"There was a time when I would have considered sparing your lives, but that time has passed. Still, you shall know my mercy with a quick death." i King Jorgen Biljvank to King Vaars Zelderloo I, the Silver Dragon, before killing Vaars and all of his sons. His grandson, Vaars III, aged twelve, would be the first Duke Zelderloo, keeping the suffix III.

Cold spring mornings were always the most difficult for the old prince. Though the youngest of his siblings, the fifty-two year old prince still felt the same aches and pains as the rest of his family members fortunate enough to live as long as him. Prince Mathias was used to being the child forgotten about. Francois, of course, was the heir, and then there was Thierry, only two years younger than Francois, and always going through life as if he had a large chip on his shoulder. Mathias blamed that chip on Thierry's shoulder on the death of their father. Only six at the time, and ten when all was said and done, the old prince remembered very little about their father's life, his assassination, and the subsequent war with the Pelariaux. He learned about his father through his older brother's stories, along with the stories of vassals who had known him, and it was always so interesting to the achy prince the perspective of each story teller. Francois spoke of his father proudly, but was willing to acknowledge mistakes he witnessed their father make, mistakes which Francois had hoped to have learned from. Thierry was different, he would tell stories with such reverence, as if their father had been sainted or chosen by the gods to rule. This perspective only seemed to fuel his hatred for the Pelariauxs, seeing their assassination of their father as a mortal sin against the world, against the will of the gods. He has truly lost his mind indeed, then. Prince Mathias emerged from his tent, his black tunic beneath a golden gambeson, black leather gloves, and black coif were pieces of his gear he always preferred to put on by himself. True, he did have a squire assigned to him, but if his bottom layers were not just to his liking, he knew he would not be able to command his armor to move with his body as well as he should like to. Surveying the encampment, the achy prince could see he was not the first to rise, the sun just beginning to peer up over the horizon. After a large breath of the crisp air, the prince made his way slowly over to the quartermaster for provisions.

"Good morning to you, Henri."

"Good morning to you, my Lord. I have your meal ready for you already, I have grown accustomed to your rising early, sir." The stocky thirty-something year old in brown trousers and a muddy red tunic reached behind him. There, underneath a metal top, sitting a top steel grating which then protected the items from the burning charcoals below, sat two fried eggs and two slices of sausage. Neither were particularly appetizing, spices and other niceties were left behind, and despite their being right next to the city of Renangers, Prince Mathias saw it best that they only go into town when they needed provisions, not niceties.

"Thank you, as always, Henri. I do hope you are still getting enough sleep."

"You should not worry so much about me, my Lord. I am here to serve you."

"Quite wrong you are, Henri. You serve the entire camp, and as such you must be the one here who is taken care of the most. If you fall ill, cannot see straight from lack of sleep, or any other ailment, we all suffer greatly. If I must wait until breakfast like everyone else, I shall do so. Good day to you, Henri."

"Good day to you, my Lord." Prince Mathias brought this meal back to his tent, within which he had his bed, a table for meetings, and writing materials should a letter need to be sent out. Already he had received several from the various barons and knights on the route from Desramaux City to Renangers. Almost ninety-percent had agreed to send all that they could in terms of soldiers or supplies or both. In total, as of the Eleventh of Darsu, 346PR, they had amassed a force of forty-thousand fighting soldiers, with another ten-thousand expected from Count Lefeuvre on his return from home, expected by the Fifteenth of Darsu. Ten-thousand of the soldiers flew the standard of House LuRene, fifteen-thousand the standard of House Hemramoux, and the remaining fifteen-thousand of House Desramaux. Within the ranks were several hundred other standards, each representing the different Houses of the counts and barons from whose lands these soldiers came from. Fifty-thousand soldiers, all marching to take Pelaresse. And with any luck, put a stop to this conflict before it grew to consume the empire. Empire. Was it an empire? When half of your nobles appose something, but you go forward with it anyways... well, perhaps that is what an Emperor would do. A show of strength, of power. This would be the test then. Just as the not so achy, now that the sun had risen some, prince finished his meal, a soldier in a rose colored gambeson with a metal breastplate that was painted light-brown peaked through the flap in the tent. She was one of House LuRene's soldiers.

"My Lord, the Duchess Renangers, the Duke Hemroux, and Prince Guillaume request an audience." Mathias put his plate to the side, resting it on the foot of his bed. He would remember it was there, surely.

