"Your brother's impromptu diplomatic mission is a success."

Prince Peterby rested his mouth on his steepled fingertips while he concentrated. When he calculated his next move, he slid the chess piece and remained focused. His opponent, the greying King Wilhelm Tacitus II, however, expended less effort and relied on intuition and experience.

Attack and counterattack, the king removed one of the prince's black pieces, and the inequality widened. While the son studied the board, the father studied the son.

"Yes, I've heard," Prince Peterby muttered without looking up. "Wil stumbled into glory, once more. How much was his own effort, and how much was it Lord Walter's? I imagine he dreads mother's wrath, however, for inviting his mistress into the palace. She wished to make an arrangement with Rangville quickly, to match the ages of her grandchildren and the future children of Lord Walter and Lady Elin. She's been troubled after she learned she couldn't redirect Lady Elin's affection and Lord Walter wouldn't cheat."

"Do you disagree with their monogamy?"

"No, I admire it."

"As," King Wilhelm II nodded and delivered the next word slowly, "histrionic as your mother may be, I doubt there will be weighty consequences. His relationship with the Black Mage of Eovamund and the Rose of the Rapier improved. Our bloodlines might still merge, if not through his children, then through yours or your sister's. It seems our fears about Lord Walter's heroic qualms are unfounded, and I would very much like to meet him and entertain his fiancee."

Attack and counterattack, the prince lost another piece.

Prince Peterby leaned back and sunk into the cushions of his chair. For the first time during the game, the son examined the father.

At fifty, King Wilhelm II looked seventy. The gold crown rested upon smoothly combed white hair, and wrinkles dragged down his cheeks. His last battle severed three of the fingers on his sword hand. The injury, combined with the queen's nagging, ended his crusade. Prince Peterby knew foolhardiness did not blind his father; the king performed his required duties. Unable to fight, he uttered no complaints and carried on with political responsibilities.

Queen Vixandra often joked his gifts divided equally to their three children: his strength to Prince Wilhelm, his charm to Princess Roselynde, and his mind to Prince Peterby. While his children outgrew him in their respective talents, to his pride, they could not match him on the other two, to their mother's griping dismay.

"You still don't approve?" King Wilhelm II stroked his beard.

"Lord Walter's character," Prince Peterby used a metronomic and diplomatic tone, "remains to be seen. He uses magic, but has not applied for license to the Mage's University. He is untested, and, no matter how friendly, harmless, and well-trained a griffon might be, when you invite it to sit on your couch, it still crushes it."

"That is true. It is also why kings carve their thrones out of stone." Attack. "Checkmate. How often are you going to throw games for my sake, boy?"

Prince Peterby retorted with dryness, "When Wil listens to mother, and Rose stops chasing girls."

"Ah," King Wilhelm chuckled, "So never." The king's face grew serious again, and he looked at the prince. During the ratification of law and issuance of a royal decree, his father used the same stare. "I have a request."

When the king requested, one did not decline. To say 'no' interrupted the established authority, which weakened the country. His elder brother, the idealist, refused to observe this simple fact, so the burden fell to Princess Roselynde and himself to clean up his messes, to smooth ruffled feathers, and to keep faithful the chain of command and obedience.

The king exercised absolute power in the Wilmand Kingdom. He could, at any given time, issue any command, and denying, hesitating, or resisting that command would be treason. There were, at times, people executed for their refusals. The citizens, and most of the unseated nobility, referred to it as "Sitting on the law." They viewed the collection of charters and scrolls and books, filled to the brim with historical policy, as nothing more than a horse to ferry the king's will.

The ignorant often misconstrued the situation. No one man, no matter how powerful, could rule a country alone, solely with might. He needed guards, farmers, advisors, merchants, and, most vital at all, a way to compile factual information and remotely communicate his orders. Without the reliability of precedent and tradition, the citizens would not obey. Heroes tried and failed before, so what hope did a man have? Even Idrun Eovamund the First Paladin, the king from which all other kings claimed as an ancestor, established a court and delegated.

In this regard, Prince Wilhelm currently failed.

"I have arranged a marriage appointment with a Rangvillian lass. Please travel to the empire and interview her, and appeal to Lord Walter and Lady Elin for escort."

