January 17, 1641

Washington, D.C.

United States

The gentle hum of the guest house’s air conditioning was the first thing Cabal noticed as he stirred from his sleep, a stark departure from the natural breezes of the Imperial Palace’s windows left ajar. A soft melody filled the air, sounding nothing like the grand orchestras of Ragna. The ‘alarm’ was soothing; calming, even. Cabal took a deep breath, letting out a quiet sigh as the reality of his new surroundings seeped in with the morning light that peeked through the curtains.

Sitting up, he surveyed the room – functional, with a touch of elegance, but lacking the personal touches and history of his own chambers back home. It was another reminder, if he needed one, of how far they had come and how much they had left behind. Shaking the grogginess of sleep and rubbing his eyes, he reached for the plastic water bottle on the nightstand beside him and took a swig.

He rose, pushing away the fabric from his skin as he made his way to the window. Pulling back the curtains, he was met with the view of Washington D.C. coming to life. It was a scene so different from the sprawling skyscrapers and vistas of the Gra Valkas Empire, yet here he was, expected to navigate this foreign landscape as if it were his own.

As he dressed, selecting from the clothes provided – practical, devoid of the regal accouterments he was accustomed to – he couldn’t help but reflect on the day ahead. The breakfast gathering with his father and the others would be the first of many such meetings, no doubt. A chance to discuss strategies, yes, but also an opportunity to gauge how everyone was adapting to this new chapter of their lives.

He caught his reflection in the mirror as he adjusted his collar and brushed his teeth. The face that looked back was familiar, yet unlike the youthful Crown Prince of the Empire that he once knew mere weeks ago. He offered himself a curt nod, a small attempt to motivate himself.

Stepping out of his room, Cabal braced himself for the day ahead. He walked downstairs, the hum of the air conditioning fading into the background, replaced by the soft murmur of voices as he made his way to join the others. The smell of bacon and freshly brewed coffee guided him toward the dining area. The familiar aroma was a small comfort in a world that had become anything but. As he entered the room, he found his father seated at the head of the table, his posture regal even in exile. Pastall and Kurtz were also there, looking like they had barely slept.

“Good morning,” Cabal greeted, his voice steady as he took his seat. The table was laid out with a spread that, while lavish by most standards, felt foreign to them. They were used to the elaborate feasts of Ragna, where the clinking of fine silverware and the murmur of courtly conversations filled the air. Here, the atmosphere was subdued, the conversation more tentative.

His mother nodded in acknowledgment, his eyes meeting Cabal’s. “I trust you slept well,” she said.

Cabal offered a small, reassuring smile. “Well, it’s not the royal chambers, but it’s something.” He reached for a piece of toast, trying to find some semblance of normalcy in the act

Lux stirred his coffee and looked up. “This quiet… it’s unnerving. Back home, the mornings were filled with the city’s life, the people. Here, it’s just silence.”

Pastall leaned back in his chair and glanced around the table. “Never thought I’d miss the sound of Ragna’s morning bells,” he mused, rare nostalgia seeping through his normally stoic demeanor. “The quiet here is indeed… different.”

Kurtz wiped his mouth with a napkin before adding softly, “It’s the little things, isn’t it? Though, I can’t imagine how much more stressful it is for Karlmann and Siegs.”

Or Gesta, Cabal thought. The director of their foreign affairs apparatus was one of the key staff who hadn’t escaped with them. He never expressed his sentiment as a Dove, so he was sure he’d be fine, but his protege, Cielia, was rather outspoken. Hopefully, she wouldn’t have to worry about anything more than Dallas replacing her position, if Marix even cared for the state of foreign affairs at this point of the war.

Cabal swallowed a piece of bacon as he listened in. It tasted great, throwing away all of his preconceptions. Something as simple as meat from a pig seemed to taste better than a fair amount of extravagant dishes back home. “This upheaval has cost us dearly; we’ve all lost something,” he said in response to Kurtz’s comment. “But in loss, new possibilities emerge. We must find our place here, learn from our hosts, and carve our future.”

“And what future do you envision from this, Cabal?” Lux inquired. The way he said it made it seem like a test of his vision and resolve; not simply a question out of curiosity.

Cabal met his father’s challenge head-on. “Opportunity. The Americans did not rescue us for intelligence; they have all the intelligence they need. If their history is any indicator, they need us for the new Gra Valkan government. Thus lues our opportunity: a platform to share our narrative, to distinguish ourselves from the shadow of Marix’s ambition. It’s a chance to redefine the legacy of our empire.”

“Redefine, yes,” Pastall added on with a cynical tone, “but under the Americans’ terms. What good is our legacy if predetermined by another? What good is our future if not carved on our own? Their military cannot be beat and we have no leverage for negotiations. We made a mistake and now can see only one end to this war – unconditional surrender and the installation of a… puppet. Have you studied what the Americans did to a nation on their world, the nation of Imperial Japan?”

Lux folded his arms, answering before Cabal could even open his mouth to respond. “Reclaiming my throne is one aspiration, but the precedent set by Hirohito is not lost on me,” he conceded. “Should the Americans propose a ceremonial role, I’d embrace it for the greater good of our people.”

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

Pastall slunk back in his seat, nodding. He recognized the honor of Lux’s concession – it took strength to step down from power; strength to favor humility over pride.

Cabal set down his utensils, contemplating the parallels of their situation with Earth’s history. “Look at Japan’s resurgence after their crushing defeat – a mere few decades, and they emerged as a global military and economic force. A similar revival may very well happen to us; patronage under the Americans needn’t strip us of our glory.”