"Send them in, I knew they were coming this morning." Adorned in black trousers, a black tunic and gambeson, and a black breastplate with her houses crest imprinted in the center, Duchess Emilie LuRene made her way slowly into the tent. Her hair had been tired up into a large bun at the base of her neck, and at her hip was a large war axe that had a malicious spear tip at the end of the handle on both ends. Behind her, in azure trousers and tunic, with one half of his tunic white and black ermined, the young Duke Yves Hemramaux V entered, a sword at his hip. Finally, dressed similarly to his cousin, Prince Guillaume followed in last. The four nobles stood equally around the table in the center of the room, a map of the Desramaux Dynasty stared back up at them.

"Good morning Prince Mathias, I trust you have had a pleasant morning so far?" Duke Yves placed his right hand on the table, almost as if to steady himself as he spoke.

"I have, yes. Good morning to you all as well. I am glad to see you all up and ready for what may come today. I know these last two weeks have been a shock to the system, and difficult to navigate for some - " Duchess Emilie let out a small laugh at this.

"Forgive me, Prince Mathias. But I have lost the two loves of my life to the scheming treachery of your dear brother. Spare us the comforts, the empathetic speech. We are all here for the same purpose. Now, you sent messengers to each of our camps late last night that you had news, I should like to hear it so I may return to drilling my army."

"Of course, Duchess. I received word from Desramaux City last night from a falcon. The information I am about to entrust to you three must not leave this tent. It is of the utmost importance that it remain secret until told otherwise. King Jurrien II died from his wounds on the Eighth of Darsu, 346 PR. Queen Jolijn Biljvank was crowned moments later by Priest Volka."

"This should not come as a surprise, unfortunate as it is. My father died from a lesser wound within hours, it is amazing the king lasted seven more days. Why must it be a secret, though?"

"If the enemy finds out they were partially successful, that King Jurrien is dead, and that our queen was unceremoniously coronated, it may cause others to flock to their cause. There are those in the Biljvank Kingdom who would never bow to Jolijn, with many believing she might even be mad."

"And now she is our queen? Wonderful, a mad queen is who we fight for." Duchess Emilie threw her hands up with this.

"She is not mad. You met her, you spoke with her, as have I. These are nothing more than rumors spread by our enemy, the Duchess Hekket Zelderloo. We know them to be false, but should others take the opportunity to consider otherwise, we must not let them know. Are we understood?" The old prince looked around to his allies. Duchess Emilie was the first to give any sign of understanding, nodding her head with an expressionless face. Duke Yves looked to Emilie, then Guillaume, and finally Mathias, to whom he gave a similar nod and slight bow.

"Cousin?" Guillaume looked up to Mathias with a confused look on his face.

"Who am I to tell? I am here for our kingdom, for our empire, for our King and our Queen. I would be damned by the gods if I gave our enemies any more ammunition to gain more supporters."

"Very good. Now, have there been any reports from our scouts? They should have returned by now." Duke Yves leaned over the map and pointed to Pelaresse.

"Yes, they report that the enemy has already amassed an army of some twenty-five thousand soldiers to the north of Pelaresse. Most of them fly the banners of House Van Niljveld, and they seem to be preparing to mobilize as of a day and a half ago. They also report the mobilization of troops from the villages around Pelaresse, they estimate House Pelariaux will muster an army of fifteen-thousand within six days, close to the time Count Lefeuvre should be arriving with his army."

"So as it stands, we outnumber them almost two to one, and are only a three days march to Pelaresse. We could reach them, crush them, and lay siege to the city." Guillaume ended his sentence with some flair from his hand gestures, quite proud of his idea.

"Assuming they do not run into the city for cover while they await their reinforcements. We could defeat twenty-five thousand in the field, but not in a prolonged siege. The last they knew, we all were still in Desramaux City, having no troops mustered. They are taking us for fools, or at least slow ones at that. I bet you the forces they already have will march for Renangers within a day, beginning a siege while Pelariaux's troops will join in the rear." said Mathias.

"And if they do not? How could they not know we have mustered an army by now? Are they not sending scouts of their own?" The Duchess looked around the room for a response.

"We have seen none, which does not mean they are not sending them. So what do we do? Wait for them here? Take them on in the field fifty against forty?" Duke Yves crossed his arms, eyes now on Mathias.

"What of the Duke d'Aurrennes? Fleury Aurreau has a large population and plenty of horses to draw from. He could easily muster another thirty to forty thousand and join us from the south." Guillaume surveyed the room, seeking validation.

"And allow my people the joy of waiting out a siege for an army that may not come in time? Or better yet, may not matter once Thierry has sent more reinforcements as well. If they are marching with intent to besiege Renangers, they will be marching with siege engines already built, or at least in a state of easily being reconstructed once encamped." Duchess Emilie said. Her hands tracing the map on the table before them, eyes honing in on trails and detours each army might make.

"Duke Fleury should be sent for regardless. Guilllaume makes a good point, with his cavalry, he could get to us sooner and allow us an upper hand. Even if he does arrive just in time to cover our retreat."

