Arnold

The war room echoed with the strategies of the commander. Benedict let out a sigh as his eyes scanned the ceiling for any kind of distraction. The sigh grew and grew until it turned into a full on groan. The Lord dropped any sort of mask he had begun to wear for the sake of those in the war room, letting his displeasure be known. The Commander stopped and looked at him, the aged man remaining calm despite the outburst.

“Lord Corvidrop?” he inquired.

“I just don't understand why we keep coming to these meetings when we can't even figure out the numbers we're going up against," Benedict said. “Our militia is untrained, our levies remain deployed, and what limited wizardry we have access to has to remain as hidden as possible to prevent the Capital from finding out about our deception! I want to hear from anyone in this room who has fresh idea that does not involve more political parlay or… Or additional troop training.” The room was silent for a time until eventually another adviser spoke.

“My Lord, we could send in the Ravenguard. They may have the capacity to take out the Sire without alerting his Jesters,” he said.

“No,” the commander responded, “We do not know how thorough the spy network of Dilyniant is. We have to assume that everyone that steps into his court is thoroughly vetted and known. Sending in an agent simply won't do.”

“Well, what about paying off the adventurers?” another adviser asked. “Surely the power they hold could aid us in our efforts?

“That won't work either,” the Commander said. “First and foremost the adventurers that hold the walls to the south are paid through Royal coffers. We do not have the money to get them to switch sides and on top of that, if we did pull the adventures from the southern wall, we would have no good defense against any sort of magical beast or entity that came stumbling into our territory.” Benedict groaned again, the noise equally as loud but no less obnoxious.

“So what are you saying Commander?” he asked, running a hand through his hair. The Commander's gaze settled on the young lord.

“What I am trying to tell you is that unless our levies are returned to us and the Sire’s wars won, we will have to play our cards incredibly carefully. Any sort of independence from his rule is going to have to come either with a long and bloodied rebellion, or the total breakdown of the King's mental state enough for the noble houses to recall him. I don't think any of us want the former and I doubt any of us have access to tools that may bring the latter. Every soldier we have in the city must remain to defend it should the King decide to go back on his word. We cannot trust him.” the Commander lectured.

Just then a courier burst into the room, drawing all eyes to turn to him.

“What is the meaning of this?” the Commander huffed. “Can't you see we're busy?” The courier huffed and wheezed, holding up a missive.

“Lord Corvidrop, this just flew in from the main gate. The Prince has arrived,” the boy said.

“The Prince?” the Commander stammered as whispers broke out along the table. Benedict leaned forward in his seat.

“Did he come alone?” The Lord questioned. The courier looked over the missive once more before nodding.

“Yes, my Lord, he only came with his Custodi and some others in a stagecoach, the coach of Lord Nerrel. No soldiers and no escort.” the courier reported.

Benedict stared at the corridor for a moment before leaning back in his seat. A snicker started to form that quickly erupted into laughter, setting the other members of the war room into an uneasy state.

“Fate favors those who wait, gentlemen,” The Lord boasted as he rose to his feet. “Come. Let us prepare to receive the Prince. Send a runner at once, we will wind him through the streets long enough to set up a perimeter inside the main hall. Once he enters, we will take him for our own and get rid of that pesky Custodi. With his son in our grasp the King will have no other path forward than to hand over our land back to us. Or else his only air will be eliminated,” Benedict said, joy leaking from his voice.

The Commander frowned but nodded, sending the corridor scrambling back out of the room to deliver the new set of orders.

“It will be done, My Lord,” he said. Benedict clapped excitedly as he made his way out of the war room.

“Excellent, excellent! I'll go find a fitting outfit to receive our new prisoner,” the Lord responded. He bounded down the halls, nearly skipping in his excitement.

“So many plots, so many schemes! And the little princeling simply walks into my home!” he squealed to himself as he dressed in his finest, most intimidating black garb. Running down to the great hall he found the members of his Ravenguard already pressed up against the walls in anticipation, accompanied by several guards. He took a moment to steady his breathing, curling his lips up into a well-practiced smile. As the servants along the doors slowly swung them open, he walked out of the great hall to meet the tired faces of Fulcher and his Custodi.

Oh how dreadful, they look so dirty! Benedict thought. Yet his eyes sparkled and his lips parted to offer apathetic words laced with false warmth.

“Prince, it’s been too long! Come in, come in…”