General Saint-Cyr's gaze locked onto Prince Dom João. His stern expression softened slightly as he assessed the young man before him.
"Prince Dom João," General Saint-Cyr said. "My name is Laurent de Gouvion Saint-Cyr and this person here is Manuel Godoy. Why did it take so long for you to come out? Or anyone for that matter."
"That is because we are scared, General," Prince Dom João. "Your artillery has killed thousands of inhabitants."
"That could have been prevented if your mother had agreed to our terms. But no, they forced our hands."
Prince Dom João's eyes met the general's, a mixture of regret and defiance in his gaze. "We believed in our ability to defend our land, our people. And yes, that belief may have cost us dearly."
The air was thick with the unspoken weight of the casualties that could have been avoided, of the paths not taken.