He watched as his father stared at the empty plate before him, breaking the silence. “Well, let’s see what our hosts have prepared for us.”

They walked to the adjacent room where Protocol Officer Elaine Mercer awaited them. The briefing area was utilitarian, designed for function over form but had some modest aesthetic touches. Mercer greeted them with a professional nod. “Good morning. We have a full agenda today,” she said, her tone businesslike.

As they settled into their seats, Cabal glanced at the documents in Mercer’s hands – a detailed itinerary of meetings and briefings. She began, “Your first meeting is with the Bureau of Political-Military Affairs at the Department of State. They’re keen to understand your perspective on the current situation in the Gra Valkas Empire, and are willing to provide updates on the ongoing conflict.”

Since their rescue, they hadn’t been able to keep informed on the war. The devices in the house were of no help, either, despite their efforts to connect to a news channel the night before. It was enticing; something that the Americans knew they’d jump at. But there were other concerns, and his father recognized them.

“And our standing in this place?” Lux asked, his voice firm. “Are we esteemed guests, captives, or perchance something more… ambiguous?”

Mercer met his gaze. “For now, consider yourselves protected persons. Refugees seeking asylum, if you will. That aside, you’re under our protection.” Her assurance was diplomatic, yet it left room for interpretation. Cabal noted the subtle nuance; it was just another point of evidence that confirmed his suspicions about the Americans’ plans for them.

“As for security,” she continued, turning to a page in her binder, “you’ll have a detail from the Diplomatic Security Service with you at all times. It’s for your protection, given the… delicate nature of your presence here.”

Pastall shifted in his seat, a frown crossing his brow. He was clearly uncomfortable with the notion of being under constant watch, even if to protect them from the Elysians around here. His mixed reaction of understanding and barely concealed frustration was relatable, a sentiment Cabal shared yet chose to mask behind a veneer of diplomatic composure.

Mercer straightened her papers. “Let’s discuss your schedule. Today, we’ll divide our approach to ensure each of you can engage where your insights will be most valuable.”

She first addressed Lux and Cabal together. “This morning, both of you are scheduled to visit the Bureau of Political-Military Affairs. The bureau combines elements from the Department of State and Department of Defense – our branches for foreign affairs and the military. It’s a vital meeting, as your insights into the Gra Valkas Empire’s governance and the recent changes are invaluable to our understanding.”

It sounded like it could be an interrogation. “And the nature of this engagement?” Lux asked, sharing Cabal’s unspoken concerns.

“It’s a dialogue,” Mercer replied. “An opportunity to share your insights, which could prove crucial in understanding the current dynamics within your nation. We won’t force cooperation, but it would be in your – and your country’s – best interest.”

Though it was meant to be a reassurance, the word choice made it appear to be a veiled threat. Nothing he didn’t expect from the Americans already, Cabal thought. It aligned with the saying that they had come to associate these people with: speak softly but carry a big stick.

Mercer then turned her attention to Pastall. “Chief Pastall, given your military background, you’ll join the latter part of the meeting at the Bureau, where the focus will shift more towards military affairs.”

Pastall’s brow furrowed. “What is there to discuss that you don’t already know? Is there something you haven’t yet figured out? Or perhaps your logistics are stretching thin and you need to probe for weaknesses?”

Mercer gave him a firm response. “Make no mistake, Chief Pastall, our capabilities allow us a comprehensive view of the battlefield. This discussion is less about uncovering new targets and more about understanding the implications of current strategies. Our goal here is to minimize unnecessary casualties on your side while achieving strategic objectives. Even if the war has one outcome, we’d prefer not to reduce the working-age population of the Gra Valkas Empire too drastically.”

Mercer’s tone, though respectful, left little room for doubt about the Americans’ capabilities. The underlying message was clear: cooperation was in the best interest of the Gra Valkan side if they wished to navigate this conflict with minimal loss. Cabal shuddered to think of the losses the Americans were capable of inflicting. It was a thinly veiled threat, one that an industrial nation of their standing was certainly capable of understanding. He shuddered to think of the losses incurred during Earth’s Second World War, and how much worse the devastation could be given almost a century’s worth of a technological gap.

Pastall simply nodded, remaining silent. Mercer continued, detailing the afternoon plans. “After lunch, we’ll split into more specialized discussions. Your Majesty and Your Highness will have separate sessions with the Department of State, the Office of the Director of National Intelligence, and the Central Intelligence Agency. These will carry on throughout the rest of the week and will more closely cover diplomatic relations and the potential for your involvement in future governance structures.”

“For you and your staff, Chief Pastall,” Mercer added, “the afternoon will involve a briefing at the Pentagon with the Joint Chiefs of Staff alongside intelligence personnel. They’re eager to discuss the Gra Valkas Empire’s military posture and any strategic initiatives you were part of.”

Mercer then outlined the broader scope of their visit. “Over the next few days, we’ve arranged meetings with various other departments and intelligence agencies, like the ODNI and CIA, to gather and share intelligence that could be beneficial for both sides.”

Cabal scoffed internally at the mention of ‘both sides’. The United States would receive all the benefits, while the only benefit to be received by the Gra Valkas Empire was, frankly, a way to lose the war while losing as little as possible. A truly lopsided deal if he had ever seen one, but nothing he could argue against given the hole Marix had dug themselves into and the lack of leverage they had.

She concluded things succinctly and rather bluntly, “As I stated earlier, we won’t force cooperation, but you’ll find that cooperation is the best alternative. Your transportation is waiting outside. We’ll depart in fifteen minutes.”