A large crowd had gathered in the square before the palace entrance. Hemmed in by mercenaries, the people looked around nervously. Accompanied by Galdar, Setia stepped onto the stairs and raised her hand to signal that she wished to speak. The crowd fell silent after a moment, and all eyes turned toward Setia.
"My name is Setia Alena Kazarro," she said in a resonant voice, observing the crowd and their reaction. "I am the widow of Prince Tendred—who was treacherously poisoned by the usurping regent Aktis because he was the rightful heir to King Maler. The throne belongs to me by right, for I carry Prince Tendred's child in my womb." At that moment, she instinctively touched her belly. "It was for my unborn child's right to this throne that I had to fight. Until now, the lack of strong leadership has weakened Fenigrid." "A great threat is looming, however; the Equerds are uniting their forces to seize all of Hadgard." She paused briefly; silence reigned over the square. "Today, some of you resisted my troops. I will not punish anyone for defending their own home, for you were misled. I am no hostile invader; I am your only defense against the threat from the north." Setia's voice grew in strength. "Eight lords have already acknowledged my sovereignty, and Lord Fladmor will become a royal advisor. My army has no intention of looting or pillaging your homes, nor of violating your women. This army merely helped restore order in Fenigrid. I repeat: I will not punish those who fought in defense, but I will punish rebels and their families. We have no need for internal strife; go home, tend to your wounded, and mourn your fallen. Starting tomorrow, we will begin rebuilding Fenigrid to make it a mighty city."
Silence fell over the square. People glanced at one another and slowly left the area—at first in silence, though soon hushed conversations could be heard. The coming days will reveal the impact of her speech.
***
Gorsep sat in his chamber, drinking—goblet after goblet. He needed time to erase that terrible event and the accompanying guilt from his memory and heart. He sought to drown them out with a wine boasting strong fruity notes. When the bottom of the carafe became visible, Gorsep rose and, with an unsteady gait, started toward the door to summon the servants—only for the door to swing open on its own.
His father's broad-shouldered figure filled the entire doorway. Hadbel entered, closed the heavy oak door, and sat down without a word at the table by the window. After standing motionless for a moment, Gorsep opened the door again.
"Wine!" he roared into the corridor, slamming the door for effect. Then, steadying himself against the wall, he took the seat opposite his father.
"It's good to see you, Dad," he slurred. "I'd offer you some, but as you can see, I've run out." With a miserable expression, he lifted the carafe and tipped it; a few drops spilled onto the table.
"I'd talk to you, but you're drunk," his father sighed. "There will be time for that tomorrow, once you've sobered up. No more wine for today. Know this, though: you aren't the only one who has felt the loss of a child." Hadbel rose from his seat, his expression grave.
"Yes, but there's a difference between a sickness you can't control and a killer who destroys your family right before your eyes," Gorsep said, his voice sounding strange and unlike his own. "Death is death, no matter how someone dies. A void is always left behind when a loved one passes." Hadbel wanted to say more but stopped himself; he felt that remarks about Dagrana and his son's feelings would be out of place right then. He left, abandoning Gorsep lying on the table. Outside the door, he intercepted a servant carrying wine and took it with him.
The day greeted Gorsep with brilliant light; it was well past noon by the time his mind stopped being hazy. A pounding in his head made itself painfully felt, his bladder was full, and his throat was parched. When he rose, a dizzying spin set in; his head refused to steady itself. Nausea washed over him; summoning his last reserves of willpower, he stumbled to the chamber pot hidden by the bed and vomited—partly onto the floor. It helped. He had a hazy memory of his father's figure; so, the sly fox had arrived after all. Everything was supposed to be perfect for the visit, and instead—well, it was a total disaster. A pitcher of water and a basin sat on the bedside table; Gorsep washed his face, decided to change into clothes that looked less "lived-in," and relieved his bladder. When he entered the study, his father was already there. He was sitting in the seat reserved for the king, reading letters.