"And while we wait? What then Mathias? We know they will move for us soon, with their own reinforcements. Fleury will be marching towards a prepared foe that may double his forces, while we sit behind our walls. We cannot just as fish in a barrel." As Yves finished his sentence, Duchess Emilie's eyes widened, having never let the map.

"No, we set a trap. A days ride out from Renangers, Guillaume's Trees still loom over the North Road. It is a small track of the woodlands, but it is enough to conceal maybe twenty-thousand soldiers."

"So we cut our forces in half, allowing them to whittle us down over the course of two battles?" Yves allowed his arms to uncross to emphasize his displeasure with the idea.

"Of course not. The remainder of our force will set up our camp one mile down the road from the ambush point. There, at my command, we will march head first into their approaching army. At that, the forces in the forest will attack from their right flank, catching them off guard. Prince Mathias, I trust you will lead the soldiers in hiding?" Duchess Emilie looked over to the old prince, who had a strange look of excitement, appreciation, and confusion.

"Duchess Emilie, it is not necessary for you to lead the main forces. Myself or Guillaume can do so - "

"It is not about necessity. I want the first kill to be mine. Duke Yves and I shall lead our combined twenty-five thousand first, with your fifteen thousand leading the flank from the woods. With any luck, Count Lefeuvre will have joined us by then, but even if not, his force will serve to bolster us as we then march on to Pelaresse. We have no time to lose, noblemen, we have camps to break and forces to march." At that, the Duchess Renangers left the tent swiftly. A shocked Duke Hemroux followed shortly after, while Prince Guillaume remained. The cousins looked over to each other, shrugged, and laughed in agreement with the oddity of how the meeting went. Still, it was a sound plan, and by the grace of the gods it will be a good one too.

Duke Lars Van Niljveld II, dressed in his full plate armor save his helmet, took three steps back as sweat dripped down from his forehead to his eyebrows. He shook his head quickly in hopes of keeping the droplets from reaching his eyes, his two hands preoccupied with holding his flanged mace upright by his side. Before him, with its head sufficiently caved in, stood one of the Duke's training dummies he had set up for himself and his son. While his larger frame and lack of grace made wielding a sword more of an enemy for the large duke than the person he was swinging at, he found the flanged mace to be somewhat of his best friend in the field of battle. Though heavier, and therefore sometimes requiring he not use his shield, his ability to put his whole weight into the power of his swing made Lars one of the deadliest fighters in a fray. His son, on the other hand, was slender and skilled enough to use a sword to its fullest purpose. Looking over to his training dummy, it had been sliced in half, its top half halving fallen to the ground. Good. The duke had been feeling good since their meeting four days ago. Duke Lutherloo exceeded his expectations, and arrived with his army a whole day early, because of this they were now breaking camp and preparing their march west. Duke Pelariaux's soldiers would not join until they were fully mustered, allowing for a better total of between forty and fifty thousand soldiers. Exhausted from training in his full gear, the duke made his way over to his private reserves. As any would do in his station, he had packed his own supplies separate from that of the rest of the armies. How could he command them without a stomach full of good food and wine? Today, it seemed the chef had provided fresh boar, it was delightfully tender. Picking up a few of the animals ribs, the meat seemed to melt right of and into his mouth. When we are kings again, we will eat like this every night. Lars II handed a plate to his son, who seemed only interest in the less fatty portions of the pig.

"Father." the duke looked suddenly to his son, placing his third rib down on his plate.

"Yes, son?"

"Are we leaving today?"

"That is the plan. Most of the camp has already been packed, with only our less important pieces left. We will march for four days before setting up camp like this again. It will be difficult, but well worth it in the end."

"When we take Renangers?"

"Taking Renangers will only be the start, dear boy. There will still be the city of Hemroux to take before we can make our push for Desramaux City. They must all be cowering there still, licking their wounds."

"That is where uncle Elco is, right?" Lars looked down at this plate, no longer feeling an apetite.

"Err, yes. Elco and your cousin Stans are imprisoned there I presume. Perhaps after we take Renangers we can negotiate their release. I understand the Duchess there has several children."

"Good. I had been very concerned with them since I heard they were still there."

"It was not an easy decision, sending them in our stead. But, we had to do something to help alleviate suspicion towards us. If they knew we were not attending out of protest, they would assume we were already marching with our army. But now, thanks to our uncle and cousins sacrifice, they will be none the wiser when we lay siege to one of their cities in four days time."

"You do not think they will have an army waiting for us?"

