Frederick and his posse sat in uncomfortable silence before the King. Roused into excitement once more, the party goers pretended to go about their business, one ear trained to listen in to any tidbits of information or intrigue.

“So, father, how’s the kingdom been in my absence?”

“Good”

“That’s all?”

“Very good.”

Frederick whistled a tune and patted his hands on his crossed legs, one after another. Gunther coughed.

“Ah, Gunther, it’s pretty cold outside, wouldn’t want you getting a cold.”

“Yeah, yeah of course not, it’s been chilly.”

The whistling continued.

“You’re not mad at me, are you?”

“No. I’m content.”

“Hey content, I’m Frederick, nice to meet you.”

Justus was not amused. Behind him, Erwin put a palm to his face.

“I didn’t realise you were a comedian, Frederick, not what I would’ve liked from you but alas.”

“Look, I’m sorry I was late. I’m here now, alright?”

Justus sighed and embraced his son.

“Tardiness is not something I can overlook, but for now I’ll put it aside.” Justus poured himself a drink, this would be his fifth, and he felt like he needed it badly, “It’s good to see you home again, hopefully for good.”

“It’s only temporary.” Frederick took the bottle from his father and served himself a sizable portion, passing it onto Gridion, who took a more meagre amount, “I’ll be back on the front in a month, the men need their rest for the time being.”

“But Freddie, you’ve been gone for years!”

One of his arms was wrapped around by a doll of sorts. Lily hiccuped, a blush across her cheeks from too much drink. He hadn’t even realised her presence, such was her soft grip. Then, he remembered Erwin’s words.

Her name is Lily Orshen, or something along those lines. She’s the daughter of some noble, an upperclassman’s daughter. I can tell you one thing, and that is the fact that she’s considered as an angel, beautiful and kind. With the wits to match. She has no open supporters, but it’s obvious that when the time comes, she will.

She was an angel alright, with those features that looked like they would break under the smallest strain. Delicate chin, baby blue eyes and silky locks of hair, complete with the white dress embroidered in jewels.Compared to the more gruff Trinity, with skin darkened from work, and narrow face with shorter and choppier hair, they were two worlds apart. One was pretty, the other handsome. The latter glared at the former, but was wholly ignored.

“Surely you’ll stay for longer?”

Frederick could not remember much about this girl. A cliffside came to mind for some reason, and a tree atop a hill. He disregarded it as only a fleeting thought.

“I’m afraid my superiors won’t be too happy about that, milady.”

“You’re the Prince of Silveria! Who are they to choose your decisions!” she drawled, giggling slightly, “And don’t be so formal, it’s Lily, you know?”

“I’m the Prince of Silveria, yes, and I don’t want to go, but I have to.” he said, in a matter-of-factly tone. Frederick turned his attention to Justus, “I heard a rumor that my claim is under scrutiny. Well, I’m here now, and you said there was something you needed to announce.”

“Your claim is not as strong as it once was.” the King paid no mind to the circle of guests that seemed to come closer, opting to sip from his cup, “The age-old tradition of primogeniture has come under fire from every one of the Albion’s vassals, us included. They intend to introduce something similar to what the Frankians use, republics or somewhat.”

Frederick was familiar with the term, it had been practically beaten into him as a boy.

“We’ve been a Kingdom all our existence, father, they can’t do that!”

“Hanno, Seaforth, Treckering. All of these states have adopted republics, and more change by the year. They can do it, though it is a topic I’d save for more closed discussions.”

Frederick assessed the room, and nodded. A republic. That simply wouldn’t do. It was an attempt from the Albions to gain more power over their vassals, he knew that for sure. Hardings, with all his dirty money, was at the forefront of it all.

“And the announcement you were to make?”

“You’ll notice, boy, that except for you and Lily here, no other benefactors to the throne are attending. I sense they have representatives in this here hall, for they are afraid of the outcome.”

“Outcome of?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Justus rose, and strode in a semi-circle, almost strutting. His voice was more bitter, yet swelled with pride as every word was hammered into the crowd, “On this auspicious day, before the nobles and upperclassmen of our great nation, do I choose my son, Frederick Augustus von Silveria, first to bear his name, and rightful successor to my throne, as heir to the country, by the right given to me by my ancestors, and God himself!”

