Darin chuckles. "Yeah, no shite."
Elya's eyes narrow. "Have you noticed… that he barely ever stands up? He didn't even attend the recruitment of his own populace."
"He's old," Darin says. "I's get why he doesn't want to."
"Did you notice how gaunt he is? He almost looks… frail," Elya says.
A thought clicks in your mind. "It's like those in Wrido. During the siege."
Elya realizes what you're implying. "You think it's Consumption?"
"Weak and frail with a bloody cough." You shrug. "Matches up pretty well."
"Consumption? At that age? He's gonna die. And soon." Darin laughs. "Wait… didn't he say that we'd be allies until his death?"
Elya takes a large swig of her wine. Clearly aggravated, she replies, "Yeah. Yeah, he fuckin' did. There might not be such a golden age of Kantonian-Kroridian relations, after all."
"Oh, joy," you say with genuine aggravation. "Good fuckin' job."
"How the hell was I supposed to know?"
"By using your eyes!"
Darin, sensing the tension, interjects. "What's done is done. I's say we focus more on who the hell is gonna succeed him."
"That's the question," says the queen.
Darin says, "I's seen no son. Hell, nobody. Not even a wife. Maybe it's his steward, then?"
"The steward looks about as old as him," you reply.
"Ya tryin' to say somethin' about old folk?"
"I'm saying that he's probably not his son."
Darin sips his wine. "Yeah. Probably not."
After a moment of hesitation, Elya says, "I actually might have some claim. The two of us are related, albeit distantly."
"Does that mean Arthur Hornraven is, too?"
She nods. "But… well…" Subtly, she touches her ring fingers. "It's why I chose that title for you, Arthur Hornraven. The Master of Soldiers, at least in the Ravarian court, doesn't require royal blood."
"The Kroridians like him, though. Maybe they's won't care," Darin replies.
Elya shrugs. "I guess it's… possible."