Leaving the Room of Archives felt like a pyrrhic victory. It was an undeniable advantage to know of the Second Prince’s status in Reuzen– his status as a vessel of the gods – but it also opened the floodgates for a plethora of unanswered questions, the most pressing being this: If Gotthard had fought the Ilysian army for the safety and repossession of his son, why would Ingo singlehandedly dismantle that victory by sending him to Girigo Palace on a damn-near silver platter?

The Brothers of the North were notoriously clever – following in close step with their father – but if the reaction of the Horned Forum was to reflexively assume their intentions were blighted with deceit, like they did three years ago, Cele was sure that Ilyos would be woefully ill-prepared for the culmination of Simo’s reprisal.

Exiting the east wing, Cele took a hard left down the main corridor, his objective set on the king’s study. It was no question that Vincente would be cloistered away with his books, attempting to scry the mind of Ingo, or even Heiko – such was his nature – but stars in the inky sky were beginning to dwindle, and even the Great Horned King needed rest. So did the commander.

When his feet finally carried him to his destination - aided by only muscle memory and the urgency for his own bed - Vincente was occupying the exact chair Cele had expected of him, poring over a book of his own creation. The braziers that he had lit kept his study brighter than noon-sun could, and far warmer, at that. To temper the oppressive heat, the king had thrown open the door of the balcony, allowing the now well-past midnight breeze to taunt the flames and force them to dance shadows across the walls.

Only when Cele secured the door behind himself did the king's gaze flick up, a wicked smirk spreading across his lips without clemency.

“The pleb comes stalking into the king’s presence, at long last.”

“Quite the jester,” the commander grumbled as he took a seat beside a squat bookshelf, to the right of Vincente. “But, we have far more pressing matters to address than how to improve your lackluster humor.”

Rebuking his friend’s playful demeanor deflated Vin infinitesimally, at best.

“I found something in your absence,” he said instead. “De gradigste van min witan.”

The shift into the northern tongue stunned the scowl from Cele’s face. “Pardon?”

Vincente’s hand fell heavily to his desk, indicating to a piece of parchment with two taps of his middle finger.

“While you scoured the Room of Archives, I did some investigation of my own. I reviewed Ingo’s missive.”

“Yes,” Cele prompted, “so what? De gradigste van min witan – ‘the highest of my court’. First Prince Alfred, until Ingo’s daughter is of age.”

“Gradigste – ‘of highest status’,” Vincente nodded, “or ‘of highest qualification’.”

The commander stilled, playing the foreign word in his mind again. Vin was right, of course, but…

“Are you trying to provide King Ingo with the benefit of the doubt,” he asked the king, “or are you implying that the Second Prince is more qualified to deal with the Horned Forum than General Alfred is?”

Vincente considered the question with leisure.

“Perhaps,” he admitted in due time, “both.”

Cele sighed, bringing a hand up to rub his brow. He was too tired for the king’s ambivalence. Mostly because it meant he would be forced to think.

“He is but twenty summers,” the commander posed. “To consider him more qualified than his brother, who has five years and countless campaigns under his belt - including a battle for the holy enclave - is simply irrational.”

“Overall, I agree,” Vincente nodded, “but perhaps when considering specific strengths…”

“...such as dealing with the Horned Forum,” Cele finished, nodding along. “The first prince is known for his austerity and low tolerance for banter.”

The king hummed. “And the Horned Forum is known for their ornate repartee and intolerance for ultimatums.”

“An environment that a silver-tongued viper would thrive in,” the commander murmured thoughtfully. 

“It seems as though the blunder here is ours alone.” Vincente leaned back in his seat, bringing a hand up to rub his temples.

“Not a blunder,” Cele disagreed. “I don’t think this was ever meant to be a slight of hand.”

“Explain.”

“The missive was ambiguous but King Ingo does not think so little of the Republika that he would believe this alone would skew our focus.” Cele sighed. “The influx of rumors and anecdotes surrounding Second Prince Heiko’s tales in the Simonese Witan was so numerous that no one took notice of the fact that it was also quite sudden. According to Bernardo, many of them are unsubstantiated, which only makes sense, since up until three years ago, he was all but hidden."

The king knit his brow, his discerning gaze trained heavily upon his commander.

"Hidden?” he echoed. “What do you mean by that? Gotthard had always been transparent with the fact that he had three sons - the rulers of every civilized nation could recite that detail like it was scripture."

It was true, but the length of the day was beginning to weigh heavily on Cele’s eyelids. He shifted to recline himself a bit.

“And yet,” he sighed, “they could only portray in detail the composition of Ingo and Alfred – up until three years ago, subsequent to the 91st.”

Vin grimaced. “Speak plainly, Cele. What have you found out?”

⚔

AN:

Thank you for reading yet another epsiode!

As always, please like, comment, and subscribe! And more reference episodes to follow~ Hope you enjoyed the last one :)

See you in the next episode!

~Higgins