"Your Majesty."
I blinked, regaining a sense of reality at the silvery sound of Lady Svetu's voice. She was the sovereign of the southernmost province of Rodakrov, and she took pride in that. She was, after all, one of the main strongholds that kept foreigners from asinine attempts of invasion.
"Lady Svetu," I greeted as she approached me, without the hesitancy that oftentimes accompanied close proximity with a monarch. Not because of 'who' though, but because of 'where'.
"My deepest sentiments to you."
As she bowed, I took joy in the fact that she altered the customary condolences. 'To you and your family' - that was how it ought to have been said, but I was the sole survivor of the Kazbirati bloodline, and it was exhilarating.
"They do not go unnoticed, my lady," I assured, exuding a temperate tone despite my giddiness.
She rose, once again, hugging her thick cloak close to her as a breeze whistled past. She was a solid woman, tall like all inhabitants of the winter lands, and about the age of my mother, had my mother remained amongst us. But she didn't - and barely in memory. Before I was old enough to know a mother was a thing to be missed - or a thing to be had - my father burned all portraits of her. The records, which he knew were necessary to archive, no matter how twisted with lunacy he was, were locked away, never to be seen again. At least, by me.
"But," Lady Svetu spoke again, a cautious gaze on me. It wasn't her fault though. Those pitiful enough to have had the exposure to my father for any extended period of time would naturally be wary of the eye glaze that came with daydreaming. It was disgustingly alike the glaze that came with the loss of lucidity. "I dare say that Rodakrov couldn't have been passed on to better hands."
Naturally. There were no better hands in the world than mine to be trusted to continue the Krovic prosperity that my father managed to nourish, even in the throes of his incurable disease.
"I only hope I can live up to your prospects, Lady Svetu," I placated anyway, since politics was fifty percent internal civility. I was not dimwitted enough to foolishly believe I could smoothly rule without the aid of her or of her province. Just as I grew up with royal blood, she grew up in nobility, groomed to take the reins. And if there was anything within the mortal realm that was as dependable as death, it would be a Krov in power.
"Superfluous niceties, sire," she countered dismissively. "There are none amongst us who harbor doubts of your aptitude."
"Amongst whom?" I enquired, cocking a brow. "The patricians or the people they represent?"
"Amongst your people." The answer was shrewd, but not necessarily honest.
I turned from her, dissatisfied. A kingdom could not be run on a foundation of lies. Their very nature produced conflict and civil unrest, which in turn generated animosity towards the crown, fueling the notions of mutiny.
They made the monarch look foolish. Lies would not be tolerated.
"And the concerns?"
The Duchess creased her brow.
"Pardon me, sire?"
"What are the concerns of me ascending to the throne?" I prompted, keeping a sharp eye on the subtle minutiae of her expressions. "Preferably the concerns within the scope of the other provincial houses."
She didn't bother to hide her hesitation, but nor did she bother to defend the obvious offense.
"Lady Svetu, be blunt or be prepared for the expropriation of Province Tomiti. It has been the legacy of your family for generations, but sometimes, change can be beneficial."
Her response to this fostered no such dithering.
"Your words are sharp, my lord," she snapped as much as her station allowed her to, face pale and defiant.
"I should hope so. A soft tongue is not proper for the king of the winter lands." I appraised her for a moment. "Still, while the threat remains, it is one that is easily preventable. All I ask is that you answer with honesty rather than placated statements of loyalty."
"I... Yes, sire," she ceded almost immediately. "But I do not wish to spin a web out of a single thread of silk. I will tell you what I have heard, but I will not assume intention."
"And I wouldn't ask that of you, Lady Svetu," I purred back. The five noble families of Rodakrov had possessed their land and their authority for generations now, with dispute, certainly, but consecutively, nonetheless. Each house has their strengths and their weaknesses. And none have secrets that can remain hidden. That was just the nature of Krovic diplomacy.
"Ivon speaks with questionable boldness regarding you." Despite the divulgence of information that she - mere seconds ago - vacillated over, her volume of her voice did not change. She might've been cautious, but she was no coward. "Your age, your upbringing – he wonders whether one amongst the provincial houses would not be better fit to wear the crown."
"And is there?"
"Is there what, my lord?" Svetu countered.
"A better fit amongst you." I responded with only half of my attention. My upbringing, she said, but even Ivon wasn't daft enough to question the tried-and-true method of Kazbirati rearing. No, what Ivon was questioning was my sanity - or, rather, attempting to plant seeds so others would. "Would the crown better rest upon the head of another?"
The duchess regarded me wearily.
"Ivon would think so, though a specific name has never left his tongue. Kazac's loyalty to the royal house Kazbirati is as steadfast as it always is. And Rurik, he will show no opinion or favor until the dust has settled."
"But without intentions himself," I hummed in agreement. Rurik was a gruff man, but shrewd and vital to the Krovic military. He knew of his importance and, thus, would not threaten the stable position he worked for over greed for the throne. Not with a Kazbirati seated upon it. "And you, Duchess of Tomiti? Would you dare challenge my position?"
"Never."
Her answer came quicker than expected, and though haste oftentimes implied fabrication, I knew it to be sincere. Gaining the throne would mean passing Tomiti to a new house, and Svetu would sooner throw herself to the mercy of a snow tiger than do that.
"Then Ivon is the only impediment," I mulled, my gaze drifting towards the platform of aristocracy. The Duke of Kersti was the youngest amidst the throng of provincial nobles. Young enough to still have hope. "What a fool."