He was unceremoniously pushed through the tent flaps, stumbling as a heavy hand against his shoulder blade sent him skittering toward the center of the room. He might have complained about the treatment if he hadn’t worked so hard to earn it.

Still, was there truly such a wrong in what he had done? He had merely exchanged a few words with the men. A free man had every right to speak his mind, after all.

None could say he had broken a single law of gods or men,if he did they were more than welcomed to point at it, nor he strayed from the path of honor. It was only expectations he had shattered, and perhaps a Prince’s carefully laid plan to rot in the mud beneath his feet.

The ruckus they had stirred as they were marched toward the inner circle still echoed in his ears.

"Battle! To battle against the Falcon!"

Despite the bruising grip on his arms, a thin, sharp smile touched Aron’s lips. Can you hear them, oh noble lords? There was no doubt they did. The shouts were already rippling through the ranks like a summer fever.

He had told them to spread the word, and they were doing so better than if he had kindly asked them, begged or ordered them. It would move faster than fire through dry hay; within the half-hour, every man in the host would know what tidings the envoy of Yarzat had brought with him.

And in another half the prince of Oizen would be forced to give an answer.

The lowborn might weep at the news, but the wandering knights who had come for the promise of land and loot that would never be theirs, would exalt.

How strange it was, he thought, to have two such currents flowing in the same river.

Still, different interests makes different men.

The tent was much like any other he had seen in a dozen campaigns, only larger, more crowded, and significantly more sour. It was not a company he found pleasing; if the lot of them were drowning in the sea, he would only get his hands wet to push them deeper under the waves.

He had seen enough of the ashy roads they had left behind. The All-Knower’s holy book that recorded everything, were filled with dozens upon dozens of such wars; in a land of fractured principalities, blood was as common as rain. But this was different. A different war if such a thing could even exist. Even if it failed, this war would break the South until only one side remained to breathe the air.

And everyone would have to choose their side and bleed by it.

But Aron was no prince, and certainly no lord. He was an envoy, and so he played the part.

Raising his gaze without a hint of doubt, he offered his sweetest, most infuriating smile to the man on the high seat, who looked down at him as if he were a worm that had just spoiled a perfectly good apple he was intending to feast on.

The other lords in the circle fared little better; their expressions ranged from murderous disdain to a few hidden flashes of fervor from those who shared the knights’ hunger for the field.

Aron wanted to turn and shrug at the lot of them. He had come offering a choice between peace and war, they chose their lot, was it his fault they didn’t like the flavor of the steel they were given?

It was not the first time they had stood across from one another, so there was no need for grand introductions.

"The envoy in the stead of Her Grace, Jasmine Veloni-isha, First of her Name, Princess of Yarzat and Herculia, Protector of the Highlands and Lowlands, presents himself." Aron swept into a deep, mocking bow. "I greet His Grace of Oizen."

To that Sorza said nothing. He sat as still as a tombstone, his fingers digging into the carved wood of his chair until his knuckles turned as white as bone. He simply stared, hatefully, at him.

No doubt he had muddled his plans...as much as cowardice could count as one.

"To battle! To battle against the Falcon!"

The roar from outside the canvas filled the silence better than any courtly music.He could not have asked for a better time for the silence to be filled in such a way.

Aron was in no hurry, so he took his time to study the faces in the room. He knew the banners, the sigils, and the grudges that went with them.

Yet, his eyes lingered on a man with a white feather upon his breast. He was tall and stocky, but not portly, with hair that had retreated so far it left a stark foot of pale skin contrasting against a black mane. 𝐟𝕣𝕖𝐞𝐰𝕖𝚋𝐧𝗼𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝗰𝐨𝐦

Aron pressed his mind for a name but found only a blank space. Instead, his gaze drifted a few steps away from the high seat to a man wearing a flying griffin.

That ,at last, he knew.

"I see the Lord of Argustaven is still with us," Aron said, giving the man the smallest of nods. "My Prince has not forgotten the ’gifts’ you provided him. He is quite eager to offer you his hospitality in return. Hopefully, sooner than later."

The Lord of Argustaven flinched as if he’d been struck, his hand twitching toward his belt.

"Are you here only to throw empty threats, man of Yarzat?" Sorza finally spoke.

