Cabinet of the Upper Senate
Lucinova, Casteria
~
"Grandfather!"
The emperor started in slight alarm, before muttering a criticism of the sentry guarding the entrance of the sacred chambers, who clearly hadn't the hardihood to turn away members of the royal family.
Luckily for them, this particular congregation could hardly be considered a vital one and could really be done by the Potentate Treasurer alone. Still, auditing discretionary funds for the Lower Senate was something Emerentius preferred overseeing, as well - one could discern a significant amount about a man by what he chose to spend his money on.
"Is it true, grandfather?"
The emperor lifted his eyes from the report provided by the Cabinet Treasurer and watched as his passional grandson stormed the room like he would a field of battle.
"Ciro," he greeted in a stately manner, hoping his tone would be reflective upon the child. Knowing him, though, it was wishful thinking. He placed the document on the table before him and raised a bejeweled hand, dismissing the senators.
"Rens-"
He cut himself short as he watched the commotion of the councilors gathering their things, standing, and ultimately making their way for the exit. They knew better than to make the mistake of overhearing matters between royal family members. It increased their likelihood of being forced to take sides, and anyone who knew the history of the empire knew it was a heavy and, oftentimes, detrimental burden to do such a thing. Especially if one chose wrong.
And anyway, it was not a rare occurrence that meetings of the Senate would be interrupted by one grandson or the next.
In Casterian culture, it was the duty of the women to temper the perfervidity of the men they held dear, but his grandsons had neither sisters nor a mother. Of course, they had the empress - their grandmother - but she, too, had matters of state to attend, and women's matters the Emerentius didn't bother to stick his nose into.
The only other who had the gentle touch of woman was Angelus, but his sentence to the clothe couldn't be helped.
Once they were left in solitude, Ciro scraped out a chair to the left of his grandfather and fell into it heavily.
"Rens is sent to the Mad Lands," he started again. "And I don't even get the courtesy of knowing that my father died?"
"At least attempt to hold your irritability, Ciro," Emerentius sighed, reclining back in his chair. "It is unbecoming in the presence of the Upper Senate."
"You failed to relay to me the death of my father." His retorted was immediate and lined with genuine insult. "You will have a hard time trying to convince me that my petulance is unwarranted."
He wasn't wrong, of course, but the emperor knew this child - he knew how impulsive and volatile he could be. Just as he was being that very moment.
"You were otherwise occupied, Ciro," he placated instead. "I needed your full focus to be on those duties - to have them fulfilled to completion - before I could instill upon you the ones that have arisen with the death of King Bozhidar."
The young man narrowed his eyes suspiciously. He was slighter than his brother, and five years his younger, but he had a mind that was wired to seek out the dishonesty in men. It was a mind that was perfect for empire in chaos, but not for one in peace. His tactics would be far too explosive, and he, far too independent for the members of the Senate to feel any semblance of security.
Rens, on the other hand, often sought after the advice of others. That was why he would become a perfect emperor one day. The Senate would not see his open-mindedness as a pool of hesitancy, but rather as a source of trust in his party.
And if ever there was a world in which Durans came to power, the emperor pondered uselessly, nothing on the earth or in the heavens above could stop the Empire of Casteria.
"To what duties are you referring, grandfather?"
"Rens will take the throne of Rodakrov-"
"From the bastard," Ciro prompted.
"Yes," Emerentius sighed. It was best if he kept that mindset - dehumanizing Kazbirati's were the only way to defeat them. "With our transition into the Mad Lands permitted by the Laws of Inheritance, the alliance that King Bozhidar had forged with Vukland will likely hold fast."
It Ciro only a moment to decipher his words.
"And, with it, we will have access to the Vuklandish navy." As he spoke, a wide grin spread across his face. "With the Primus Cavalry leading the Casterian armies south against Eurakos, and the Wolf Navy seizing them from the coast, they would have no choice but to seek aid in the east, from Vishya."
The emperor nodded, suppressing his own smirk of satisfaction. If he had learned anything at all during his strife against Eurakos, it was that one only praised the crops after they were eaten.
"Aid that would swiftly be snuffed out by the Krovic army. The entire northern border of Vishya touches the Tomiti and Ogni provinces. Once the Vishyan muster is quashed, we secure the measly stretch of the western border that they share with Eurakos."
"And then they're surrounded," Ciro concluded, bringing a hand to his chin in thought. "Though - and don't take this as an utterance of dithering - wouldn't it be more prudent to utilize the Krovic connection with Praxicles to arrange a convention? At which point, we will show our hand to the Eurakodite. He is not a simpleton with a weapon. He would not believe he could actually hold back the might of three great nations with his army and pride, alone."
"You're right," the emperor agreed. He had that thought exactly - the very same one that Durans terminated almost immediately. It was true that, at times, Emerentius felt almost lamentable after seeking political advice from the crippled young man, but to stop simply because of pride was... well, it was foolish. "But the time it would take to arrange a convention would be time that Praxicles would have to devise aid that possessed the ability to break our encirclement from the outside. Eurakos, more than any other kingdom on the west continent, has an open forum with the east, and the very last thing we need is to invite them to our rich lands."
