Alongside Edric, Basil was the last to arrive when his father summoned the war council. He had spent the previous hour hunched over a deck of cards with the Legate, playing a game of memory and wit;without betting of course, as he never carried a single silverii in his purse, a curious fact for the son of a man whose wealth was well-known.

During his station with Jarza, he had discovered the camp to be full of crude japes about the Prince’s fortune; the common soldiers whispered that his father was capable of shitting silver into his own privy.

To the rank-and-file, it was the only explanation for the staggering sums the man spent.

Probably even some of the lords thought of it, as while it was common to hoard treasures in iron-bound chests, his father let the coin flow like a river, leaving the world convinced his coffers were a bottomless well.

Still he knew the truth of that well.

He had lost count of the times his mother and grandfather had cornered the Prince, as they made him new ears because he perpetually forced the state treasury to its knees.

Yet, in his father’s defense, the gold didn’t simply vanish into the air. Basil had been allowed a glimpse of the fiscal reports from the capital, figures that revealed nearly 20,000 silverii flowed in annually ranging from the annual taxations of his inhabitants to the tolls of the merchants, not to speak about the amount of products they bought which was not contained in that sum , whose profit for a range of products that were well-sought, directly went to the crown’s coffer.

He didn’t know much about normal fiscal revenue, but he had an hint that the capital’s was a singular case.

Moreover then there were the inns and shops sprouting like weeds along the Magna Strata . Most believed them private ventures, but many were held by the Crown under a very tight, very secret hand.

It had been Lucius’s notion originally, planting lodges along the Magna Strata primarily as nests for information-gathering. Even his father had been caught off-guard by the revenue they generated.

The Great Road was so well-defended , so much so travellers saw nothing wrong walking and sleeping on the road for days long travel; the legionnaires like to boast that since the Princess took the Prince to wife, which as funny as that was they would never mention it in his father’s presence , a maiden could walk the Magna Strata naked to the skin and return unmolested, all the way to the end and back.

Of course that wasn’t the only one about the Magna Strata, there was another that was far more pleasing to the Legions:

"Where the Prince lays stone, the woods go weeping."

Basil had learned the truth of those words when he rode north of Yarzat with Uncle Jarza. He still remembered the sight of men nailed to the oaks along with their wailing ,and as the name went, weeping.

They were bandits, he was told later. His father claimed it had been months since the last weeper was pinned to a tree,so the work was going well.

They apparently faced fluctuations whenever they conquered lands, it was normal use that after the legions brought it to heel of their prince, they were stationed there for a few months to cleanse the land of undesirables which were then transported on the Magna to make true of its name.

Basil realized he was daydreaming only when the sudden silence of the tent became heavy enough to feel.

A heartbeat later, he noticed with a jolt that every eye was fixed on him; he was the only one still standing. Heat flooded his cheeks as he practically fell into his seat. His father’s gaze lingered on him for a second too long before twisting his eyes away.

As soon as he was seated he noticed the queer atmosphere in the room. His father usually held these intimate councils with a skeleton crew of trusted commanders before reiterating the broader strategy to the gathered lords. It was rarer still to see the Crown’s spymaster, Lucius, occupying a seat at the table.

Basil realized he was staring at the man until Asag gave him a sharp, grounding nudge in the ribs.

The Prince let out a slow exhale, the sound of a man whose patience was a fraying rope. Once the rustle of settling cloaks subsided, Alpheo turned his attention to Lucius.

"We may start"

In response, the blonde-haired man, who half of Yarzat knew as the architect of the state’s darker necessities while the other half worked for him , rose with a formal nod. "I bring tidings from our illustrious ally," Lucius began, his voice smooth and devoid of any intonation.Though Basil could feel that there was some sarcasm in his words. "It would seem the Rebel Prince met his uncle’s host in open battle. And most surprisingly prevailed."

A ripple of surprise moved through them.

