Castle Mechi,
Province of Mechi, Rodakrov
~
Castle Mechi did not have a throne room the same way that other kingdoms did - especially not in the garish fashion of the Casterian 'Seat of the Emperor'. It was not necessary, because the altitude at which a man sat did not denote his authority of any other, and it was pathetic for anyone to think otherwise.
A man may be armed to the teeth with the shiniest of ornaments, dressed in the finest of clothes, skin glossed with the richest of cosmetics and, yet, if you placed him in the center of a starving wolf pack - naked, themselves, and without even the comfort of a full stomach - they will certainly prove who is the superior.
But Casteria was so overrun with man that it was sickening - roads and cities paved with stone, allowing not even a blade of grass the opportunity to push through; domesticated animals outnumbering natural and wild ones two to one, at the very least; and let us not forget that wretched god they worship as if their lives depended on it.
My father always said that if you have time to worry about the opinions of the gods, you did not truly need them and you ought to leave them to their own devices.
But then again, he also said that the owls who nested in the northwest battlements during the snow season were brimming with ill-intent and they ought to be slaughtered, so I tended to take his advice with a grain of salt.
I cast a look around the room. It was nothing special, but it was fitting, since I had no intentions of providing the Casterian with anything special. Why waste your best liquor on the fool you only wish would be on his way, after all?
The south door creaked open and, knowing it was the alchemist, I didn't bother to move in way of greeting, though the same couldn't be said for Rostya. His approach was all but indiscernible up until moment he gave into his feline instincts and slammed his body against the side of my chair, rubbing up one way and down the other, chuffing all the while.
Rostya had always been an uncharacteristically affectionate tiger, to the point that I thought perhaps he was ill or worse, not useful for his position. Because of my father's fits, I worried over the cub's safety, but all for naught, as I soon learned - plagued with lunacy or not, my father's fondness for animals was a cornerstone of his soul that could not be easily cracked.
Unless said animal was an owl brimming with ill-intent.
"I will say this," Vitale began, dropping the key to Rostya's enclosure on the table before me and finding a seat as far away from the cat as possible. "I do not relish that you force me to release your beast."
"Oh, come now," I smirked, scratching beneath Rostya's chin. "He adores you, priest."
"Adores chasing me, yes."
I looked over at him with an expression of faux reprimand.
"I've warned you that running from tigers will only excite them."
Vitale shot me a rather fiery glare. "And you'd rather me stand off to fight them face to face?"
"Fight? Please," I scoffed. "You'd have no chance."
I enjoyed mocking him, but the truth of the matter was that tigers were ambush predators. If their prey caught sight of them, they oftentimes backed down. Only a starving, scared, or sick tiger would ever act beyond that rule of thumb.
Vitale exhaled a heavy sigh and shifted to as to cross his left leg over the other, reaching for the stein of the non-fermented cider that had been poured for him out of habit by one of the castle-hands. It was the oftentimes the case that when I sat for a drink so, too, would the priest.
"I needn't speak this," he began, bringing the metal lip of the cup to his mouth.
"And yet you will."
He regarded me for a long moment before taking a drink and placing the stein back down on the table.
"I would not be surprised to find that it is the eldest grandson of Emperor Emerentius II being escorted as we speak."
"As you speak," I countered. "And speak asininely obvious opinions, at that. Of course, it is the eldest pest that scuttles down my halls. Did you think Ciro is to be trusted in these delicate matters of inheritance? Or the cripple?"
I ran my hand over Rostya's coarse fur, musing. If that old bag of bones ruling the Summer Lands wasn't so damned superficial, he might've recognized that Durans would've been the bastard with the most potential to stand a chance against me. Or, rather, the most potential to endure the longest.
It nipped at my nerves a bit that my prey was the insignificant eldest brother, known for nothing but the luck of being firstborn.
"You mustn't kill him immediately."
My brow arched without thought as he turned to him.
"Mustn't I?"
The man hesitated, but for an ex-priest like him, it presented as a nearly imperceptible vacillation in his otherwise steady and assured gaze.
"If not him, shall you take his place, Vitale?" I inquired, maintaining my gaze, more to appraise the man than to actually intimidate him.
After a moment, he sighed and looked to his hands.
"The Casterian Conflict they so pitifully maintain with Eurakos has eighty percent of their military preoccupied. If I were to kill this sorry excuse of a man, their 'retribution' would be nothing Svetu alone couldn't handle." I watched the priest's expression as I spoke. He knew something I didn't. "At which point Ciro would be next in line for succession of Casteria, and not even that pathetic old man upon the throne would be imbecilic enough to send him north to his death - that would only leave a sodomite and a cripple, after all, and the empire has their reputation to maintain. Don't you agree with this?"
"I... yes, what you say is the accurate truth of the matter." Vitale admitted.
"Mm," I nodded. "It is, isn't it? So tell me this: why risk your life for that troglodyte who actually believes himself privy to my throne?"
"It's-"
"And I would take care," I interjected forcefully, sharp eyes upon him. "To speak nothing but the unadulterated truth, priest."
Vitale wavered only momentarily.
"I am not defending-"
He stopped when the north doors were thrown open in a fashion far too dramatic for any northern who cared for their reputation.
I sighed, giving Rostya one final chin rub before turning my attention to my prey.
And so it began.