Alpheo Veloni-isha, Prince of Yarzat and Herculia, Conqueror of the Highlands, Protector of the Lowlands, and the newly minted master of Ozenia, shifted uncomfortably, absentmindedly adjusting and fondling his balls , as the crushing weight of boredom settled over him.

Silk pillows, stuffed to bursting with the finest goose down, cushioned his weight upon the cahir. The purple velvet walls of the pavilion curved overhead to form a plush roof, trapping a pleasant warmth that defied the early winter chill gnawing at the world outside.

It was a strange thing to realize that all of this, the city, the velvet, the very air he breathed, was now legally his. Yet, he didn’t have the luxury of gloating. There were far worse eggs to peel at the moment.

As for what?

Well everything for a start would be fitting.

"This... this is shitty as fuck," Alpheo muttered, snapping a page of parchment so hard it nearly tore. He turned it over, then flipped it back, rereading the same lines as if they might change under his glare. "What the hell did Sorza hope to rule after this war? Forget about us conquering them; they would have been wrecked for years even if we’d left them alone after the Bastion. He really sacrificed everything that was in the long term for some....short-term failures....".

Jarza, passing a weary palm over his head, gave a dry snort. "You are likely the only conqueror in history to rue his achievements before the blood has even dried on the grass". He turned his own page and sighed. "You could have turned back already, left the army to toil with the aftermath, and been halfway to a warm bed in Yarzat. Instead, you’ve hauled us into these halls to witness exactly how wretched your new land truly is."

"Wretched doesn’t even do it justice," Alpheo sighed, rubbing his eyes. "The land is overflowing with refugees, bandits, and wolves taking shots at lost children and the elderly on the road. ’’He sighed in anger as he turn a page and skimmed the summary at the end, ignoring at the grammatical mistakes the soldiers that he had sent had written. ’’ I mean look at this shit! Every ten villages that should have been replenishing the capital’s warehouses seven have been reduced to ash. Famine is literally a piss-away from raining down on us, and in some areas, the rotting dead are birthing sickness and disease. Gods curse Rykio; I told him specifically to spare the peasants".

"From the looks of it, he did," Jarza countered, gesturing vaguely toward the windows. "Take a look at your new city’s roads; they’re choked with refugees. Most of the others likely died from their own kinsmen turned bandit, or simple starvation. Besides, I don’t think any of us expected to be dining in an Oizenian hall quite so soon". He tossed aside one stack of reports to pick up another, equally depressing pile.

"Forget about dinner; there isn’t a blade of grass or a grain of wheat from here to the Zauern," Alpheo said. "We’ll have a mass starvation on our hands unless we move".

And indeed they were moving.

The wheels of Alpheo’s bureaucracy were already screaming into motion. Shahab had been deep in negotiations with the Romelian trade guilds, desperately facilitating the purchase of grain in massive bulks, often at prices well above the market standard.

Long lines of mules and groaning carts were already winding their way down from the Magna Strata, dumping their cargo at Aracina. From there, the grain would be sailed under the shadow of the Royal Fleet against the Sea pirates along the way, to Schom, then moved in heavily armed convoys to Oizen.

The sheer volume of coin required to keep Oizen afloat would bleed Alpheo’s coffers dry, that he was aware, but it was the lighter loss. Better to pay the price in gold and silver, and favors now than to lose decades of tax revenue and stability to a graveyard of his own making just because he wanted to spare a little silver.

"Well, the sausages, at least, aren’t bad," Jarza muttered, stuffing a mouthful of spiced meat down his throat and washing it down with a deep pull of wine liberated from the palace cellars.

The first few days of the occupation had been flavored by the simple pleasures of the victor. They had feasted, drank, and reveled in the impossible success they had pulled from the jaws of a hopeless situation. The celebrations weren’t lavish, portions were meager, consisting of boiled eggs, various pasta concoctions, and roasted game like larks and onions gathered from the nearby forests, but the euphoria of survival and the impossible victory they had pulled from the jaw of defeat made the simple fare taste like a banquet for the gods.

But the sweetness had evaporated the moment the scouts and auditors returned with their reviews. Pleasure had turned into a mountain of work.

"I’m actually envying the old man and Asag right now," Jarza said, leaning back into his silk pillows. "One is happy and warm back in Yarzat, and the other is leading men in the field. Meanwhile, I’m rotting in here, making mold with you, trying to decide which village is in more dire need of aid than the next."

