B3 Chapter 5: Lord Help Us

King Gerald looked out over the splendid ballroom before him. Handsome men and beautiful women decked out in the most fashionable finery money could buy. Bright colors that flickered between shades as one looked, puffy shoulders that were dwarfed only by the wearers' even more voluminous hats and skirts, enchanted corsets that shrunk waists to rather infeasible proportions… Truly, this group of nobles had taste.

Yet despite the number that had gathered and the wine that flowed so freely, the king's mouth was set in a thin line. He was frustrated.

Of those he'd invited to this event, only about two-thirds of them had shown up. Two thirds! It was absolutely ludicrous. Who would dare decline an invitation from the king?

Evidently, a lot of people. While all of his most favored subjects and the most popular nobles from around the kingdom had all obviously dropped everything to come, he noticed a particular lack of participation from the western nobles. The few that had attended were easy to pick out by their out-of-date and less splendid clothing. Many wore military uniforms or simple formal dress, as if it were an important meeting or funeral rather than a joyous occasion of celebration and merriment. It was completely out of touch. Almost as if they didn't care what the court thought of them.

Even their attitudes were dreary. They seemed to take no enjoyment in the food or drink, partaking only as though by necessity. They hardly even danced. The more cultured nobles tended to avoid them, lest their bright finery be dimmed by the dark cloud that seemed to hang about them. Thankfully, these absolute killjoys seemed just as content to keep to themselves. They simply gathered near the edges of the room, talking quietly amongst themselves.

Gerald had never felt so humiliated. The lack of attendees was bad enough, but the actions of these nobles was a clear insult. They didn't even pretend to be excited or enjoy themselves. Given how openly they spurned his hospitality, he honestly felt as though they were even worse offenders than those who hadn't come at all.

He clenched his fist. In his head, drafts of scathing letters to the families were already in the process of being drafted. Maybe some would find their enemies suddenly enjoying a bit more favor and power than they had been previously. Others would be stripped of their titles outright. It would give him more to assign to some of his more loyal supporters. There were several unlanded gentry who looked quite fabulous and had great palates for wine. They would surely do better at maintaining his image out in the west than these fools.

And if anyone complained… well, his advisers would find additional reasons to justify his actions. They always did.

The king downed the last of his wine. A servant appeared at his elbow and began refilling the glass almost before it had touched the arm of his throne. He gestured toward the musicians to indicate that he wanted a different song. Something more upbeat to combat his foul mood.

"I am no bride of Mars, nor bound to Vesta's name,

Yet last night, I bore the sword of steel and flame.

Do not speak of fate or right and wrong—

Just hold me in your arms 'til I am strong."

He nodded in approval. The words indicated that the song wasn't exactly of the highest class, but that was forgivable. The tune was quite catchy. Gerald even found himself tapping his foot along to the beat as it continued to play.

[Corwyn Pass has been seized by the Ur-Thrak'mar Coalition!]

The slam of the king's fist against his throne cracked through the room. Silence spread through it like a wave. The music, the conversations, the clinking of glasses… no one moved a muscle.

Gerald ground his teeth. That damned duke. After everything he'd done for the man, all of the leniency he'd shown, all of the opportunities to rectify things and improve his standing… this was his repayment.

Gerald paid little mind to military matters. They didn't interest him, and he found them best left to his advisers. Yet even he knew of Corwyn Pass. It was a position so well fortified that it could be held indefinitely by even a small force. It was one of the safest, easiest posts for a soldier to be stationed in the kingdom. For it to fall…

This was betrayal. Plain and simple.

"Duke Redcliffe…" He growled. The stem of his wineglass creaked threateningly in his grip.

"Is something the matter, your majesty?"

A man stepped forward from the silent crowd. He was fashionably dressed in a brilliantly blue overcoat, its surface rippling with silver embroidery. An eye-catching red hat contrasted with his clothing stylishly in a clear understanding of the current fashion. A large, silver feather from some undoubtedly rare and expensive bird protruded from its top and added no less than a foot to his total height.

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Marquis Morozov doffed his cap and bowed low, smiling placidly. "Perhaps I can be of assistance."

The nobles began to titter all at once, a hive of bees buzzing at the development. Marquis Morzov's territory bordered Redcliffe's, and the two had historically never quite gotten along. Especially considering that the two families often found themselves competing in the silver market, as the fine metal was a major export for both.

More importantly though, the noble was quite highly favored by Gerald. He was a social man who had done an excellent job in always maintaining the king's regal image. He did whatever he was told. It was as simple as that.

The king looked down at Marquis Morozov. "Ah, duke. Indeed. My advisors tell me how dedicated you are to the betterment of the kingdom."

Morozov inclined his head a little further. "You flatter me, your majesty."

