartered gambeson came running up to the princes.

"My... m - my... lords. There is - approaching... from the - the west."

"Easy there soldier, take a seat. Here, drink this. Guillaume, get your horse."

The two princes rushed to their steeds and raced across the length of camp. As the two made their way across, they watched as commander after commander began to rush their squadrons to prepare for the worst. Duchess Emilie came from the north, her chestnut mare exceeding the speed of the prince's black colts, catching them, and matching pace the rest of the way. None said a word to the other, each had the same distinct fear sink into their stomachs. Finally, at the west end of the camp, Duke Yves on his grey mare, and Count Beauves on his blonde gelding joined the pack of nobles galloping to meet the approaching mass. The five finally allowed their horses to enter a slowed trot as they reached a quarter mile from the camp, the banners of the approaching host flying high in the sky.

Waving in the wind, per pile plumetty rose and sable and fretty sable rose, with a horse courant bendwise sinister argent. House Aurreau. At the head of the approaching force, astride a large white colt, with a sword in scabbard on his belt, and a squire riding a smaller white mare off to his left side, a halberd in hand, road Duke Fleury Aurreau, the Duke D'Aurrennes. Immediately behind him, taking up the entire width of the road, was cavalry as far as the eye could see. Marching behind them, discernable only by their banners raised high, was the rest of the force - the infantry, archers, and camp followers. Taking point, Prince Mathias gripped the reins of his horse, held up his hand, and stopped the five nobles in their tracks. Duke Fleury raised his right arm, and soon the entire force stopped in their tracks, with roughly ten yards between Fleury and Mathias. A moment of still air filled the dirt road, forcing the prince to relieve that suffocating feeling all over again.

"Prince Mathias Desramaux." The voice of Duke Fleury boomed across the gap.

"Duke Fleury Aurreau." Mathias projected his voice as far as possible, hoping as many of the dukes soldiers as possible would hear him. Not another word was spoken for what felt like ten minutes, but was more then likely a few seconds. Fleury spoke next.

"You look like shit. Allow me and my army to be of some assistance."

Back at his tent, the now six nobles stood around the table in the center, the map of the Desravank Empire still sprawled out, with each member pouring over it. Wooden flags were placed around the board, each one representing ten-thousand soldiers. Now, centered where they were camped along the Northern Road, nine flags sat clumped together. Standing in a rose colored tunic and leather jerkin dyed black, Duke Fleury stroked his long beard in thought. A dark brown, the hair on his head was twice the length of his beard, coming down to just above his shoulders, tied back with a rose colored ribbon at the base of his skull. Slowly drawing his right hand down the length of his beard one last time, the duke released his hair and placed both hands on the table before him.

"Fifty-five thousand infantry, twenty thousand archers, and seventeen thousand cavalry - within those numbers having seven thousand foot knights and five thousand mounted. Do we think that will be enough to take Pelaresse?"

"The last time we laid siege to the city, my uncle had with him an army one and a half times the size, and even then sat there for eight months before growing impatient." Mathias recounted, eyes focused on the flags.

"Did it take him eight months to build the siege engines?" Duchess Emilie asked with genuine curiousity.

"No. I believe it took him around one month, but he had hoped to starve the city out first. Though, having dwindled their winter reserves by now, I estimate a siege begun now would only take around six months to starve them out." Mathias reasoned.

"I do not think we should allow our main force to sit for so long, especially when the situation on the Southern Road is so uncertain." Emilie replied.

"What was the last news from the south?" Fleury asked.

"We have heard nothing. We know Duchess Zoe is marching east to meet Duke Serge, but that was the last we knew. Lebatou and Licon are against us but we have heard nothing of their movements. The same can be said for all of the Biljvank duchies along the south, we have heard nothing and only hope they are for us." Guillaume informed the five others.

"All the more reason for us to not wait out the siege. The sooner we can get inside, the sooner can continue pushing towards Niljrend, the only other city which we can confirm fights against us in the north. And besides, we may end up having to send some of us south to aid Zoe and Serge." Emilie adjusted the flags on the table to match the new information. Four flags now sat at Garlennes, with no others further east.

"Did we not receive word from Duchess Obbinkerloo? She had said she was planning to march on Licon after she takes Fort Licon." Duke Yves said.

