Noble Schemes

The Princess’ Chamber.

The Royal Castle,

Riverville, Verum.

...

ALINA STARED INTO A LARGE oval mirror, reaching up to brush back a few strands of hair that managed to escape her grasp. Twirling the unruly lengths around her right index finger, she gathered them together with the rest of her hair before twisting the entire lock into a neat bun.

With two slight turns of her head, she inspected her handiwork, seemingly satisfied as she patted down the sides of the reddish mass. Then there was a knock on the door.

"Enter," Alina said, barely glancing at the maidservant who entered before turning back to begin applying powder on her face.

"Your fruit tray, your highness."

"Kayas?" Alina asked.

"Yes, your highness," the maid replied expressionlessly, ”picked rotten from the salty sea.”

Alina subconsciously glanced at the tray of fresh Gympie berries, diced pumpkin and mangoes in the maid’s hands before turning back to face the mirror. “Are they rotten?” she asked again.

“No, your highness, fresh from the castle’s gardens.”

“Then speak.”

“Yes, your highness,” the maid replied. “Captain Denner’s sent a letter. It says and I quote, ‘My services are available on request, Blackthorn, but I need to see more of your sincerity’. That is all, your highness.”

“Greedy fool,” Alina commented expressionlessly. “Tell him he is not getting a single coin more than we agreed on. If he is not willing to continue working for me, peacefully retrieve the advance I gave him and add it to my deposit. When that is done, I want him to vanish from the face of Anno, preferably a few days later. If he refuses to return the advance, kill him and his entire crew then and there and string their bodies on their ship's masts. Either way, the Creed can take its payment from my deposit. You should take the fruit tray with you on your way out.”

"Understood, your highness."

The door closed mutedly as Alina inspected her make-up one last time, turning her head this way and that to make sure she got everything right. Satisfied, she stood up adjusting the woollen shawl draped over her shoulder as she walked out of her chambers into the balcony.

As she stared out at the rest of the imposing castle underfoot a small smile graced Alina’s lips.

"Just a while longer, Alina," she murmured.

"It will all be over soon."

{COS}

Khule Town

Quilton

…

Sean slowed his horse into a pleasant trot as he and his men rode down the main road into Khule. He listened to the horse’s breathing slowly quiet as it regained its composure from the long, hard ride. It was a great horse, to be sure—with great stamina and even greater composure in battle. And while it wasn’t Duke Aden’s Black Betty which he had always coveted, it was still a very good horse.

As Sean and his retinue of knights rode down the road, the commonfolk observed them curiously. He knew news of their arrival had probably already spread to reach those in the upper echelons of the town but that was still probably for the best as their destination was already in sight.

The town’s Keep was very obvious from a distance. The structure itself was quite imposing, twice the height and thrice the width of the only two-thirds completed Greenfield’s Keep. Its ancient stone walls were covered in dead ivy and its ramparts were lined with a few carved gargoyles spaced equidistantly like guardians watching over the vast fields and stretches of buildings that surrounded the fort. Tall, foreboding watchtowers, many of which were littered with large arrowslits—the kinds one would expect to be armed with deadly ballistae—jutted up from along the wall's length.

It was a residence fit for a warlord or knightly prince. Or in this case, a particularly wealthy duke much unlike his honourable father. To be fair though, the Formats possess a heritage almost as old as the kingdom of Quilton itself, yet again, very much unlike his honourable father.

Soon Sean and his men came to a stop at the foot of the fort's mighty portcullis, thick iron bars barring entry into the structure. At the top of the wall was a line of guards warily watching them from above and armed to the teeth with bows, crossbows and even throwing spears.

Dismounting, Sean carefully approached the wall with his hands raised in a clear sign of submission.

“What do you seek, stranger?” one man, a knight amongst others, shouted from the top of the wall.

“You may call me Earl Sean of Algrian house von Grifenburg. I seek an audience with the noble Lord Tristan of house Format, the twelfth Lion of Khule,” Sean shouted back.

Atop the wall was a brief flurry of activity as the knights debated what to do. Behind him, Sean could feel the nervous energy wafting from his men gathered, but he ignored them as he instead waited patiently for what came next.

“You will come with us,” the knight above shouted to him a few moments later. “Alone.”

“Yes,” Sean agreed easily. Slowly, the iron gate was raised and even before it was halfway up more than two dozen armed men had already gathered at the other side.

