Mathias did not try to hide his surprise.

"I think you are being, for a lack of a better word, hyperbolic? As you surely know, my claim to the throne is tentative at best. I am third in line, and that is only if neither of my brothers manages to produce any heirs." He sounded as if he was explaining simple addition to her.

"They may be incompetent," he allowed, "Still I think that is an area where even they can thrive in."

Emboldened by his carefully admitted low opinion of his brothers, Amaya started her proposal.

"We will not wait that long." She sounded far more confident than she felt.

"We?"

She looked at him directly and spoke plainly.

"Yes. I have a plan that will put you on the Lerontean throne. Five years is my initial evaluation, but I think we will need to move faster than that. If we want to there still be a throne to sit on, that is."

"A... plan?"

"Yes. Do I need to explain the concept to you?" He did not like her sarcasm so she made a note to moderate it in the future.

"I thought your plans have all evaporated once your union with Charles was cut short by your affair with Henrik." As if she needed a reminder of that debacle.

"I've already made new ones."

"I'm impressed," he said, not sounding like he meant it.

"I would be happy to tell you the plan and to assist you.. in its completion, but I want something in return." Amaya took a deep breath. "You will have to marry me."

His mouth became a line as if he was afraid to say anything wrong to the mad woman in front of him. Like she might, at any moment, unravel and pull out an axe from under her best dress.

"Your... Majesty," he started, as if to remind her of her status, "I think we are not communicating well."

Amaya raised her hand, but he did not let her interrupt him.

"I know that you are disappointed that you ruined your chance of becoming part of the Roune Royal Family. But, unfortunately for you, there is no possibility to reverse it. My brothers both hate you, now."

She had a strange feeling that was not an exceptionally bad thing, at least not to him, as he continued, "And the third heir to the throne is a considerable step down from either."

So his main issue was that he seemed to think he had nothing to offer her. With a small relief that he would think that, Amaya marched forward.

"There is no time to wait for Henrik to die of some well-deserved liver disease! You know that, your letters also became more and more frantic as my desperation increased here! Your brothers were hosting parties and emptying the treasury while making enemies all over the continent!"

He spoke cautiously, surprised that she was almost directly quoting from his missives.

"I... I need to draw a line here before this conversation goes any further. I never thought I would say these words to anyone, but now it appears necessary: I will not be involved in any ploy that requires any or both of my brothers to..."

He cut the air with his hand as to explain the rest of the sentence, but then he added grimly and unnecessarily, "Die."

"Of course not," Amaya said as if taken aback -- while mentally cutting off a huge part out of her formerly thick tree of possibilities. Maybe she'd keep the Henrik branch.

While waiting for a reaction, she discreetly looked around, in the limited visual area that not moving her head allowed.

Unlike any other desk she had seen across Roune, the long and tall one he was hidden behind had no legs in front of it, just a black wooden board, so the only part that was visible of him was the upper one.

He was darker in hair and in skin color than his brothers, and he had his father's cold blue eyes. A terrible legacy, but at least there was no way an illegitimacy scandal would hamper her scheming. With his mother being Lady Charlotte Rens d'Athanar, one of the many reasons her husband was called the Angry, it was a small blessing.

Despite what she had heard, the similarity to his father was not that striking. Amaya had met the late King of Leront, as he was a friend of her father's, and she remembered a mean, sharp-tongued man who looked like a warrior. Enveloped in his long beard and assorted hair, he used to bring his heavy sword with him at any occasion. Since the King himself had never fought in any battle, it was only for show, at parties. Most of the times he managed to find a way to use it. For the first years of his reign, he sentenced many of his subjects to death - for the crime of calling him The Angry - until it became clear even to him that his approach was sabotaging his purpose. Reluctantly, he took out the amendment, but that was not how he wished to be remembered.

His youngest son evaluated her, still not convinced.

"It's an opportunity you will never meet again. As a high-rank soldier of former royal status, the best marriage you can expect is one where a more enlightened noble will let you marry his spinster daughter. With me, you will marry a Queen and become King."

She smiled, "At the very least, you become King Consort of Moaran. But I promise you Leront."

His chair creaked almost inaudibly as he stood back. Amaya decided to take a strategic risk:

"If you are still hoping that Archbishop Beauregard will accept your proposal to marry his daughter... I have it on good authority he will refuse."

"He already did. The matter is settled."

"Well, there is nothing more I can add," Amaya said, relieved to see no hurt feelings displayed. "I expect your official proposal letter by the 17th, which is the day I leave for Moaran. The night I receive it, we will meet here to negotiate the terms and the goals of our union. Both common and separate. Think about what else you might want and how I could help you. Next morning, I will send my official acceptance letter, and... we follow the plan."

He still did not trust her, Amaya saw, because he asked, "What if we don't reach an accord?"

Amaya got up to leave. "We will."

"If I don't receive your letter, I will leave for Moaran and wait for Leront to be conquered. I'll think of another way to save my people, I always do."