I shift my spyglass from one ship to another, noticing the difference in the designs, and the flags. The green and blue ones belonging to Garapagos decorate a dozen galleons approaching from the right. At least twenty galleys carry the red triangular flag of Atister, and the number of frigates with the flag of Lotinen makes me wince. Has old Bawdrick gone mad, or does he not care about the fate of his son?

When have they even built those ships? All the shoreline kingdoms have been forbidden to build anything bigger than fishing boats for centuries now, ever since my ancestors have triumphed over them. We've held them in an iron grip. They're not even supposed to know how to build ships anymore. It should be a lost knowledge to them.

"All of them," says Sagaristio behind my back. "All of the six kingdoms have come. Some are approaching from the other sides of the island. Those poor fishermen who disappeared at Kartas must have run into them and were slain or captured so that they couldn't alert us."

He stands behind me, together with half a dozen of other high-ranking military officials that have followed me up to the tower. Now they're surveying the approaching fleet alongside me, occasionally exchanging somber looks.

I turn to look at Techo. It's his opinion that matters the most. He's the head of my fleet, while Sagaristio is responsible for the infantry.

"What do you say?" I ask him.

"Such a well-organized, joint effort," Techo says thoughtfully, looking through his spyglass. Then he lowers it to look at me. "We're outnumbered, but we have more experience in naval warfare. After all the time they've spent without a fleet --"

"How do they have one now?" I burst, unable to contain myself. "All of them at once? How come they have ships if we forbade it?"

"They've obviously disobeyed," says Sagaristio while others look uncomfortably away.

"We have suppressed Bawdick's attempt only a couple of months ago!" I point accusingly at the sea bristling with masts. "We have burned everything he had. They couldn't have built all this so quickly."

"We've burned everything along the shoreline," Sagaristio says slowly. "But they have large lakes, deeper inland, connected by the rivers to the sea. Mountains make them hard to reach. We didn't go deep."

I blink, processing the idea. Our raids have indeed been limited to the shore areas, smashing the capitals and the fishing industry, not going too deep inland. They could have built a fleet there, in the lakes hidden safely behind the mountains, and when they were ready, navigated through the rivers to join the others in a common effort to –

"They want to overthrow me." I squeeze my fists so that my fingernails dig into my palms. They wouldn't have tried this with my father.

Sagaristio shrugs. "You've jacked up their taxes."

"If they'd rather die than pay, it can be arranged." I glare at Techo. "Prepare for battle. We're not giving in, outnumbered or not."

He nods, a grim look on his face.

"Mobilize all the resources," I tell the others. "Allow women and children to evacuate to the countryside, but the men must protect the capital."

"They're closing round the island," says one of the men. "We can't protect every inch of the shore. If they decide to land, they'll find a place."

"Spread the people everywhere we can. Make sure any attempt to come too close to the shore will be spotted and reported. Have troops ready to send there." I turn to Techo again. "We can't let them land. Our advantage is in the sea."

He nods again, and opens his mouth to speak, but a sound of running feet interrupts us.

"My King!" A man bursts into the room, panting. He pauses, leaning on his knees, trying to catch his breath after running up the stairway. "My... King. A boat has reached our shores with... representatives. They're at the entrance to the palace now." He swallows. "They say they're here to announce their demands."

There's a pause as we all digest the information.

"Demands," I repeat. "They're dead for just using that word."

"Looks like they have landed already," Sagaristio says. "They're literally knocking on our door. Should we meet them in the great hall? There's no use in killing messengers before hearing them out."

The feeling of disbelief persists as we make our way down the stairs and to the great hall. Servants scurry about as I take my place on the throne. I take a deep breath and try to force myself to detach from all the hustle and the voices of the men behind my back, whispering to each other.

I must be calm and sharp. Yet I keep getting hot with rage one moment, and then cold with the realization that of all my predecessors, it's me who's ended up with this full-blown, massive uprising on my hands. What went wrong? Have I not done what I could to maintain what my predecessors have achieved?

"Quiet!" I roar, and everyone in the hall go quiet, although there're still sounds of voices, running feet and snickering of horses coming from the outside. "Bring them in!"

As the tall wooden doors draw open, I take a quick glance back to see that my generals are there. I find that not only they are, but we've also been joined by Emilio. He stands a little away from the rest, by one of the columns, and watches me, wide-eyed, terribly pale.

He has a good reason to worry. His presence was supposed to be a guarantee of peace, just like that of my other wives, and yet it did no good, apparently.

"Looks like your father doesn't care if you live or die," I say.

"I need to tell you something," he says, his hands clenched together so tightly his knuckles are white. "It's important."

"Shut up."

I turn away. There's no time for talking. In the doorway of the hall, three men appear.

They're dressed in white robes to signify their peaceful intentions. As they come closer, I note that they are also very old. Judging by their grey beards and wrinkled faces, they have not much left to live, which was probably the reason they were sent on this mission—given how unlikely they are to survive it.

They stop in front of the throne and bow to me, and then one of them steps forward, unrolls the parchment and begins to read.

I listen in disbelief. They want all the taxes lifted, and they want us to acknowledge the rest of the kingdoms as equals and not subordinates. They demand the return of all the stolen goods and people, and a monetary compensation for all the lives and property lost since the beginning of the 'conflict', as they call it.

I clutch the hand rests of my throne, my blood boiling. There's no 'conflict'. There's only a status quo. So far, they have always been able to pay, which means the imposed taxes weren't too high. The ungrateful fools. I'll show them.

I keep listening until the man reaches the part stating that to ensure my kingdom will remain peaceful, we will not be allowed to have a fleet for a hundred years.

"What?" I'm on my feet before I know it, shaking with rage, and the three messengers step back, startled. "Are you out of your minds? Did your masters really think I would accept this? Or any other of your preposterous demands?" I turn and point at Emilio who still stands by the column, looking at me with horror. "Tell Bawdrick that if he doesn't turn around, I will use his boy's head as a cannonball!"

The man with the parchment nods calmly. "His Majesty King Bawdrick has expected for you to make such threats. He and his Highness Prince Emilio grant you permission to dispose of the boy however you like."

"What boy?" I blink, confused. "Emilio...grants...what? He's right here!"

"Prince Emilio is currently with my King," the man says, and then, unexpectedly, a grin starts spreading slowly across his face, as if he can't quite suppress it. "His Majesty and his Royal Highness wish to express their hope that you've enjoyed the replacement."

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