"It is possible, but I cannot imagine it will be more than the local rabble, royal guards and banners. Maybe two-thousand to defend the city, but nothing to cause concern. Yes, they really will not know what has hit them when we arrive." Lars II smiled to his son, who returned the expression as the two nobles enjoyed the rest of their boar. After finishing his plate, Lars III left his father at the training grounds as he made his way to pack up his own belongings. The slender figure of Duke Pelariaux approached from the middle of camp. Lars II paid no mind to the visitor, continuing to gorge himself on a deserved meal while his ally stood silently next to him.

"Lars." The slender duke had decided to break the silence, something Lars did not want to have happen. He stopped chewing briefly and turned to face his guest.

"Guyard."

"You feel you are ready to begin this war in earnest?"

"I do not simply feel it, I know it."

"Good. I am glad to hear that. I will admit, I had my concerns after the events of the wedding. None of the intended targets killed, your family members imprisoned, and us having made more enemies than friends with all of those who actually were killed."

"Yes, I recall your desire to turn us all in." Guyard chuckled.

"Come now, do not take offense. I am sure a man of your intellect would have done the same in my shoes. It was the calculated option."

"It was the cowardly option. You would have backed out so quickly? Hid in your estate while the rest of us take the fall for crimes you have played an equal part in?"

"Given your houses history, being somewhat similar to my own, it surprises me how low your sense of self-preservation is." Lars II stood and brought his face directly in front of Guyard's.

"Our houses have very little in common, Guyard. We know our worth and are willing to fight for it, on our own if we have to."

"Such hostility. It was not that long ago that our houses were allies before, you know. Our father's had a similar agreement to ours. We both saw how that worked out for them, of course. I do hope we have learned from their mistakes then, in remaking this alliance."

"By expanding our list of friends, we stand a chance in our fights for our kingdoms back." Guyard placed his hand on Lars' shoulder and smiled before stepping away and placing himself in a firm square stance.

"You are skilled with the mace I see, and your son with the sword."

"We have spent years training. We take pride in our fighting, what of you and yours?"

"Some practice with the sword, but we have always been a house of bow and arrow." Guyard pulled a short bow from the stock of weapons to train with along with a single arrow.

"How far do you say I am from your unfortunate shattered friend?" The slender duke pulled back the arrow.

"I would say, thirty-yards." Guyard released the arrow. It hit the target with a loud thwack, having been hit squarely in the center of its caved in head.

"It will be good to have your archers behind us once again, Duke Guyard. I am glad I can trust you to watch my back as I will watch yours."

"Do you trust Prince Thierry, and Duchess Hekket?" Lars' eyes went wide from surprise at the question.

"Of course I do. Do you think I would be about to march to war if I did not?"

"I only wanted to be sure. These are interesting times indeed, Duke Lars. As the head of a house known for making poor decisions, I must be careful who I trust and why. Being someone in a similar position, I do not take your trust of our allies lightly. I see your army is just about ready for your, Duke. May your mace crush many skulls, and my your forces fight with ferocity."

"Thank you, Duke Guyard. When next we speak, it will be at the estates in Renangers."

"My Queen." The title was one Jolijn was still getting used to. It had only been five days since her father's passing, and already the full weight of the kingdom has come crashing down upon her head. Falcons came and went constantly from Desramaux Castle, requests for aid from allies along the South Road, orders given to Dukes and Counts who, in addresses to the crown, only spoke of Phillipe. Mathi and Renault would take turns writing messages; while they were simply transcriptions of what Jolijn would say, she knew it would mean more to these nobles if it came from a Desramaux hand. Very few of her writings seemed to be headed east, towards home. Hundreds of miles now separated her from home. Home. The stone walls of the castle were smooth to the touch, having been filed down by masons for uniformity. These stone walls that were now her home, her new home as Queen of an empire. Queen of an empire that, in its infancy, must now fight for survival. Since her father's passing, Larynwy had not left Jolijn's side. While they had never enjoyed lengthy conversations with one another before, there was a sudden total lack of conversing between the two. Jolijn knew it was not out of resentment, but someplace deeper within Larynwy, within a place that she knew not to pry open unless approached to do so. Buraddouddo follow a strict code of honor, which is how Larynwy came to serve Jurrien in the first place. A life debt was owed by Larynwy to Jurrien, which would be understood to have been paid off by both parties in due time. No time limit had been set, though Larynwy would live for another two centuries at least, simply trust in fate that they would know when the debt had been paid. Queen Jolijn feared the debt had been extended with the circumstances of her father's death, something Larynwy was not happy with - for multiple reasons. The queen rounded the corner and entered Francois' old library, which had been given the short name of 'The Council Room.' She entered and turned to face the source of the man who called out for her.