"Yes, you are right. She and House Dietma were marching west to meet Licon. With two of our forces forming a pincer around Lebatou and Licon I think we can afford to center our main forces at Pelaresse. Starving them out will ensure the least amount of casualties, even granting us the possibility of none." Emilie let out a laugh at Mathias said this.

"You are a fool if you think Guyard will allow no casualties. Your memory must be so terrible if you do not know how terribly the Pelariaux defend their city."

"The people are terribly defensive, yes, but I do not suspect they will sally forth with the main forces. Perhaps..." Mathias stepped back from the table for a moment, eyes towards the top of the tent as he thought. "Yes. Perhaps we could speed things along. Begin sapping underneath their walls, sending in smaller forces to destroy their supplies faster. This will force the army out, allowing us to crush them in the open field."

"I am in favor of this." Fleury slammed his fist on the table to emphasize his excitement.

"As am I." Duke Yves added.

"I accept this for now, but we must reassess once the camp is in place and the siege has truly begun."

"We shall, of course, Duchess Emilie. We would be gravely remiss not to reevaluate at every opportunity."

"Then what are we waiting for? Let us go! We have a camp to pack and soldiers to march." The Duchess Renangers left the tent swiftly, the other lords following after her. A few moments after the other five had left, Prince Mathias turned to look at the map once more. He grabbed hold of the nine flags and slowly pushed them towards Pelaresse.

Empress Jolijn sat in the former library of King Francois Desramaux III, three books floating around her head as she meticulously perused their contents for any useful information on the people who would soon be addressing her by such a title. Was she really an empress, though? Enough of the nobility felt so openly against the idea that they attempted to have her killed by those her family had trusted. Paid though they were, the Biljvank's had always prided themselves as treating their servants and guards as well as possible - like members of an extended family. They were given private quarters within the castle walls, the family hired enough to allow each staff member at least twelve-hours of the day for themselves. 'It is of the utmost importance that we can trust those who are closest to us. A king cannot fear the barber who shaves his face, nor can the queen feel uneasy as her maids dress her, and no royal should taste their meals with hesitance.' Words that were passed down from monarch to monarch within the Biljvank line. And now, the Desravank line, Jolijn thought to herself.

While they would do there best to maintain good relations within the domesticity of their castle confines, the Biljvank monarchs had developed a... reputation of sorts. In 124 PR, when the first house of Mathieden - then known as Eelden and ruled by a dynasty known as the Eelcoing - revolted against the rule of the Biljvanks. It was with incredible swiftness that King Mathijs Biljvank burst through the city gates, setting fires and slaughtering with great prejudice. The entire Eelcoing family, ranging in age from eighty-one to four, was then brought out into the burning streets and publicly executed. The king then renamed the city after himself and installed his brother-in-law as the new duke, creating House Mathink. King Mathijs son, Jorgen I, followed his fathers example with the conquest of the Zelderloos to the north, considering it a mercy to allow two sons of Vaars II to survive - though his second son was castrated. Of course, there was then King Jurren II, 'The Silver Sword,' Jolijn's great-great grandfather. While his frequent raids into the Draconian territory of Xanathel's Rite to the north west was how he earned his name, his brutality was mostly scene during the war with Malako Clan - no prisoners were taken throughout the course of the fighting, with the bodies of the dead being mounted as a warning. Even in defeat, and with the signing the new treaty, the demoralized king left a trail of Grey Giantkin corpses hanging from the trees along the mountain trails. There was no shortage of kings in her lineage that would make enemies of all when given the chance, relying on might and fear. Jolijn was certain the only reason House Van Niljveld was allowed to live after their conquest as well as subsequent revolt in 302 was because of their iron grip on their own lands. They had instilled the same level of devotion through fear, that had they been wiped out there would be even more revolts amongst the nobility within the province; after the war with the Sun, the kingdom could not afford such a prolonged and scattered internal conflict.