The artless timing bore down on Prince Peterby's mind. Prince Wilhelm risked his chances of having a legitimate son, so the redundant heir, himself, must seek a wife. The immediacy signaled, implicitly, the risk of the first born's bloodline discontinuation. There was such a thing as taking idealism too far, brother.

Despite Prince Wilhelm's hardheadedness, his bravery inspired others. The citizens sought leadership that protected their lives.

Prince Peterby did not inspire because he lacked a battlefield presence. Although he founded the Royal Spellswords, a group harder to regulate than conventional military, they obeyed him because of their stark viewpoint. They were assassins, spies, and saboteurs. These men and women fought without honor, the same way Prince Peterby schemed. The Spellswords killed for the Wilmand Kingdom, they often died in obscurity, and they agreed with Prince Peterby's philosophies and methods.

Sister Lora panted.

Their unexplained trip was completely and utterly irresponsible.

She hated scrubbing the floor, the work was backbreaking, but the child Laira deserved a clean home. If asked, then she couldn't claim to love Laira as a mother would, but she felt an aunt-like protectiveness. It saddened Sister Lora that Priestess Evelyn, the child's actual mother, visited infrequently, but this was healthier for the girl. Camp Wolf's nightly war with the undead would be traumatizing, and the Gaiatic Temple refused to reassign the priestess.

"I finished my letters. Can I go play?"

The nun looked up from her hands and knees to the girl sitting at the table. Her feet swung in the air, and the chalk she held filled her hand.

"Yes, but if you tear up my flowers, or dig up Lady Elin's garden, again, I'll tan your hide. You're a little girl, not a mutt, understand?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Laira hopped from her chair and sprinted out the door. She darted off, hoping Lord Walter handed out more candy. A clay pot tipped over out-of-sight, rotating from the momentum of a running girl, and shattered. Sister Lora rolled her eyes and sighed.

When Lord Walter and Lady Elin traveled to the Sanctuary, an unplanned trip, Lord Walter wrote a letter stating 'You're in charge.' When the supposed 'Black Mage of Eovamund' returned home, she boxed his ears for a solid hour. Sister Lora's wording was not, "If you want me to be the absentee steward of your land, then we must renegotiate our contract. Properly compensate me. Delegate to me the authority to make legal decisions." The actual verbatim beratement forced the wizard to tremble and apologize.

Lord Walter placed Sister Lora in a difficult position during that time. His letter made her blameworthy for the actions of the other charter signatories but lacked enforcement, so, backed into the corner, the nun fell back to intimidation.

Duan and Rabecca wanted to laze about, grow fat from overeating, hide in the woods, and smoke until their thoughts rotted; instead, Duan finished stacking half of the year's chopped firewood and shrub clearance, and Rabecca completed the spring cleaning. They now feared and respected her. If they could invent an excuse, then they left the nun's company with haste. Rabecca's behavior Sister Lora could forgive because the law forced her into slavery. Duan, however, Sister Lora planned to convince Lord Walter to release after his contract or drive off herself. He presented himself as a hard worker, then found ways to avoid attention and shirk his tasks.

Erik, the fast-talking rule-bending rogue, surprisingly, volunteered to help her and proved the most reliable, and even chuckled a bit at their deserved misfortune. When the larders ran low, he made the trips into town. Erik didn't ask for remuneration or complain. He quipped but did his part.

Sister Lora, now the de facto steward, kept Lord Walter working as hard as Duan and Rabecca. The dungeons swelled, so she made sure he cleared them. Letters arrived, typical fees and requests from the city for labor, so the nun hovered until the lord read and responded. Laira received at least one hour of reading education every day, as well.

Sister Lora needed boiled water to finish cleaning, so she dragged a bucket to the main house.

"What is this?" Sister Lora held up Lord Walter's rolled codex, tossed on the fireplace mantle.

"My," Lord Walter cleared his throat, "My--"

Sister Lora gripped him with both hands by the cheeks and stared into his eyes in such a way the shadow of her habit couldn't hide, "What did I tell you about leaving something so valuable unsecured?"

"S-sorry."

"Fix it!"

"Yes, ma'am!"

"Please go easy on him, Sister Lora," Lady Elin said.

When Sister Lora turned to Lady Elin, the deadliest warrior on the property, Lady Elin flinched and ducked her head.

"I shall tend to the weeds of my garden, once more," Lady Elin tip-toed outside.