Frederick’s jaw was agape. Erwin felt himself grow a little taller as he watched an old friend and ally orated with a revived zeal. He had not seen that side of Justus since the wars, and just by being in that hall, he understood history was being written, taking a glance at the Prince, silent for what was the first time for sure.

You’ll go on to do great things, Frederick, just you watch.

“And should anyone challenge his claim, be met on the field of battle, where a casket shall be prepared for you!” Justus reached down, and grabbed his son by the wrist, the old man’s grip was of iron, “My son has battled many enemies abroad, you will be an afterthought to the risks he has faced, so I implore you to threaten him!”

There were no takers on that offer. Still, the crowd seemed mostly in negative terms, disgusted or disheartened. A few pockets here and there applauded every sentence, however, the hall seemed particularly detached for some reason. Justus let go, and Frederick retreated to the floor, Lily restoring her hold.

“That is not all! No, to signify the unity of our good nation, my Son shall be wedded to Lily Orshen, of noble house Orshen, long contestors to the House of Augustus, and she shall be made Royal Consort.”

At this, the crowd seemed more energized, talking rapidly amongst themselves. Her hidden followers had shown their colours. Frederick was awestruck, and looked at the girl on his arm.

“Do you hear that, Freddie, we can live up to our promise now!” she said breathlessly.

“Wait, what promise?”

“Oh you’re funny, Freddie.”

“No seriously, what promise?”

At that, Lily loosened her brace.

“You can’t tell me you’ve forgotten.” she whispered, “Freddie, fifteen years ago.”

“I was eleven!” Frederick hissed, “How could you expect me to remember?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

But it did, and she showed contempt through an unnaturally bitter face. Frederick looked to his long-time friend, Gridion, who could only shrug in response. Trinity looked like she was on both the verge of saying something, and beating Frederick senseless. Justus continued his tirade, it looked as if he had a lot of suppressed emotions, and the crowd listened with purpose now.

“I will now retire to my quarters, gentlemen and ladies, it has been a most tiring night, and I hope you are now content. Guards, if you will.”

The King shrunk again, as they dispersed in small groups, rejuvenated and indeed, content for the most part. Frederick felt as if he needed to say his own piece, but relented. Something just wasn’t right. Lily relinquished her hold of his arm, and stood, curtseying formally to the King, and then Frederick.

“I hope to see you again, my husband to be.” she said frostily, and departed without another word, her two guards in tow.

Justus looked at him suspiciously.

“Did you do something you shouldn’t have?”

“No, I swear, she just-”

“It doesn’t matter.” the King surveyed the mess left behind, “That’s done and over with, the next few days will be rough, my son, but you must weather them, it will be a test to see your mettle.”

“I’ll meet them head on, and win, father.” Frederick patted a hand on both Gridion and Gunther, “I have friends, and allies to support me, though this is all so sudden.”

“We’ll need a place to crash in the meantime, Sire.” Gunther spoke, obviously charmed by the palace.

“Any needs you require will be granted to the best of our abilities, a friend of my son is a friend of mine.”

Gunther whooped uncharacteristically, and chased after a nearby maid.

“I guess I’ll head up to my room, then.” Frederick began up the stairs.

“Go on ahead, it’s not been touched since you left, I’d recommend getting it cleaned out first.” Justus yawned, “As for me, I’m all for my bed, goodnight.”

With that, he disappeared, flanked by two guards. Frederick took another step when he was stopped.

“That Lily, she’s trouble, you know.” Trinity said seriously, arms folded, “You should keep an eye on her.”

The cliff, and the tree on the hill again. Frederick’s thoughts burned.

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“They’re gone, huh?”

“Completely, no reports for several days, your Majesty.”

Emperor Tristan VII twitched. He did that whenever he was mildly pleased.

“Vanished, poof.”

“Uh, yes, your Majesty. The Westerlies are clear of pirates.”

“So then, George, what of Seaforth?”