Reading through the books on Francois' shelves, the queen had seen that her husband's family had taken a very different approach to matters. Their first wars of expansion, which they referred to as the 'Lefeuvre Wars,' were a series of conflicts with their neighbors the Lefeuvre Commonwealth. Despite twenty years of warfare, the deaths of two Desramaux kings by natural causes and one from a Lefeuvre arrow, the conclusion of the wars left most of the villages untouched, all cities within the Commonwealth completely left alone, and House Lefeuvre were allowed to maintain control of half of their old dominion - borders which they still see to today. Most battles were planned around the positioning of villages, ensuring as few civilian casualties occurred as was possible. The only siege within the conflicts, the final siege of Castle Guillesse, resulted in only the deaths of those members of House Lefeuvre who fought, simply killed within the battle like any other common soldier. Once the castle was taken, the knew head of House Lefeuvre was allowed to bend the knee, relinquish his title of 'king' and assume that of 'count.' There were exceptions to this perceived policy of respectful warfare, however.

In 268 PR, the entirety of House Trerieux was executed for their revolt and attempt to reinstate the Pelariaux Dynasty as a sovereign kingdom; there name sake city was also leveled, leaving nothing but scorch marked walls, flooded foundries, and collapsed mineshafts. Even then, in this act of brutal retaliation against rebels, only the nobility and those who continued to fight back were punished, escorting the civilians out and resettling them before burning the city - a stark contrast to King Mathijs' near leveling of and eradication of the populace of Eelden. Will those who have rebelled be spared this time? The queen wondered. It would be up to her, would it not? Could she grant these traitors pardons? Those who tried to have her killed, who murdered her father? Rage fueled sorrow began to sour her veins, her ziende causing the books around her to pulse mid-air with her heart beat. It went unnoticed by the empress until she heard the spine of one book tare in two. Jolijn gasped and sat up, the two and a half books now plummeting to the ground. She grabbed the two halves of the book and placed them back together - hopefully someone could repair it with great discretion. 'Rulers of the Desramaux Dynasty: Lord Mayor Jean to King Francois II.' It had been written by Francois III, having made the decision to leave his rule out. Flipping to the back, Jolijn read the afterwards:

Thus, unceremoniously, traitorously, horrendously, and with great sorrow, abruptly ended the rule of Francois Desramaux II, father, uncle, and King. While his loss shall live within my memory for as long as I now wear his crown, I hope only to learn from his mistakes. That, in many years, through many generations, when I am written about, they will not boast about my honor on the battlefield, my prowess with a sword, or my guile with diplomatic relations. Instead, I should hope to be known as a kind king, who oversaw the growth of our people's annual yields, diplomatic dealings being made in earnest, nobles quelled through conversations rather than the point of a spear, and that I might bring some truth behind our family ideals. I should like to have breathed truth into 'Peace Through Prosperity.'

"I shall write that for you, Francois. Though we never met, for you too left abruptly, and with great sorrow." As the young empress stood, her ziende placing the still intact books back up on the shelf, the door burst open behind her. Whirling around, eyes beginning to glaze over a deep purple, the queen stopped herself as the intruder made himself known.

"My queen, I am terribly sorry for such an intrusion, but we really must discuss these most recent letters." Prince Mathi made his way further into the library, three scrolls, delivered by falcon, in his right hand held up to see. Wheeling in behind him, Prince Renault joined, bringing himself to the center of the room. The prince bowed his head as he stopped his wheelchair.

"Empress Jolijn, as I am sure you are already aware, Prince Mathias and Guillaume are continuing their way east towards Pelaresse." Still a little frazzled by Mathi's loud entrance, Jolijn took a second to take in Renault's words before she could respond.

"Yes, I knew that. It was announced when they first departed. They still have not reached the city? The month is almost out." Handing the letters to Jolijn, Mathi responded.

"Exactly. They were delayed, or chose to delay." Jolijn grabbed the paper from her cousin, reading them each in order. The first, dated the Eleventh of Darsu, remarked on the armies plans to ambush the Van Niljveld forces, hoping to stop them in their tracks well before the city of Renangers, believing that the enemy was planning for a siege. The second, dated the Eighteenth of Darsu, detailed the results of the ambush having taken place the day before. Jolijn paused at the mention of Duke Lars II's death, remembering her dinner with that man not two months ago. Mentions of a Duke D'Aurrennes, House Aurreau oversaw the Duchy of Aurrennes, headed by... Flour? Flune? Fleury! A small amount of pride came over the queen for recalling such a conceivably small detail amongst the gargantuan amount of information she had tried to learn over the last four weeks. The army would wait for Fleury before continuing on to Pelaresse. The third letter, dated the Twenty-Third of Darsu was from her uncle, Prince Thijn. The empress' elation at news from her uncle quickly dwindled as he informed her of Rikkert's betrayal and his and Duchess Nadine's plans to take Licon. She let her arms fall, letters still in hands, revealing her face of grief fueled fury.