“All of you will wait here till I return. Drake, you are in charge of the men, make sure they keep to themselves and not cause any trouble.” Sean said before walking into the keep. Despite expecting it, the iron gate fell shut with a rattling bang the moment he was on the other side, mildly startling him. Thankfully, he managed to conceal the emotion, keeping his expression blank.

“Follow me,” one knight, the same one from earlier said as Sean’s gaze met his.

Walking down an alien pathway into the keep’s main hall while surrounded by unfamiliar knights whom he would be unable to defend himself against should things go south sent a feeling of dread through Sean's mind, but somehow, he managed to suppress it.

Soon he was ushered into a rather large chamber and made to wait, standing whilst under the supervision of four-armed knights decked in steel armour. About thirty minutes later, after a display of utterly needless powerplay, his host finally arrived.

Lord Tristan was a large man, possessing one of the burliest builds Sean had had the privilege of seeing. Whilst appearing to be a bit lacking in grace compared to other knights his size, he most probably more than made up for it with sheer muscle mass alone. Draped around his massive build was a luxurious woollen coat decorated in delicate embroidery. The duke also wore a single solid black ring on his left index finger.

Lord Tristan calmly walked over to his seat without so much as a cursory glance at Sean up until he was seated.

“So you are that rumoured street urchin Duke Aden picked up a few years back,” the duke said as he turned a dismissive glance towards Sean, his tone languid. “I always wondered why he would choose a gutter rat over his trueborn son, regardless of how useless he is, as his heir apparent but I guess I see it now. I must laud you though. You have the guts, to even for a moment consider coming here today.”

Sean smiled faintly, not showing any tangible expressions on his face even as he suppressed the faint feeling of dread and bile that rose in his throat. “You honour me with your words, Lord Tristan,” he praised, appearing sincere.

“I know I do,” the duke replied, sounding unimpressed. “Now get on with it before I have my men throw you out.”

Once again Sean smothered his emotions perfectly. Showing anger would get him nowhere today. Instead, he went onto one knee as he opened his mouth to speak.

“As possibly the last living von Grifenburg,” he began, calmly enunciating each word, “on both my household’s and vassals’ behalf, I wish to forfeit von Grifenburg’s fealty to the Algrian crown and instead pledge our allegiance to you, Lord Tristan, and join your ranks as your vassals.”

Slowly, the duke’s eyes gained a bit more clarity as he carefully leaned forward in his seat. “And your lands?” he asked, his voice much rougher and lower in pitch than earlier.

“All yours, Lord Tristan,” Sean replied smoothly, “as well as the yearly tribute that formerly was sent to the Crown.”

The duke sat still, staring unflinchingly at Sean. “What do you want, boy? he asked at last”

“A vassal of my father, the Hera’s rebelled, forcing me and a handful of our men to flee Algrim. My beloved brother is probably already dead at their hands. I want Duke Hera’s and his entire household’s head as recompense. Also, I seek your protection for the rest of my men and my father’s remaining vassals. That we may shelter under the enduring shield that is your banner should the plague that is the Hertalean army spread north.”

The chamber was dead silent as Lord Tristan sat frozen in thought. Several moments went by before the duke suddenly rose to his feet and drew his sword.

“Kneel,” he said. Sean obeyed. The duke placed the shoulder on Sean’s right shoulder as he spoke.

“In the power vested in me, Lord Tristan of house Format, the twelfth Lion of Khule, Viceroy of Dhul, I name you Margrave Sean von Grifenburg, vassal of the Format household. You may rise as it is done.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Sean said as he rose to his feet.

“My knights will settle you and your men in. In a few days, I would raise an army to begin preparation to make landfall at Harlien where they will be until the winter ends. The Hera's heads, as well as Greenfields, will be yours by next spring. For now, I will sort out formalising the handover of Souville province. Not a word of this to anyone until I tell you to do so. You may leave.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Sean replied as he was escorted out of the chamber, leaving behind a pensive duke and his stoic guards.

'That went well,' he thought, feeling a small sense of accomplishment before ruthlessly squashing it. As he walked out of the main hall into the keep's outer bailey a rancid ambition began to slowly fester inside his heart.

'Maybe, someday,' he thought to himself as his gaze inspected the entirety of the keep, 'all this could very well become mine.

'Truly. This is a residence fit for a prince.'

Map(again)

Khule is on the top right(Just barely visible in green underneath the text Dhul)