"Greetings, Father," Gorsep said, standing in the doorway.
"Oh, hello," Hadbel said, barely looking up from the document he was reading. "You're up already?"
"As you can see," Gorsep said, feeling his anger rising. "And since I'm here, get out of my seat and put down my letters."
Hadbel looked at his son; a furrow appeared between his bushy brows, and the letter he had been holding landed on the table.
"So, you're done feeling sorry for yourself and are returning to your duties?" There was a hint of mockery in his father's voice. "Remember, the world abhors a vacuum; if you vacate a position, there will always be someone eager to step in."
"Thank you for the wise counsel, Father, but my legs are aching, and I'd like to sit down."
Hadbel smiled and slowly rose from the seat, which Gorsep immediately took, glancing at the document out of the corner of his eye. He recognized the Prenian seal at once and felt a sickening knot form in his stomach. He unrolled the letter and began to read avidly. His headache intensified. His fears had been realized: Prenian was backing out of the agreement.
"Have you read it?" he asked his father.
"Twice," Hadbel replied. "It arrived this morning." Hadbel walked over to the window and, without looking at anything in particular, spoke to his son: "What do you intend to do, King?"
Gorsep looked at his father's silhouette, backlit by the sun. He had always seemed so imposing—the ruler of the Equerds, a lord and great commander.
"I shall bring my former father-in-law to heel," he said after a moment's reflection.
"And how?" his father asked.
"By force."
"What about Fenigrid?"
"This year won't make a difference. I need to get my own house in order before I start cleaning up elsewhere."
"You're right, and yet you're completely wrong. — Hadbel sat down across from his son, who looked at him with undisguised surprise. — You see, son, Fenigrid is under a new ruler."
"What do you mean, new? Who conquered Fenigrid?" — Gorsep planted his hands on the table and leaned toward his father.
"Duchess Setia Alena Kazarro—widow of Tendred, son of Maler, the former ruler of Fenigrid. — Gorsep's mouth fell open in surprise; Hadbel settled back more comfortably and folded his hands over his massive belly. — It seems I underestimated your little fling. That ambitious mercenary has been on the throne for two weeks now, and she immediately set to work rebuilding Fenigrid."
Gorsep fell silent. He had actually guessed her plans, but he hadn't expected them to be put into motion so quickly.
"So, we don't have a year." — He said this more to himself than to his father.
"No. — Hadbel confirmed. — A month ago, marching into Fenigrid would have been a walk in the park; now, we need a larger army and must prepare for certain resistance. Unless... — Hadbel scratched his chin uncertainly, and Gorsep studied him more closely. — ...unless you can come to an understanding with that mercenary. Now that Dagrana is gone…" — Hadbel decided not to finish the thought; he feared his son's reaction.
Gorsep remained silent, his gaze fixed on the tabletop; when he looked at his father, he could not suppress a laugh—a loud, joyful laugh.
"Why not, Father? I seem to be a merchandise you trade with better than a market woman from Bazaldia with her goods.," he added, still laughing. "And to think that a few years ago, Setia was nobody to you."
"Well, son, a ruler must be flexible," Hadbel replied with stoic calm. "Why spill blood unnecessarily? Let us save our strength for Bazaldia. Besides, the girl is a warrior and has a knack for ruling. With a woman like that by your side, you will be able to hold Hadgard and found a new dynasty."
"And what about Gemor?" Gorsep asked, his laughter subsiding.
"Gemor won't go to war; we'll deal with that state after taking Fenigrid." Hadbel stood up, adjusted his clothes, and walked toward the exit.
"There's still Prenian; we need to raise an army..."
"The army is already raised, son," Hadbel interrupted. "Eight thousand Equerds are marching straight for the Prenian border, awaiting our arrival."
Gorsep stood up; he no longer felt like laughing. His father was always one step ahead of him.
Fuck.