"Well, our charity is unfortunately finite," Alpheo muttered, poking at a map of his new principality. "We’ll have to sacrifice some regions to save others. But as soon as the first batch of grain arrives, we can put the ’useless mouths’ to work. The old and the young can pull nets along the river; for the winter, fish will be the centerpiece of every plate. Fish and hope." he paused, a thought striking him. "Perhaps we could lend some Voghondai here to set traps in the forests."

"They don’t need to be warriors for that," Jarza mused. "We could command Torghan to settle a few hundred of his tribespeople here for a season to aid with the gathering. Even their women are quite the hunters. I discovered Malaya could rig traps for rabbits and deer by the third month of our marriage.Provided we gesticulated for most of that"

"No shit?"

"Not even the scent of it. They’ll be of great use. We should leave some of the auxiliarii here as well; they developed a nasty talent for hunting pick-offs during the war. They’ll be just as effective at hunting bandits now. Perhaps the newcomers would be better than the Voghondai though. I am sure they’ll be more at ease killing bandits than playing guards for the remaineder of their contract here.

Which remind me, we should also put a restriction in the forest for the common citizenry, I fear they will be crawling with them soon and won’t mind whetever the blood pooling on the grass or a bush is from a bandit or a farmer..."

"Well, you can’t exactly ask the Hounds to ride through a thicket, and I doubt our legionnaires can stalk silently enough to ambush a bandit camp without being spotted a league away," Alpheo added. "Very well, I’ll broach it with Torghan and let Lucius tends to the details. Perhaps I can even convince some of the local lords to marry their daughters to some renown warriors along with some lands from us. I owe them a reward beyond the loot anyway."

"You should," Jarza nodded, reaching for another spiced sausage. "They carried half the guerrilla effort on their backs. Exemplary hunters, it’s just a shame they aren’t better acquainted with numbers and ledgers. We could use their help with this nightmare."

Alpheo groaned, massaging his temples. "Don’t even start. I promised Sorza a hell of fire and nails, and here I am haggling over the price of Romelian barley and how many mules it takes to haul a sack over . And if that weren’t enough, I have to play host to our ’saviors.’ I swear, if Merelao comes in here asking for a celebratory hunting trip, I’m going to skin him and hang him as a trophy over the hearth.He has been more of a problem Sorza ever was."

"You could ask him for help with the administration..." Jarza suggested half-heartedly.

"I won’t even try. Merelao is a reliable man in a fight, he saved my skin twice in the thick of it, but he’s more interested in reciting poetry than counting copper."

"Well, poetry doesn’t fill bellies, and I think he’s long overstayed his welcome and his men. We would do good to cut the numbers of men to feed if nothing else." Jarza said, washing down his breakfast with a heavy swig of wine. "Should we suggest he find a new horizon?"

"Not yet. We still haven’t had ’the talk’ about the after."

"Is that so? You’re dallying, Alph?Not like you...."

"I’m a bit overwhelmed, in case you hadn’t noticed.I don’t have much time at hand right now, and that is a matter that will require both hands and feet."

"Well, feel free to drown in your own tears," Jarza remarked, gesturing to the lavish surroundings. "You wanted a principality, and here it is: half-burnt, starving, and currently smelling of wet dog and desperation if you’d bother to look behind the glory we made. But the wine is excellent. The Oizenians might be shit at war, but they have a divine touch with a grape. Is there more in the cellar?"

Alpheo shook his head. "That’s likely the last vintage any Oizenian will taste for half a generation." The royal family had maintained a lucrative trade in high-end wine, but the war had soured the harvest. "Rykio had a grand time putting the torch to everything. The wineries and graveyards were the first to go."

"Someone should tell him he’s carrying double the blame. While we weren’t looking, he made off with the lion’s share of the palace stock and shared it with his men.I recall there were orders of no looting. "

The prince sighed, staring out at the gray sky. "Some leeway must be given. The Hounds fought like beasts and were the key to this victory at many points during this war. If the price for Oizen is a few stolen barrels of wine, I’ll consider it a bargain.Plus they’ll do the lion’s work on securing this land, don’t you know?So I’d say they earned their a round of drunkness" He put his eyes on that of his friend. ’’And besides. That is what their founder taught them, are we to blame them if they behave as they were brought up?An apple doesn’t fall far from the tree....’’