"The Butcher," Darin says grimly.
Belos lets this knowledge sink in. You continue. "The way he thinks, the way he operates… it's different. When we fought the Erisians during The War, they gave him this title. He's no evil man, mind you. He's efficient. Such rules of honor or martial code matter not to him.
"In fact," you say, "I learned much of my tactical knowledge from him."
This is true. The two of you were not friends, per se, but you were comrades. You fought with him. You know how he thinks.
"The odds are that he will park his army outside the walls. He will send out parties to burn and loot the countryside nearby. This will be an attempt to force our hand. If you don't take the bait, he'll have no choice but to lay siege or storm the walls.
"If he storms the walls, we have a massive advantage, and he will stand no chance. The odds are that he will attempt a siege. It's summer now. All we need to do is hold until winter comes. If we stockpile now, we could easily hold."
Obren speaks up from the corner. "Marshal, most of the food comes in during the autumn harvest. His stocks will be replenished, and ours will not."
"Aye, so we should start—"
Belos interrupts you. "You honestly expect me to hold inside my walls like a coward while a traitor butchers my people?"
"When did you become so hardened?" Belos asks, voice quiet, then he raises it. "When did you become so callous?"
He then looks you in the eye. "You would throw my people to the pyre?"
You won't be so easily intimidated. You will stand your ground. "Yes."
"Get out," he practically growls. Vedran looks over at Belos, a look of confusion on his face. It quickly fades and is replaced by anger as he looks back to you.
You give Belos a slight bow. "As you wish, Your Majesty."
You turn around and don't look back.
Next
The halls are more busy than usual. Normally, it's just the typical assortment of guardsmen, servants, the occasional noble—but now it isn't. Nobles are everywhere, dukes and barons alike.
Most guest rooms are occupied. You realize just how lucky you were to find a room so easily.
As you scan their faces, you wonder how many will remain loyal to the crown. Civil war is upon Kanton. Brother against brother. How many will follow Rade in his act of rebellion?
You realize you don't even know why Rade is rebelling. Is his cause more just than your own? You push the thought away.
As you head around another corner, you ponder just why there are so many nobles here. There must be some festival or banquet. You wouldn't know. The whims of nobles, outside of warfare, are unknown to you.
But if there is some sort of event, it was a perfect time to start a rebellion. The nobles are away from home. No armies are raised. Nobody's ready for anything.
You smirk. Rade, you sneaky son of a bitch.
Suddenly, someone from behind you calls your name. You spin around, hand drifting toward your hip.
In front of you stands the noblewoman from the banquet, Lada. The one whom you shared a dance with.
At the memory of the dance…
Lada is dressed much more casually than when you last saw her. She shed her formal clothes for more comfortable and considerably less flashy ones, though she's still wearing a kirtle.
She smirks as you turn around. "Hello, Arthur Hornraven."
You purse your lips at the sound of your name being said from a stranger's lips.
"I know things," she says cryptically.
You shoot her a slightly aggravated glare, and she breaks down, giggling to herself. "I'm just playing with you," she says once her fit is over.
"Explain," you state. She chuckles again before saying, "I know you're the bastard, right? The one who fought in The Border Wars?"
Being known just as "the bastard" slightly puts you off, and you make no attempt to reply to her question.
With a sigh, she calms down and says, "I just wanted to say that I enjoyed the dance, and—"
Another voice from amid the crowded halls calls out, "Lada! Come pack!"
A man, perhaps in his early twenties, approaches from behind Lada. She steps out of the way so that you can face this new approacher. Your eyes scan over him, taking in the sight.
You first notice how different he looks compared to Lada. His black hair is cut short, his skin a shade of dark-brown. He's dressed casually like Lada, though he also wears an arming sword sheathed on his belt.
Lada gestures to you while speaking to him. "Milon, this is Arthur Hornraven, the one from The Border Wars." She then gestures to the one called Milon, saying, "Arthur Hornraven, this is Milon, my brother."
Brother?
Noticing your confused expression, Lada giggles again, then says, "Adoptive brother."
Milon shoots her a glare, but then his expression turns apologetic. "I wish not to… interrupt, but I think we'd best be going."
You give a noncommittal nod, to which Lada replies, "I hope to see you soon. Maybe we won't get interrupted then." She turns back to Milon, and the two set back down the hall. You watch them as they walk away, talking quietly to each other, before a man temporarily blocks your vision and you lose sight of them.
You place a hand to your chin.