Edric leaned forward, his brow furrowing as he looked toward Rykio. "I recall we were of the mind that he would retreat after seizing Ricorum and torching the granaries? ’’

It was his father who answered . "Perhaps having an army at his back gave Merelao certain... notions. He appeared to me as a man who feels he has a great deal to prove. No doubt he found it unthinkable to turn his back on a superior force, in an hostile land, when all he needed to do was retreat to his lands and wait for spring so that we could arrive in aid...."

"Well, good for him, I suppose," Edric muttered, his tone injecting he really didn’t see the point of that "I’m sure he’s ecstatic to have gotten one over on ’Prince Piggy,’ and we shall cheer for him accordingly. Still, I fail to see how his triumph is our current business. We have our own slaughter to arrange for. We’d be better off musing on our own necks."

"I am quite certain that ’small’ detail hasn’t escaped anyone’s mind," Lucius replied. His face remained as impassive as fresh snow "Your perceptiveness is as sharp as ever, Edric. My congratulations."

He smoothed a wrinkle on his sleeve , ignoring Edric’s change in expression, and continued, "It is our business because our gracious ally’s war is apparently not yet finished. He has decided to make another appearance and broaden his prospective."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning he intends to march his host south to join our banners," Lucius said, his tone somehow letting out he wasn’t exactly ecstatic with the matter.

For a moment, the spymaster looked by the boy’s eyes, even more exhausted than his father.

"In his own words, he wishes to ’join his dearest ally in the final strike against the one who heralded the bringer of woes.So that peace may yet be brought to these lands’" 𝕗𝚛𝚎𝚎𝐰𝗲𝗯𝗻𝚘𝚟𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝕞

Basil watched the exchange, feeling a strange pang of inadequacy.

Was everyone in his father’s circle perpetually drowning in work? He wondered if he was the only one with the luxury of a wandering mind. Still, he knew his father had allowed him this seat for a purpose; it was an apprenticeship in the art of rule, and it would do him no good to seem ungrateful.

Since he was a child, he had been permitted to review minor documents and oversee small, inconsequential projects. He knew he had a knack for the paperwork, the tedious, grinding machinery of statecraft that his father often called his "most arduous opponent." Alpheo hated the ink as much as he mastered the scepter, and Basil wondered if, after the blood of this war was washed away, his father would still look at a ledger with the same loathing.

"Well, we’d be fools to turn away fresh steel," the Legate of the Fourth muttered, his voice a low rasp that broke the tension. "It isn’t a bad notion. If our dearest lord in the West desires to wash his blade red before the winter frost sets in, who are we to deny him the pleasure?"

He shifted in his seat, the mail of his shirt clinking. "We aren’t in a position to disregard help, friends. We didn’t exactly come through these months unscathed. We could use the numbers to bolster the ranks."

Basil found himself nodding in silent agreement. He had heard his father admit that the Oizenian host still held a significant advantage in raw numbers. As Edric had bluntly noted, they weren’t exactly at the peak of their strength.

The siege of the Bastion had been a meat-grinder for both sides, devouring more than a third of the garrison. His father had said little of the losses, but Basil had seen him staring at the casualty rolls in that quiet, focused way he had whenever he faced a problem he intended to solve with his own hands.

The disparment in numbers was after all significant...

Even with the League’s forces fractured, the enemy still held the high ground on horse and on foot. If Basil’s opinion carried any weight, he would have urged his father to take the victory as it stood.

To still be standing after such a storm, and to have shifted the theater of war into Kakunian soil for tomorrow, was a triumph most men would have been satisfied with. Had Basil been the Prince, he would have taken the win and closed the gates.

Yet he was not the Prince. And after that, he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to be alone on that throne.

Besides, the arrival of their "dear ally" from the east brought more than just swords to the camp. It brought a complication that could unravel their fragile peace with a single word.

A word that Lucius was quick to let hang in the air like a noose:

Bastard.