Seated in his chair, Renault had been hunched over a desk, correspondences neatly stacked by who they were sent to and who sent them. A copy of each of their responses was kept for recording purposes, so that the full extent of the conversation would always be available. Prince Mathi protested it as a redundancy that only wasted time, but Renault was eager to do as Jolijn requested. Opposite Renault, at another less organized desk, sat Mathi, upright and pensive as he read a letter over and over. Two falcons were perched beside his desk, ready to be sent wherever they must deliver to next.

"Jolijn, we've finally gotten word from Rodizijl." Mathi spun around to face Jolijn when she entered the room. Renault slowly turned also.

"Yes, Mathi? I cannot imagane Kritje has reached home yet, it will take her at least until the end of the month."

"We received word from her uncle, Martien, who now calls himself the Duke Rodizijl. He says: I am afraid my family can no longer support the marriage between Princess Jolijn and King Phillipe nor the subsequent union of our two kingdoms as a result of the latter. The assault at the wedding and death of my brother, as well as other supporters, is proof that this is against the will of the gods. I cannot go against such strong wills, and cannot allow my family to meet a horrendous fate because of such reckless actions against the gods. I hereby declare myself and my House in favor of..." Mathi paused and locked eyes with Jolijn, she gave him a look to continue. "of Rikkert Biljvank and his claim to the throne of the Biljvank Kingdom. Our banners will fly for him and his own. Signed, Martien Ruuding, the Duke Rodizijl." Jolijn's eyes blinked rapidly for a moment as the information went swirling around through her mind. Rikkert? Commander of her father's forces, chief general and prince of the Biljvank Kingdom. A man she looked to as another uncle her entire life, even calling him Uncle Rikkert for most of her life until being corrected of their true relation of cousins. He would not betray her, her father, his own brother, would he? Jolijn stuttered for a moment before responding.

"This is... this is new. Rikkert's claim for the throne? And this is the first correspondence to mention such a thing?" Mathi and Renault exchanged glances with one another before Renault opened his mouth to speak.

"There was one other, from Duke Vaars Zelderloo VIII, he had said something similar to what Martien had said about the wedding before saying he was giving his support to Rikkert's claim." Larynwy grabbed Jolijn's arm to help steady the queen. The warrior grabbed a chair and placed it behind the queen to use, helping her find her shocked body to a seated position on it. The bookshelves shook. Mathi and Renault looked quickly to see the slightest vibrations moving throughout the back walls. Larynwy placed a hand on Jolijn's shoulder, bringing her back to reality fast enough to stop her ziende from lashing out.

"Did you, did you see that, just now?" Renault pointed to the bookshelves.

"See what?" Larynwy gave both princes a glare of daggers.

"Nothing, it must have been our imaginations. The stress of everything going on and all..." Mathi trailed off and returned to his desk.

"That marks every possible ally off our list, my Queen. Hemroux, Guillesse, Renangers, Aurrennes, Parseille, Garlennes, Mathieden, and Diependam have declared for you and King Phillipe. Pelariaux, Jaquignon, Lebatou, Licon, Lutherloo, and Van Niljveld have declared themselves for Prince Thierry and 'his cause.' Alloopen and Heerzijl have decided to take a neutral stance in the conflict, though it seems Alloopen may be facing a sibling rivalry as the Duke returns to confront his sister. Rodizijl and Zelderloo have declared themselves for Prince Rikkert, which could be a third faction in all of this or be allied with Prince Thierry, I do not know. That leaves  Obbinkerloo, who I think we can assume will either remain neutral or join Prince Thierry, given their absence at the wedding." Both princes allowed the room to fall silent for some time as they looked to their queen for a response, a course of action. Thijn must be warned, somehow he must be warned. Rikkert may already be to Biljrend, he may already have crowned himself and has prepared a host to march for her. Would he draw the blood of his own family? Was he capable of doing such a thing? Am I capable of doing such a thing? Finally she snapped back to reality, the words of Renault only just now reaching her ears when she allowed them to.

"If I know my cousin... he does not act alone, but with my great-aunt, his mother. Rikkert and Thierry are working together, there is no other explanation. No doubt he will take Biljrend and increase his forces with Biljvank banners. With an army comprised of three major banners, he could easily be at the head of fifty to seventy-thousand soldiers. I imagine he would go after Mathieden first, following the South Road to consolidate his hold over the entire Biljvank Kingdom, making any opposition to his claim moot."

"Mathieden and Diependam will be mustering forces, it is possible they could hold out for a long siege. During which, we could entreat with Obbinkerloo to - " Jolijn cut Mathi off.

"Mathieden is a smaller city and duchy, in such a short time they might only be able to muster ten to fifteen-thousand soldiers, and such a small city would fall quickly to a siege against a force with the resources of Rikkert's. Besides, Rikkert knows the city, he could infiltrate it quickly enough I am sure. Diependam will have more time, perhaps they could must fifteen-thousand, and their walls could withhold against a prolonged siege."

