When the word finally rang out, the gravity of their predicament dawned on everyone at the table. Even Edric, who moments ago had seemed nearly jovial at the prospect of adding Kakunian banners to their tally, felt the air in the tent turn stagnant.

The Prince of Yarzat had made a shadowed deal with Merelao, reassured him of the sanctity of trust , and then thrusted a dagger at his back.

"Does he know?" asked the Legate of the Crown’s Hounds.

Basil had heard the whispers of that mission from Jarza.

He had led the specialized unit that snatched the Bastard of Kakunia in plain view of his own army,a masterstroke of an ambush that had effectively decapitated the snake, leaving the rank-and-file to watch powerlessly as their prize was spirited away. It was the abduction that had, in many ways, won the majority of the war before the final blow was even struck.

And yet as grand as that victory was , Basil wondered if they had left a trail.

"I should be the one asking you that," Alpheo said, turning his hazel gaze toward the Legate. "Did you leave anything behind but corpses?"

"When we took the boy, we rode straight for the retrieval point as planned," the Legate replied, his voice steady as if he had naught to hide. "We didn’t linger for a chat."

"And the rest of the army?" Jarza interjected. He held up a hand to cover his cup as Dorian, the Prince’s young squire, moved to refill it with wine. Basil had almost forgotten the boy was there. When Dorian caught Basil’s eye, he bowed his head, before going to serve his uncle.

Jarza leaned forward. "I am sure those men had a word or two to say after they lost their Prince’s only son under their very noses."

"Half a week later, my men rode them down under the cover of a moonless night," the Legate explained, his shoulders shrugging under his mail. "They were uncoordinated, broken by the loss of their ward. It was an easy enough task to scatter them. I expect most turned to banditry or died in the ditches. I can’t swear that some small pocket didn’t find safe harbor elsewhere, but we did what could be done."

"I wouldn’t dream of finding fault in your work," Alpheo reassured him, though his voice lacked any real warmth. He reached up, his fingers absentmindedly brushing the dark, coarse beard that was beginning to sprout along his jawline.

His father had a habit of stroking the hair when his mind was churning through a dozen different disaster scenarios at once. Basil also knew that the beard’s days were numbered; his father would undoubtedly have to find a razor before they crossed the border home.

Mother had dropped enough sharp hints over the years to make it clear she preferred the Prince clean-shaven, and his father always abated to most of his mother’s wishes.

The secret for an harmonius marital life perhaps.

Still, whether the Prince blamed the Legate or not was inconsequential; the trouble had arrived on his doorstep regardless. If Merelao arrived with his host and discovered that his "allies" were the ones who had vanished his coz, the coming battle at Diroli wouldn’t be against Sorza, it could very well be a three-way slaughter in the mud.

He most certainly had the mind for such a thing.

"So, does he know, or does he merely suspect?" Asag asked, his voice taking advantage of the silence.

"He suspects. But it wouldn’t be foolish to say that if he has any wits at all, he already knows the shape of the truth," The prince replied, letting out a long tired sigh that spoke of bone-deep weariness.

"Well, he is often known for taking leave of his wits," Edric noted with a dry smirk. "Perhaps we could make use of that. Coax him into believing a different—"

He tried to press the point, but Alpheo’s voice rose, heavy and resonant, bulling over him before the thought could take flight.

"I suggest you learn from the mistakes of Prince Lavus," Alpheo said, his eyes narrowing. "Merelao may be eccentric, he may even have a few screws loose, but the man is apt. He defeated a host twice his size by leading from the front, and according to Marcus’s latest reports, his ranks have swelled. Lords and freeriders alike have found reason alike n to march under his banner. Say what you will about the man but he is charismatic.

More importantly, he has the complete loyalty of his men. It would be foolish to treat him like a child. He has a sharp mind for warfare, and he is advised by men who do not hold us in the highest regard. He will have every reason to lean into those biases now."

"I didn’t mean it like that," Edric muttered, shifting back.

"Just... do not underestimate him. That is all," his father sighed. "We’d be fools to think we can half-ass this, but greater fools still to refuse him. We need his swords, plain and true. We just have to ensure those swords are never turned toward us."

His father’s hand went back to his budding beard, his fingers tugging at the coarse hair.

Gesture of a man perhaps realizing that keeping the Bastard of Kakunia as a captive and giving it back to his father, might not have been the most prudent move in the long game.

But had he not done that who knew whetever Asag would have held long enough.

"Luckily for us," Alpheo continued, "he is a man who likes to be pleased and challenged. A man of many tastes and, occasionally, a very short attention span. We should make use of that. If we can gouge his interest, we can divert his attention away from the things that trouble us." He reached for his cup, which Basil knew held only water, and gulped it down as if trying to wash away the taste of the politics. "Perhaps he is more interested in the glory of another battle than in digging for a truth that brings him no joy. Whatever the case, we must limit his chances for the second."

Alpheo turned his gaze "Rykio, see to it. Keep your men away from the Kakunian camp as much as possible. I want no ’friendly’ gambling, no shared casks, and certainly no loose-tongued boasting about the abduction. Give your Hounds a shared story, a simple one, and make sure they stick to it if they’re cornered. I believe they can be trusted with that?"

Rykio straightened "Without a doubt, Your Grace. My men may be rough, and they may be killers, but they are not turncloaks or rats among them. They know how to hold a secret as well as they hold a line. If a Kakunian asks about the boy, they’ll get nothing but a blank stare and a shrug."

"See that they do," Alpheo murmured. "One link in the chain breaks,and the whole alliance snaps with it.With us fucking in it."

Probably his father didn’t mean that way.

"How exactly do we manage that?" the Lord of Bracum asked, his white beard twitching as he took a deep draught of wine, the crimson liquid staining the whiskers around his lips.

"Perhaps my dear spymaster could share a word on the matter?" the Prince suggested, turning his gaze toward Lucius.

The blonde man gave a singular, sharp nod. "Marcus has been most apt in his role. He has compiled a comprehensive list of the Prince’s inclinations, his various appetites and his few distastes. He is, as Alpheo rightly noted, a man of expansive likes and a notoriously short attention span.

With so many beauties in the world, he constantly finds his ship sailing one way or the other, rarely anchoring in one port for long. However," Lucius paused, his eyes scanning the table, "as I am assured you already know, he is a fervent lover of martial skill."

"That be the case I can take the bull-cub on that front," He received a nod of grim appreciation from the Prince and another silent refill of wine from his nephew.

"He also found a particular appreciation for the halberd during his last visit, if memory serves," Asag offered, shifting his weight. "Perhaps some of my veterans could test their mettle against him? He’d enjoy the sweat and the ring of steel."

"That can be arranged," Alpheo agreed. "Anything else, Lucius?"

"He is a man of vast, yet surprisingly refined appetite," Lucius continued, his voice as smooth as polished bone. "He has expressed a particular fondness for our Southern cuisine in the past. A welcoming feast would go far to dull any sharp questions he might have brought with him. But perhaps most important of all... he likes to be tested. He likes to be challenged, be it with cold steel or... with words."

As the last word left Lucius’s lips, he didn’t look at the generals or the Prince. He turned his head slowly, his pale eyes settling directly on Basil. It didn’t take long for the rest of the table to follow suit. One by one, the heavy, expectant gazes of the most dangerous men in the South landed on the boy.

And to his turn, Basil knew exactly what his father expected of him.

At last something that he could fulfill.