That was exactly what he was doing. But the point was not to stoke the duke's ego. Rather, it was to ensure that the task set before the man would be properly framed as the treason it truly was.

"However… it seems that not all are quite so dedicated to Novara. Your neighbor in Redcliffe seems to have betrayed not just me, but Novara as a whole." Gerald's face twisted with disgust.

The news caused quite a stir among the gathered crowd. Lords and ladies tittered to each other with obvious astonishment and disapproval. The western nobles in particular saw their expressions darken and sour even further than before, but Gerald paid them little mind.

"That simply cannot be allowed to stand." Marquis Morozov agreed. "What would you have your loyal servant do?"

"Arrest him. Immediately." Gerald ordered without hesitation. "Bring him before me to answer for his crimes."

His order was met with a simple smile and a nod. "Of course, your majesty. It shall be done. I will recall the rest of my men from the battlefront to apprehend the duke. Although, if you wish for the matter to be taken care of most expediently… I do know of some mercenary companies in the area that may be able to set out as early as today."

"Yes, yes. Do what you must. Just take care of it. My advisers will provide you with anything you need." Gerald waved a dismissive hand. He didn't care for the details. He just wanted Redcliffe taken care of.

With one more deep bow and a flattering smile, Marquis Morozov hastened out of the ballroom. As disappointing as it was to see one of the more popular guests leave so early, it was excusable. He was seeing to important matters, after all. At least someone took his orders seriously.

Gerald let out a sigh before relaxing back onto his throne. Now that the issue was taken care of, he felt as though he could once again enjoy the gathering. The sounds of merriment began to slowly return until the party was once again in full force, with music, wine, and conversation flowing freely. The topic of Redcliffe's betrayal was on every tongue as the freshest bit of gossip in the court. He had always been suspicious, some said. It would be a relief once he was gone, said others. All agreed that Morozov's dislike of the man had proven even more right than any of them had expected.

The king looked forward to having his head.

***

Tiberius walked into the tent to find Duke Redcliffe already inside. The man stood off to the side, leaving the small desk and chairs at its center unoccupied.

The duke turned at the sound of his entry and bowed low. "Emperor Tiberius."

The man spoke the title as though it were an unfamiliar taste on his tongue, one he wasn't certain whether he liked. But the fact that he used it at all indicated quite clearly that he knew his standing in this meeting.

Tiberius nodded. "Duke Redcliffe."

He strode around the table to sit as his aide Lucius moved to stand behind his shoulder. Then Tiberius gestured to one of the chairs across from him. At the motion, the duke nodded and took a seat. A moment later, the tent flap burst open once again to admit the purple and gold-clad form of Marcus the bard. The bard bowed deeply as though to reinforce the dramatic nature of his entrance.

"Emperor Tiberius! Ah, and Duke Redcliffe! It's a pleasure to see you again. I trust that your family is well?"

The man smiled disarmingly as he quickly moved to occupy the second guest chair. The duke, for his part, remained guarded. "They are well. More importantly, though, they are safe."

Marcus's grin widened. "Wonderful. I am beyond pleased that everything seems to have worked out."

The emperor sighed internally at the man's antics. In a way, he supposed he should be grateful. Marcus was one of the few whose actions and demeanor hadn't changed in the slightest in the past day or so. Perhaps it was because he'd always treated him as an emperor from the start, rather than Legatus. On one hand, it was grounding and familiar. On the other hand… well, it was still Marcus. Tiberius still had no love for the foppish bard, but he had proved his usefulness and loyalty many times over. This very meeting was evidence of that.

Tiberus cleared his throat before Marcus decided to pursue any more small talk. "Duke. We have much to discuss."

Duke Redcliffe nodded. "Indeed. It seems that we do."

"You have decided to side with Rome." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes." He grimaced. "As loath as I am to admit it, I have little choice in the matter. My hand has been more or less forced—both by you and my… former liege. A fact you seem to be acutely aware of."

Tiberius snorted. "An honest man. I can respect that. Regardless of your enthusiasm about the matter, I trust that I will not need to remind you of the consequences should we fail."

"Quite. I have a vested interest in your success. It seems the only way to ensure my head doesn't find its way to the chopping block—the only way that doesn't involve fleeing the country outright, anyway."

The man spoke the truth. Based on Tiberius's understanding of the situation, the duke had already been in rather hot water before deciding to take Rome's side. Backing their attempt to conquer Novara may well be the only way out he had.

Of course, that didn't mean the man wouldn't try and betray Tiberius afterwards. Rather, he was quite certain that the idea would cross his mind at some point or another, if it hadn't already. Which was why he'd be taking plenty of precautions and keeping a close eye on the man.

"Then it appears we are unified in our aim." Tiberius declared. "Now then… we must discuss the matter of your fealty."

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