“General Uxhaley has reported good progress, the towns of Gadilee and Centur have been purged for disloyalty, and the Queen under custody. The Seaforthian Army has been disarmed and it’s leadership executed. Another week or so will stomp out any remaining resistance, he says.”

“Good, excellent! We don’t need any of those repulsive monarchies, replace them all!”

George sniffed. The irony. The air smelt of perfume, and the source came from the bath, petals floating in the water.. The most gracious Emperor soaked himself further, his privacy composed of stalwart bubbles rising in volume. Rumors of how the Emperor basked in the blood of virgins had been circulated widely, and the thought gave him a little comfort. The cruel man was at least select in his hygienic methods.

“So what shall we do about the Queen, your Majesty?”

“Why kill her.” he replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, “I don’t want any future dissidents to rally under her in the future, so she goes to the chopping block. Oh and don’t give them the chance to make her a martyr, the killing must be done in secret, and the body disposed of discreetly.”

George was repelled.

“But you allowed the Grand Duke of Treckering to live!”

“Oh, did I not tell you, I had the man’s legs shattered. He won’t be going anywhere soon.”

The Emperor laughed snidely at his own remark. Seeing his servant’s expression, he became dour.

“Oh do have a little spirit, George.” Tristan scratched at his armpit absent-mindedly, “You can leave, make sure that message is passed on to Uxhaley, he’s most reliable.”

George closed the door, and the Emperor found interest in a toy duck, submerging it.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Edmund broke the surface of the water, spluttering and coughing. Just barely, he made out the shape of the Bitterwind, holding on for dear life, small ants scurrying to repair what they could. At least 100 feet from his ship, the Captain calculated his chances for survival, and sour with the results, floated on his back. The pirate ship was no more, imploded into small pieces of wood that served as buoys to some men. Soon enough, as he expected, the Bitterwind came round, and a rope lowered.

Edmund was growing old, but spry enough to climb back up with the burden of his waterlogged clothes and sabre. The sight he was met with as deckhands hauled him up was pitiful. Wounded were consoled with the last rum rations, some with wounds grievous enough to question how they were still alive. The ship itself was in poor condition. Serviceable, aye. For an extended period? Nay. From the looks of it, they’d be lucky to touch down at the nearest port.

“Cap’n, are you alright?” the ship’s closest man to a trained medical professional, a former carpenter, came up to him, holding a bloodied saw.

“Yes, yes.” Edmund assured him, noting a pile of organs and limbs at the corner of the deck. That splinter on his thumb would stay, for now. “What’s the butcher’s bill then?”

“25 dead, I’m counting the missing to that, and 39 wounded, 12 seriously.”

64 out of 90 men, an appalling figure. In some ways, the crew was always at 100% casualties, each man boasting scurvy or a venerable disease or two from frequent visits to run down brothels, but that was beside the point. Whereas an itch could be soothed, 25 men could not be brought back, nor could a man hope for his arm, leg or eye to regrow. One poor lad held in his intestines. That damned Joe O’Sully. Shouldn’t have ever recruited the swine.

“Ships! Ships!” called a voice above, “Starboard, three vessels, I can’t tell what they are, though!”

“How far away” Edmund called back.

“5000 metres and closing! Wait!”

The sailor turned the settings on his eyeglass. The resolution cleared ever so slightly, to reveal a mast. Following it, he distinguished the cross and bones, a skull cackling wickedly back at him.

“Pirates!” he screeched, “They’re pirates!”

“Oh jesus!” called out another voice, “Save us, oh-”

His was one of many, but Jesus certainly wasn’t listening. Edmund sprung back into action, taking his place at the wheel. Amidst the uncontrollable chaos, he studied a map.

“Captain, what should we do!”

“Surrender!” another sailor offered.

“No chance!” Edmund looked up from his map, “You have any idea what they do to prisoners? We’ve got a few of theirs locked up down below right?”

“Yes, Cap’n”

“Take them out, drop ‘em into a lifeboat, and make for Arbude.”

“We’ve only got one lifeboat left, Cap’n.”

“Do as I say, if you want to live! Any man who can walk is not injured, I want all of you in position, we can make it boys!”

Arbude was several miles further from the nearest port, but Edmund had already thought of a plan. The pirates came closer.