His voice was thick with an anger that mirrored the fervor outside the tent. But while the crowd outside sounded like a fire, Sorza sounded like a man trying to keep his teeth from chattering. Aron didn’t blink. He was an envoy; unless these lords wished to cover themselves in eternal shame, they would abide by the ancient laws of parley.

"I won’t deny they are threats, your Grace," Aron replied with a casual shrug. "It was his men who put the torches to caravans under my Prince’s protection and soiled his heralds. Most of those men are dead now besides, but the punishment hasn’t been spread nearly thin enough yet."

He leaned in slightly.

"Threats indeed. Though I would not call them empty. ’Empty’ would be the word for the promises made to my Prince when the Habadian, Kakunian, Ezvanian, and Sharjaan hosts crossed his borders alongside your own. Not much of that came to fruit, I suppose, the first three have vanished like smoke, yet my Prince still stands."

"Not for long," Sorza spat.

"That, too would be empty indeed," Aron countered. "But since we are in the business of words, my Prince has instructed me to relay a few more to you.Whetever you take them as threat or invitation, shall be lie whetever or not you may stomach a fight. Provided the current weeks have not given clear answer to such doubts."

That ,perhaps, had been a steps too far.

"How dare you?" a voice cracked through the tension.

It belonged to a youngster, a boy barely old enough to shave who bore the scorched banner of Apurvio. His face was flushed with a mixture of grief and misplaced gallantry that were it on the field would have got him killed. "How dare you lay threats at the feet of a Prince in his own camp?"

On either side of the high seat, Sorza’s personal guards grew restless too. They shifted their weight, the plates of their armor grinding together as they took a synchronized step forward, their hands hovering over their hilts. If the display was meant to scare the salt out of him, it failed.

Aron didn’t even look at them; his eyes remained locked on Sorza, watching the way the Prince’s mask was beginning to crack under the weight of the shouting men outside.

’To battle!To battle against the falcon.’

"Have no fear, lords and sers. Your Prince is as safe as he was before I arrived," Aron said, his voice smooth and untroubled by the steel closing in. "Not by any merit of yours, mind you. There is only one of me, and I am not acquainted well with any weapon beside.

Even a child could disarm me well enough,what would you have of such a man?

It is not against me you should look to be so gallant in front of your prince. There is an army waiting for you, clamoring only to give you battle. It is there you should bring your shining armor and your valor, if any of the two you still have."

He turned his head, his gaze sweeping over the restless guards and the flushed face of the boy from Apurvio.

"Or has perhaps honor deserted the noble houses of Ozenia?My prince spoke of such thing, but I would not have believed it? Do you wish to cloak yourselves in the filth of harming an envoy? We are not in Romelia. And that would not be our tradition. "

"Neither is it for an envoy to be so impertinent and insolent," the Prince snapped at last.

To that he simply shrugged "I could go on and on exchanging honeyed words with your noble lords, but I was tasked by my Prince, as I was saying before some youngster with no hair on his chin interrupted me, to deliver certain tidings. Namely, the name of the field of battle.

I never said any lie in front of the troops, so what I told them I will tell you, adding of course some details that would be lost for the common ranks."

A heavy, sudden silence fell over the court. No arguments were raised. No declarations were shouted. There was only the muffled shouts of outside that permanated through the white cloths of the tent.

"It shall be east of Duresa" he said ’’Just ahead of the Lampianis River. A most plain and unassuming field, I admit, with lush grass and no walls to hide behind.No tricks, nor ambush, nor hidden army.

It sits exactly upon the border of our two crowns. A field perfect for valor. A field perfect for our armies to meet and give slaughter."

He looked Sorza directly in the eye, his smile turning thin and sharp as a razor.

"Provided, of course, that your Grace has the gall for it."

The Prince did not move. He did not speak.Nor rise to the bite.

Outside, the host of Ozenia was still screaming for blood, their shouts rhythmic and hungry. Sorza looked down at the envoy, and for as much anger he could project, deeper than that was fear. The same fear he held when he was abed and that betrayer of Nibadur whispered to him empty reassurances.

For as true as it was that Alpheo was a peasant, so it was that he had never lost on a field.

To that notion, Aron bowed but one last time, deeper and more mocking than ever before.

"My Prince will be waiting, your Grace.For he is most eager to meet you once more.We, just like the men outside your tent, will await for your answer.’’