Ciro's brow was furrowed, as if he was conceptualizing the entire event in his mind's eye, like he was actually watching it unfold. Eventually, he sighed his concurrence.
"Then I suppose there's nothing more to say on the subject. When we arrive, Praxicles will have nothing to do but surrender." He turned his gaze up to his grandfather. "How long until we begin?"
"Your brother is securing the throne as we speak."
"And what of the bastard?" Ciro pressed.
"Unfortunately," Emerentius exhaled, squeezing the bridge of his nose. "He's a matter to be dealt with delicately. The marriage between his mother and Bozhidar was what ultimately bonded the two winter kingdoms."
"King Petrov isn't incompetent," his grandson parried. "He wouldn't destroy an alliance with Rodakrov simply because his blood doesn't rest on the throne. He knows - just as anyone else with the faculty of thought does - that Rens is heir apparent."
"That's not the worry." Emerentius tapped the table with his finger, since this seemed to be the only true loose end. "My intelligencer tells me that Petrov's only son, Vladislav, is impotent."
Ciro crossed his arms, brow cocked. "And how the fuck could your spies discern such a fact?"
"My spies know all that is to be known," his grandfather replied, remaining unbothered by his profanity. "Vladislav is the commander of the Wolf Navy. Should he fall in the battle for Eurakos, Nikolai, Petrov's eldest grandchild, becomes heir apparent. Petrov is already an old man - he hasn't got another decade to his name. He has no time to sire another heir, and all other grandchildren with Odimar blood are later in succession."
"And if that happens?" Ciro posed, gesturing dismissively. "Even if Nikolai inherits Vukland, it's not as if the kingdom is anything but a frozen wasteland. Their armies may be formidable, but they are useful only in defense. Rodakrov's numbers trump theirs four times over and the Wolf Navy's strength would be irrelevant since they share land borders."
"The navy wouldn't be our concern – nor would a direct attack," Emerentius pointed out, understanding that it was not a fault of Ciro's for his inability to comprehend the potential of his half-brother. "Nikolai was Bozhidar's sole child for fifteen years. The boy would know the ins and outs of his country like the back of his hand. Even more so, he would know all of the nooks and crannies of Castle Mechi – its hidden passages, its strengths, its weaknesses. He would be able to seize it with only a dozen men under his command."
"That may be the case, grandfather, but the death of Vladislav isn't a certainty," Ciro riposted. "Not immediately. He's an Odimar, raised by Petrov. He's likely more comfortable on the boards of a ship than the stones of his castle. He was bred and raised to be a warrior."
"As are the Eurakodites. The likelihood of Nikolai rising to power is not one I would so quickly dismiss, child."
Ciro's gaze fell to the wooden tabletop as he pondered the thought.
"Do you have spies in Castle Mechi?"
Emerentius cocked an eyebrow at the question, amused by the young man's keenness.
"One," he responded. "Yes."
"Then you know the nature of the bas-... of Nikolai?" Ciro pressed.
"Not as much as one would hope for," his grandfather confessed. "But enough. He's a hardened child, and by the sound of it, from the reports of my spy, he's deeply disturbed."
"From lunacy?" Ciro queried, leaning forward. "Like father?"
"Because of the lunacy. Surrounded by nothing but that for fifteen years would disturb anyone." It was the one area regarding Bozhidar's son that the emperor might've been able to muster some pity. He didn't, of course, but he could've. "And as it oftentimes goes, what a child sees he mimics. Still, the boy is practiced in the art of politics. Evidently, he played the role of phantom monarch for the better half of four years, now. He was the mastermind behind the Bull's Rebellion counteroffensive."
"Are you certain?" Ciro demanded, his gaze suddenly intense and invigorated.
"I would not share intelligence like that with you if I were not certain of its authenticity, Ciro."
"Do you know how he did it, then?"
The damned question of the century. If there was a world in which Nikolai was of no interest to the figures of import within the West Continent, his name would still be uttered because of that harrowingly decisive incident.
"His tactics are still shadowy," Emerentius admitted begrudgingly. "It shouldn't have worked, not with the odds as they were. The amount of people we had placed... That's not the point, anyway, Ciro. What is, is the fact that the order to execute all who participated didn't come from the mind or mouth of Bozhidar."
"It…" Ciro's brow furrowed. "Then father's cruelty didn't die with him."
"The Kazbirati's annihilate all who threaten their power." Something that anyone who had a sense of survival would know - whether it was peasant or king. It embittered Emerentius that he, too, was subject to it. "Like savage beasts. It's a lesson that is passed down through each generation. That's precisely why I had no choice but to take you from Rodakrov. I would not allow my beloved grandchildren to be plagued by such an uncivilized and wayward sense of justice."
Of course, when marrying his daughter to Bozhidar, it was something he had foolishly admired about the Kazbirati's - but reading the awe of something and witnessing its power firsthand were two entirely separate entities.
"Then, by your words, grandfather," Ciro sighed, sitting back in his chair once again. "Nikolai is a person that we mustn't trifle with."
"No," Emerentius agreed. "We must simply eliminate him."