When Lord Walter finished locking up the codex in the pantry, he sat and rested his hand on his mouth. A moment passed. He said, "I suppose I can't do it all, and I will probably get called away again. I need to fill out this household with experts and people we can trust."

The heavy bucket nearly slipped from Sister Lora's hands. Words from her past echoed in her head. 'I need experts and people I can trust.' Her frustration evaporated as quickly as the droplets she spilled onto the coals. For a little while, she avoided looking at him because she didn't want to imagine a prince sitting in the kitchen instead.

"That's a wise decision," Sister Lora mumbled.

Additional laborers entered the property. For now, Sister Lora assumed stewardship, and she agreed to a tentative rewrite of her contract. He exchanged several gold coins for piles of silver ones so that she could buy enough food for them.

It's annoying I can't spend gold coins. Rules are rules, I guess.

"Princess Roselynde or Prince Peterby could nominate a farmer for you."

"It has to be a specialist?" Lord Walter asked.

"By Gaia, no. Is this a joke? You can't trust just anyone to what meager arable land we have!"

One of the laborers caught her eye, a woman, tall and fit, attractive but not overly so, a hard worker, that kept to herself, but she said all the right things when she was present. This woman's eyes, like a basilisk's, touched everything on the buildings of the property: the rooves, edges of the field, and concealment. When she noticed Sister Lora, the woman flashed a disarming grin.

This woman moved to places no one used. The duping delight exposed her. Young and stupid.

Sister Lora ambushed her.

When no one could witness it, Sister Lora approached her from behind and kicked out a knee, then smashed her elbow into the back of the woman's skull. It wasn't enough to knock out the woman because Sister Lora's stature was too little to put force into the strike. The woman sprang up and slashed at the nun with a hidden dagger. The woman's reactions were snake-fast but not nearly quick enough for a viper.

Sister Lora stepped back and caught the woman's wrist, then slammed a forearm into the hyperextended elbow. The dagger dropped. The nun's next move, as smooth as flowing water, tucked her back into the woman's chest, bent over, and pulled her over her shoulder. The woman flipped over Sister Lora's head like a hatchet.

The woman slammed into the ground. Air compressed from her lungs as if a blacksmith jumped on his bellows.

"Did the prince send you?"

"You know I won't talk."

Sister Lora raised an eyebrow. Still holding the woman's arm, she hooked her thumb around a pinky and twisted it over the back of the woman's hand and down to the wrist. The cartilage tore. Before the woman could scream, Sister Lora kicked her across the teeth, then yanked the arm, with a clamped pinky, until the woman rolled onto her stomach. When the woman flailed, Sister Lora gripped the broken finger and wrist tighter, and the painful instruction locked the woman's body up. Agony taught impossible to ignore lessons.

Sister Lora's rested her shin and her entire body weight on the woman's shoulder. Tension built in the woman's elbow. The intent was clear. Something else was going to break.

"Wait! He didn't send me!"

"Why are you here?"

"It's just a welfare and security check! The prince is going to visit!"

"Why?"

"I don't know!"

When the increasing discomfort made the woman wiggle, Sister Lora tightened her grip. The woman trembled and nearly vomited.

"You're a fool."

"It's the truth! That's all I'm doing!"

"Ah. You're just cocky. You wanted to see if you could sneak onto the hero's property and impress Prince Peterby. Trust me, I understand. I'm sure he warned you to stay off the property, correct?"

"Wait..."

Sister Lora whispered, "I'm going to punish you now. If you scream, you die."

The woman's legs started to kick. "No! Please! I'm begging you! I'll leave. Isn't that enough? I learned my lesson! No!"

A loud pop and more tearing cartilage filled the air. Sister Lora stopped before she bent the woman's elbow backward over her thigh, magic could still repair it, but she didn't release the woman immediately. She put the point of the woman's disarmed dagger at the back of her neck. The Spellsword gagged herself by chewing dirt; whimpering leaked out between the mouthfuls of bloody mud.

The woman obeyed, so she lived. Sister Lora stood up and released the limp arm; it flopped to the woman's side.

"Go warn your collegues and apologize to the prince for doing something stupid. Get the fuck off Lord Walter's property. Disappear. Do not be seen leaving. This place is permanently off limits, do you understand? If you want to continue living, don't you dare come back."