"Why is this the first we are hearing of any of this?" Jolijn's voice was stern and cold, so much so it was now Mathi and Renault's turns to be thrown off by the intrusion of a shift in demeanor.

"The first letter was sent by horse, arriving at the same time as the other two by falcon. Perhaps they thought horse would be faster at first, but then switched to falcon given the distance." Renault was the first of the princes to respond to their queen after a brief moment of recollecting themselves.

"And it still took ten days? Or more? This is outrageous, how are we supposed to send direction for the front if we have no idea what has happened until well after the fact?" Mathi and Renault looked to each other, each one hoping the other would have an answer for their queen.

"Has there been any word from Phillipe?" Mathi looked to Jolijn and simply shook his head no.

"Why, by all the gods, did he abandon us like this?"

"Jolijn, he did not abandon us. The Mannes Tribes, they... well they have customs that - "

"Yes, yes, I am aware of their customs of honor and respect. But now word? I am equally surprised Hein has said nothing - Hein." Jolijn's thoughts turned suddenly to that of her cousin, hacking up globs of mucus as he watches, helplessly, as his brother cuts down their family.

"I do not have an answer for you, Jolijn. But I do have a possible solution." The young queen turned to face Prince Renault.

"You are right, it is outrageous. And the truth of the matter is, there is no good way to get information to and from quick enough to properly command. You are entrusting your subjects to take the charge. Phillipe is a capable fighter and Hein is brilliant from what I can tell, I have no doubt that they will turn any situation into their favor. It does worry me as well that we have heard nothing, but I trust that no news is also good news." Jolijn turned to Mathi.

"Well Mathi? What are your thoughts? Are we to stay here, in the dull safety of these walls, while we hope to the gods that we will receive word from the front eventually?"

"What other option would we have? Someone must remain here as a last line of defense. Should the enemy make their way to our walls, there must be a member of the family to lead the defense." The young empress let her mind wander to the volumes around her, their words and beautiful descriptions of the people of this land flooded her mind. Memories of her people back at home, in Biljden, in Rodzijl, in Mathieden and all of the cities of the Biljvank Kingdom. Her people, they were all her people now, and she must look after them. I cannot uphold my father and Francois' memories from here. I cannot fight for their death's secluded in the farthest point from the conflict. I must lead through example.

"We are useless here, as our armies move further away our information becomes more and more outdated."

"What do you suggest, my Queen?"

"I will go to the front." A wide grin over took both princes faces, though Mathi feigned protesting.

"Do not try, Mathi. My mind is made up. I am useless to my people here. I shall ride to meet with your father's and join the siege of Pelaresse. You two shall be our last line of defense, though through the blessing of the gods that will not be necessary."

"Jolijn, my empress, if I may." Renault rolled closer to Mathi, shoving him a little.

"Take my cousin with you. His skill on horseback is matched only by my own, though his mind for strategy is lacking whereas mine excels."

"That is not... well not entirely... I..." Mathi allowed his words to trail off, his face going quickly from that of having taken deep offense to begrudging acceptance.

"From the walls of the castle, I could keep our foes at bay for years if necessary. I will take care of what little correspondence comes our way. Speaking of which. Should we tell Hein and Phillipe?" Mathi and Renault looked to their queen for an answer. Her brows furrowed slightly as her eyes welled up. Hein deserved to know the truth of his brother's betrayal and claim to the throne, but she could only imagine how terribly the news would shock him - and she had no idea how much medicine he had taken. A fit brought on by such shock might kill him.

"I would say yes, but unfortunately we have no idea where my husband and cousin are. Should you hear from either, you may include that in your response, assuming they do not already know." Renault nodded his head and began wheeling himself down the hall to attend to matters within the city, while the Empress Jolijn and Prince Mathi made their preparations for travel, and war.