"Diependam had also mentioned sending an emissary to speak with the Linten tribes within the Forest of Boum. I understand they are minotaurs?" Renault recalled having read the letter with some disbelief the first time.

"Yes, they are, though I do not think they will fight for us. They hold dominion over Boum, and would only leave to fight if that dominion felt threatened."

"Why would they not feel threatened? A large army is marching their way most likely." Mathi said.

"Rikkert would not attack them, he would have no reason to. He knows they will not fight against him just as they will not fight for him. Diependam can do this, but I do not expect their success. How many soldiers do you estimate Licon and Lebatou will muster?" Mathi began doing quick math in his head while Renault turned to his desk in search of a map. Prince Mathi ran over to assist Renault, with the two pouring over the map once it was found. When Mathi looked back over to Jolijn, she had a question on her face.

"This is a map of the Desramaux Dynasty by duchy and county. We have other maps that break down even further to the baronies and the known villages, but this will suffice for an estimate." Renault turned to speak.

"Lebatou should be able to muster around twenty-thousand within one-weeks time, while Licon is more limited and I would not anticipate more than twelve-thousand. Given their proximity to one another, I predict the two will combine their forces to either march east and assist Rikkert, or march west to go towards Desramaux City from the South Road."

"Meaning their first target would be Garlennes. Send word to Parseille immediately, the Duchess will join her forces with the Duke Garlennes and await further orders from there. They should be prepared for a long siege and should send all scouting reports back to us immediately. What do you estimate they can muster together?" Renault scratched his chin and looked back to the map for a moment, looked to Mathi and the two did more quick calculations. Mathi turned to respond to his queen.

"Parseille will most likely gather sixteen-thousand, while Garlennes would be closer to fourteen-thousand. This would give them better odds against the combined forces of Lebatou and Licon. We could always send the Duke D'Aurrennes to join them as well. He could easily muster a fighting force of twenty-five to thirty thousand all on his own within a weeks time." Queen Jolijn leaned back in her chair for a moment. There are fifty-thousand marching towards Pelaresse within the week, Van Niljveld can also muster a sizable force in a short amount of time, while Lutherloo was more limited, perhaps ten-thousand at most. Despite her limited knowledge of the Desramaux Dynasty, her studying of their past conflicts informed her that Pelariaux had historically been able to muster average sized armies, nearing twenty-thousand, while Jaquignon was lucky if they could reach five-thousand. Hold Garlennes, evenly matched against Lebatou and Licon, Mathieden and Diependam will slow Rikkert's approach... I should be on the frontlines too. This is my war, these are my people fighting for my crown. She looked up to the two princes, awaiting her orders.

"Have Duke D'Aurrennes march north to join the forces at Renangers or the siege of Pelaresse, whichever is he is able to get to first. Duchess Parseille and Duke Garlennes will need to hold Garlennes for as long as they can until we are able to march south to aid them. If we take Pelaresse with such a sizable force equal to that of Rikkert's, we could leave a portion behind to keep the city while the main army cut south to aid Garlennes and break Lebatou and Licon. By the will of the gods, your father will have the main forces meeting with Rikkert along the former border between our kingdoms."

"I will write the Duke D'Aurrennes at once." Renault spun to his desk.

"And I shall write the Duchess Parseille and the Duke Garlennes." Mathi returned himself to his desk across the room and began scribing. Larynwy looked over to Jolijn, locked eyes with the queen, and tapped on her head. Perplexed at first, Jolijn eventually understood.

'Yes?'

'Your plan requires a lot of luck for a lot of possibilities to go just right.'

'I know.'

'But it is a good plan. Much better than your husband's of running south to the centaurs.'

Jolijn furrowed her brow. It was a decision she did not wholly agree with, but one she understood. The proofs was in the writing, both of their correspondences and maps for estimating movements and numbers - both sides were evenly matched. If they really wanted to turn the tides, they would need to somehow turn the tides in their favor, at the very least in terms of sheer numbers.

'King Phillipe is doing what he has deemed as the right course of action. I am inclined to trust his judgement. He knows the Mannes tribe, they knew his father well. They will a welcome ally.'

'Good. Then we can avenge your father all the sooner.'

Jolijn looked back up to Larynwy's eyes, and she thought she could make out the faintest shimmer of a tear in the warriors left eye.

"Thijn Biljvank, I promised myself I would never allow you into my bedchambers again." Duchess Nadine Obbink rolled over to kiss the wounded man laying beside her, intentionally applying a little pressure to his wound as she did so. The old prince winced in pain which was quickly relieved by the tenderness of Nadine's lips.

