"I must say, Alph," He began, bringing a silver cup to his lips with practiced ease, "your favoritism is becoming most unappreciated. Some, not me by the gods, might take offense, you know? Rules are set to be followed like the Father Protector’s own laws. What does it say to the rank and file when one man sees another go unpunished for pissing on the regulations?"

The Prince leveled a flat stare at his legate. "Guzzle your own piss, Jarza. You think I don’t know about your little branding operation with the new recruit? Am I blind now?"

"Just saying, Prince," Jarza muttered, leaning back. "No need to go for the low blows."

"Just saying, Legate, I pamper all my legions far more than I do my own lad. You are all equally loved, so there’s no need to squabble for daddy’s affection." Alpheo hid a smirk behind the rim of his cup, watching Jarza’s indignant expression soften.

"Speaking of that lad," Jarza said, his tone shifting. "Do you think he’s up to lending a hand to his old men? I think we truly need him in this mold-infested palace."

"Just because he isn’t here doesn’t mean he isn’t working. Who do you think has been dealing with the mountain of missives I’ve been receiving?"

Jarza’s eyes widened, and he let out a low whistle of disapproval. "Is that not a bit heavy a task for the boy? I did wonder why I had not seen him out in the sun all this time."

"You led him on your own leash for the majority of a war we all knew was wagering on our very existence," Alpheo countered. He refrained from adding that Jarza had brought the boy far too close to the frontline for his liking. He knew the legate would only remind him that Alpheo had been the same age when he rose up to strike his own chains away. But they were different; Alpheo had fought because he had no choice if he wanted to live, whereas Basil had the embarrassment of options.

"All the boy needs is to feel appreciated, and he will shine like a star," Jarza said with a weary, knowing smile. "Don’t speak as if you hadn’t seen his face after we found him sneaking along with the baggage train. He wasn’t trembling from fear, Alph,it was anxiety. He shies away into himself, thinking that if he reaches out, he’ll only be rejected. He’s prone to that, you know? Crawling into his own shell like a frightened turtle."

Well, while he feared rejection, I feared for his life, the Prince mused, washing his parched throat with a draught of water.

"Well, he got his wish, didn’t he?" Alpheo said. "Perhaps one day he’ll realize he was in a frantic rush to grow old. Becoming an adult is a work that requires the patience of the Weaver, and what do the young lack if not that? I trust reading and replying to the groveling letters of our newest vassals is enough ’appreciation’ for him."

"Speaking of our new ’friends,’ any trouble with them?" Jarza asked, his eyes sharpening. "I don’t think we can spare the men or the calories for another siege."

It was a sound worry. The food they had was barely a pittance against the looming starvation of Ozenia. A single rebellion would snap their overextended and brittle supply lines.

"I trust the sight of my riders traveling to their lands, carrying that light piece of paper signed by Sorza naming Yarzat the new sovereign, will keep them quiet," Alpheo said. He reached for a sausage and took a large, hungry bite. Almost immediately, his face contorted. He wrung his lips in distaste, the heat blooming on his tongue.

"Too much damn pepper," he growled, tossing the half-eaten meat back onto the silver platter as if it were a failed peace treaty. He washed the burn from his tongue with a heavy draught of water before leaning back against the silk. "How queer a thing it is, you know? A scrap of parchment that isn’t worth the weight to wipe one’s arse in a tavern can suddenly be as valuable as a chest of gold in other circumstances."

"You put too much stock in the wrong contributions, Alph," Jarza countered. "It is the steel we wield that is worth its weight in gold, not the ink. The same lords Asag is currently visiting, waving that declaration like a holy relic, are the same ones who were willing to swear a non-aggression pact with barely some weeks ago, throwing every obligation they had to their Prince into the dirt. This plan of yours was as mad as it was lucky. Had any of those lords found their spine, or had Sorza actually possessed the stomach for a siege, we’d be sitting on our arses in the snow, chewing on boot leather."

"One of the few times luck favored me, then,woe to those that do not take their chance. " the Prince said, a thin, pleased smile touching his lips.

"You’ve been holding quite the streak," Jarza noted, picking his teeth with a splinter of wood. "Still, none can say if it will hold. You have sent word, steel, and an invitation to every lord in the valley. A word of what happened at the Ford, a piece of steel to show them what befalls the stubborn, and an invitation to come and swear fealty in this new city of yours." He licked his lips. "What happens if any of them refuse? As I said, we cannot spare the men for a siege, let alone a dozen of them."

"Hopefully, it will not come to that."

"But if it does? What then, oh great conqueror?"

The Prince shrugged. "Why so much hurry? We are in no race. We just won the war of our lives; we can afford to take things calmly now." He breathed in the scent of roasted game and expensive wine and let out the pleased sound of a conqueror. "If any of them is dumb enough to refuse, next year we will kindly pay them a visit and ask what that was all about. Besides, who is truly that foolish? Sorza has deserted these lands, giving us the keys to the rule. There may be fools and madmen in Ozenia, but I do not think there are any mad fools left."

The Prince watched as the legate reached out and snatched the last half-bitten sausage from the platter. Jarza chewed thoughtfully for a moment before speaking. "If you ask me, you should have had an accident befall them while you had the chance. We only needed to kill the Prince. The brat of the Crownless, we could have left alive with a regency, Oizen would have been ripe for the picking then. Instead, we are left with the craven of the two brothers as a ’guest’. We could have put the man-child on the throne as our puppet and never worried about this border again. He would have fucked it up without us even lifting a finger."

"I gave my word that they would go safe," Alpheo said, his voice dropping an octave. "Would you have me impugn my own sworn oath? My honor?" He mimicked a sigh of theatrical surprise. "You wound me."

"You have many things, Alph. What you currently lack is a dumb friend’’

"All right, all right," Alpheo relented, waving a hand. "I don’t see why I would risk opening that box, especially since I could never close it again. There are still some laws I do not dare broach in the open light of day.

It is a useful thing, you know, having people willing to negotiate with you. What happens the next time I invite a neighbor to parlay after I’ve butchered the previous one? Besides, he paid a fair bill and signed what needed signing. Why break a contract that’s already been settled?"

"Some contracts are written in ink, others in blood. Of the latter, the Crownless Prince did not pay in full. You should have claimed a pound of flesh from him at the least." A stray flake of pepper stubbornly clung to Jarza’s lip; he wiped it away with a rough finger.

"I made you a legate to lead men and a lord to counsel me, not to pour evil notion into my ear. That is already Lucius’s job," Alpheo remarked.

"Just saying," Jarza insisted. "Had it been me, I would have had the bitch killed, fucked by Voghondai and made to eat his own cock.Thousands are dead on his account. Do I need to say more?"

"No, I think you’ve made your point with your usual lack of subtlety," Alpheo replied. "The fact is, when you squash a cockroach, you have to clean the floor or you’ll just invite rats and ants next. When I do something, I make sure my hands come out clean.’’ He wiped his pepper-filled hands on his silk clothes. Luckily they were black. ’’There are more important pests to deal with than Sorza. He wasn’t the only one who marched into our lands, was he? I’d sooner tend to those who are still standing than kick an already half-dead dog. One has to climb the ladder of vengeance one rung at a time, no?Too an ambitious steps and you fall down biting your own tongue.

Trust the process friend, will you?When have I failed in that?"