The Letter

To His Lordship, Alarik Eisenvary, Count of Nordemars

My Lord Alarik,

We are most concerned with the dispatches you have sent as of late regarding the situation in your demesne. Know that the Crown is steadfast in it’s support of the noble peers of the realm and will most certainly acquiesce your request for aid.

Although we cannot commit any troops to your cause, seeing as these forces are required elsewhere to maintain the security of the realm, we will be committing our finest agent to render you assistance.

As you read this letter, he will already be on his way. You may be aware of him by repute alone for we understand he is a subject of much conversation within the circles of good society. He is, of course, Master Konrad Mydlar, the Royal Executioner and our Right-Hand. His expertise in dealing with the threat that torments you and yours will no doubt be of extreme benefit, and we are confident that he will guide this situation to a successful conclusion.

We wish you the best of luck in this endeavor. Do not hesitate to engage in further correspondence with us for we are most invested in your struggle.

Signed,

His Royal Highness The Prince-Regent,
Bohdan of House Morhalm

***

Dusting pounce over the sheet, Bohdan lifted the paper ever so gently and blew away the excess. After folding the paper, he carefully poured a measured amount of sealing wax then pressed firmly his signet ring. He handed the finished product off to a footman who then clicked his heels, bowed and then disappeared from the study.

Sighing deeply, Bohdan leaned back in his chair, his bureau awash with the gentle illumination of candlelight. His Steward, Krajev Dravhoss, stood close by his hands crossed behind his back. He regarded his sire, who was a beautiful, effeminate and courtly creature. Who never the less was quite capable as a statesman and more than handy with a blade. His golden brown eyes seemed to glow amidst the flickering flames and his raven black hair was long, curled and glossed.

“Werewolves…” the Prince-Regent mused aloud. “There is truly no shortage of ailments to afflict my father’s kingdom, eh Dravhoss?”

“Indeed, Your Highness.”

“I imagine the good Count will not be happy?”

Krajev elicited only the slightest smirk, “No he will not, Your Highness.”

The Prince-Regent’s gaze met his Steward’s and following a brief moment of silence they began to chuckle, then laugh.

Wiping a tear from his eye Bohdan wheezed, “Oh to see that rigid tyrant of manners, decorum and etiquette bear witness to a sullied tradesman wandering his halls.”

Krajev breathing heavily, soon regained his composure, “Still though, Your Highness, should we not ensure some contingencies are put into place? If my memory serves werewolves in our midst could present a host of problems should they see themselves extend beyond Nordemars.”

Bohdan waved a dismissive hand, “Konrad will see to it. He’s done this before. Besides, if I start moving troops around now, the tenuous armistices we have in place with our less than cordial neighbors will no doubt be in jeopardy.”

“No,” the Prince-Regent declared. “I have every bit of faith in Konrad. He and his family has never let the Crown down. I don’t expect for him to start now.”

"For if he fails," Bohdan added. "What hope do we truly have...?"