"Yes, but that was back before your husband died."

"That feels like a lifetime ago." The duchess gazed deeply into Thijn's eyes, her finger nails gently running up and down his grey-haired chest.

"We are older now, I suppose that is true. But, Nadine, you have aged like a fine emerald wine." Nadine frowned, poked Thijn's wound, and made her way out of the bed and across the room to dress herself.

"Save your flowery compliments for the young and foolish, Thijn. I did miss having sex with you, but I could have always lived without your silver tongue." Clenching his jaw from pain, the old prince slowly sat up with his back supported against the wall by his pillow.

"I always thought you liked my tongue?" The duchess whipped her head back around to face the prince, which, of course, was the desired effect. A grand smile undid the agony of his shoulder as he was able to take in the naked splendor of Duchess Nadine Obbink, scowl and all. She rolled her eyes and returned to putting on her clothes.

"You know, it gets harder and harder to tell if my son is yours or my husband's." Thijn's eyes almost fell out of his head as he opened wide.

"What?"

"I said - "

"I heard what you said. This is just the first I have ever heard of such an idea."

"Well, he looks a lot like you, he talks a lot like you, he is even witty like you. Between all of the signs and all of the sex you and I had in the year leading up to my pregnancy, I just have to put two and two together." Thijn felt the color leave his face. A child was the last thing the old prince had ever wanted in his life, even if the child was already twenty-five. Nadine, now unfortunately decent, turned around and once again rolled her eyes with an added scoff when she saw Thijn's state.

"Relax, I am not telling you to pawn him off on you. No one will know, and I am not even entirely certain. As far as the world is concerned, his father was Hessel van Heerstuk, a man whom I was  married to for twenty-two years and at whose funeral I did not cry. Now get up, we've spent enough time greeting each other. You brought a small army to my gates, and I know it was not just to sleep with me." Still in shock, Prince Thijn slowly rose from the bed and began putting his clothes back on. He finally was able to speak as he was buttoning his shirt.

"One thing I did not miss about you, dear, is how blunt you are. Being forthwith is commendable, but to give such information out of nowhere and do nothing with it, well, it is quite frazzling." The prince pulled his jacket down after buttoning it, straightening any crinkled ends. Nadine simply smiled her beautiful, sultry, magnificent smile, almost causing the prince to start undressing again, but was stopped by her left brow raising. The two took seats opposite each other in front of her bedchamber's window, a table between the two of them. On it, sat four bottles of emerald wine, each aged twenty years, and two goblets for them to use. Looking out the window, one could look for miles north towards the Forest of Boum. These same forests would be used to terrify children, stories of witches, chimera, manticores and other terrible monsters were said to live in there. Only the minotaurs of the Linten tribes were able to survive in there, though some humans attempted to at one point. Now all that remained of that attempt was a ruined castle in the center of the forest. Prince Thijn turned to fill his goblet, but found it had already been filled for him, along with one of the bottles being opened for when they wanted more. He took a sip and looked over to his host.

"What is this I hear about a war going on, Thijn? And do speak plainly."

"You received word from King Phillipe and Queen Jolijn, yes?" The duchess sipped her wine slowly, not looking to Thijn as she responded.

"I did. And last I knew she was just the Princess Jolijn, no? Has that changed? I know that brother was wounded but had survived the attempt on all of their lives. A terrible tragedy that all was, Fien was such a good friend of mine. Despite our considerable distance from one another, we exchanged letters as often as possible. Her son has a good head on his shoulders though."

"I was unaware the Duchess Heerzijl was among the death toll, I thought she had also just been wounded."

"I will miss her letters."

"I am sure, Nadine. Do you recall the rest of the letter?" The old prince could feel her eyes roll.

"Yes, yes. Seeking allegiance, ensuring her vassals were still loyal and all of that." Nadine took another sip from her goblet, Thijn awaited more from her but realized he was not going to get anymore words.

"And?"

"And what? Am I loyal? Yes of course I am, what kind of a stupid question is that. House Obbink has never broken an oath and I will be damned if I am the one to start. Besides, I like the Princess, or Queen, whatever she wants to call herself. Is Jurrien dead?" Thijn's eyes turned towards the contents of his goblet as the duchess turned to face the prince with this question.

"Never mind that, I have my answer. I am sorry, Thijn, truly I am. Your brother was a good man and a good king."

"Thank you. That does, however, bring us back to why I have come here with a force of five-thousand soldiers, all bearing the Biljvank banner. It would seem not everyone is happy with Jolijn being wed to King Phillipe."

"Naturally. Is that what this is all about? Your brother is dead and now everyone is fighting for the throne?" Thijn paused for a moment, his breath held to keep himself from responding immediately.

"Well... yes and no. I do not know if my brother's death is common knowledge yet. Whether or not it is, my cousin, Prince Rikkert, marched into Biljrend eight days ago with an army flying the banners of Houses Zelderloo and Ruuding. He more than likely will recruit many soldiers to fly our House's colors, and he will march along the South Road to Mathieden, Diependam, and eventually here."

"I see. Did you warn Mathieden and Diependam on your way here?"

"I did indeed. Mathieden has decided to hunker down and wait out a siege, this will buy Diependam and yourself time to muster your forces and respond in kind."

"I will do no such thing."

"What? But why not? You are loyal, you just said so - "

"Loyal does not mean stupid, Thijn. Your cousin is an excellent commander when at the head of an army. Mathieden will not last long, and, to use my infamous blunt style of speaking, I do not like my own chances against Prince Rikkert's army. No, we must attempt a different approach. I appreciate Mathieden's nobility and generosity in buying us time, though I find it foolish. Duke Diependam, the old coot, must be ordered to abandon his city and bring his army west to Obbinzum. I will muster my forces there with his and we will march West."

"West? Why the gods would we go west?"

"Shut up and listen, will you? Fort Licon lies to the west, it is beautifully placed between us and the city of Licon, and it hosts most of the Duchess Licon's supplies. It's initial purpose was to be used against a possible invasion from us into Desramaux lands." Thijn placed his goblet down to refill it, putting his hand up to stop the duchess for a moment.

"Wait, how do you know all of this?"

"Oh please, Thijn. I know your family has spies all over, why should I, a lowly duchess, not be allowed to do the same. Besides, there was a time when a Biljvank invasion of Desramaux was very possible, so my mother learned all she could about the possible foe. My forces, combined with yours and Diependam's, puts us at between thirty and thirty-five thousand soldiers. We could easily take Fort Licon, granting us a much more strategic defensive position, as well as the possibility to take the city of Licon if the opportunity presents itself."

"We would be sacrificing three of our cities with only the possibility of taking one? Nadine, you are a brilliant woman, but I simply do not see the reasoning behind this plan. We should gather our forces at Obbinzum, yes, but we must hold out here, guerilla tactics with the forests as cover. Leave a smaller section of our force in the city, with the rest scattered throughout the woodlands to strike at night the siege camps, using the tree lines to our advantage." Prince Thijn watched as the Duchess Obbinkerloo narrowed her eyes at him, slowly draining her goblet as she did so. Her eyes did not leave his as she refilled her goblet and took another large sip.

"We shall leave five thousand soldiers here. Two thousand to defend against the siege, and another three thousand to utilize the tactics you have described. With our advantages of surprise and numbers, would could take Licon, bolster our ranks with former Licon soldiers, and come back to break a tormented siege. After which we can chase your cousin back to cower with his mother in Castle Zelderloo." Prince Thijn looked over to Nadine, she was truly stunning. He sipped his goblet before responding.

"Alright, Nadine, that is what we shall do. I have already written Desramaux City to inform them of Rikkert's treachery. With what I know, there forces will be gathering to push east on the North Road. As far as they know, the South Road is secured, and last they thought Rikkert was aiding in that effort."

"Well, they are not wrong, dear. He is just not aiding them in that effort."

"A mistake he will pay dearly for. If only I was not so old." Thijn slammed his hand on the table, the shockwave reverberated up to his wound, leading to instant regret.

"Easy there, love. It is no fault of your own that he betrayed you, betrayed your House, this kingdom. Or are we an empire now? Either way, Thijn, your age has nothing to do with it. Rikkert is the better fighter, but you attempted all the same. May I be blunt?" Thijn, rubbing his wound, turned to face Nadine, who by now hosted a facetious grin.

"When are you not?"

"I find your courage to be very attractive. No one else in there right mind would have done what you did in your position."

"Now you are just showering me in flattery. It is not necessary."

"Of course it is, I am trying to have sex with you again. Besides, I am right, you are not in your right mind, which is why you did as you did. And my being correct does not constitute flattery, even if you take it as such." Prince Thijn gazed into Duchess Nadine's eyes, they sparkled in the radiant sunlight, demanding attention from all around. Her eyes pulled him in closer with every breath, while simultaneously making the act of breathing more and more difficult. Nadine rose and stood behind him, her arms wrapped around him as she leaned down, her lips a fraction of an inch away from his. He wanted to kiss her, to hold her close, to love her with every fiber of his being.

"We really must get moving, dear. Time is being preciously bought for us, let us not squander Mathieden's gift." Nadine said, teasing the old prince with great pleasure to her he was sure. Thijn embraced her lips with his. A moment of tender passion followed by slowly pulling away.

"Very well, love. I follow your lead."