Gawain sat comfortably in the receiving room, waiting with an air of calm patience. Beside him was Rebecca, whom he'd insisted bring along for her to gain some "experience." Despite her nervousness, she tried to maintain a dignified demeanor, mirroring her ancestor's nonchalant composure.
Soon enough, the doors opened to reveal Prince Edmund Moen, accompanied by an entourage that quickly withdrew, leaving him alone in the room with Gawain and Rebecca. The young prince approached, his every step measured and deliberate, like someone whose life had been spent under the weight of royal expectations.
Edmund Moen—the favored son of King Francis II of Ansu. Gawain hadn't met the prince before, but he'd been briefed about the royal family, thanks to the insights of Hety and Viscount Andrew, who had carefully outlined the king's lineage. With Francis II now well into his later years, Edmund had taken a central role in the king's plans for succession. Of the king's three children, the eldest son, Prince Wales, was known to be of rather lackluster character—plain in both mind and spirit and entirely uninterested in the complex world of politics. His lack of aptitude had long troubled King Francis, who, in his younger years, had hoped for a stronger heir.
For seventeen years, Wales had held the title of crown prince, simply by virtue of being the king's only son. But then fate intervened. A much younger consort of the king bore him twins—a girl and a boy. These were Princess Veronica and Prince Edmund, and they soon became the pride of the royal family, the children the old king had always wished for. Where Wales was lacking, Veronica and Edmund excelled, displaying intelligence, agility, and a natural charisma that quickly endeared them to their teachers and the court.
It wasn't long before Francis II made a controversial decision: he stripped Wales of his title as heir and bestowed it upon Edmund. Surprisingly, there was little opposition to the move—Wales himself seemed unbothered, as if relieved of a burden he'd never wanted to carry. For most, the transition was seamless, if not entirely unsurprising. The royal court of Ansu, ever cautious of potential discord, had endorsed the decision in the hope of averting a potential future disaster.
Though technically, Ansu's throne could be inherited by either a man or a woman, Veronica had voluntarily stepped aside when her father announced his successor. A deeply spiritual woman, she chose to join the Church of Holy Light, taking her vows in the grand cathedral and rising swiftly through the ranks. The popular belief was that her decision was a tactical one—an arrangement between the church and the monarchy. With a princess-turned-high-priestess among their ranks, the Church of Holy Light stood to gain considerable influence, while the royal family secured a lasting bond with the church. Yet there were rumors that it was the church encroaching on the royal family's influence, seeking a deeper hold on Ansu's affairs.
Gawain knew better than to put much stock in rumors, understanding they were simply the idle fantasies of those looking to spice up their otherwise uneventful lives. The reality, he felt, was likely much simpler: alliances were a part of ruling, and the Moen family had found a way to secure one with minimal compromise.
He gave Edmund a considering look. Handsome, well-spoken, and bearing both the poise of a soldier and the intellectual curiosity of a scholar, the young prince seemed almost too good to be true. Gawain couldn't help but chuckle softly, drawing Rebecca's attention. When she glanced at him, he leaned in and whispered, "Watch him closely. It doesn't hurt to have an example other than throwing fireballs at every problem."
She shot him a look that was half-amused, half-annoyed, clearly recalling how he'd encouraged her fiery tendencies earlier that day. Still, she gave a small nod, seemingly impressed by the prince's air of quiet confidence.
Meanwhile, Edmund offered a polite smile and inclined his head. "I trust the accommodations here are to your liking. Should you or Lady Rebecca require anything, please don't hesitate to inform the staff. They are here solely to serve."
Gawain leaned back in his chair, nodding. "I appreciate the hospitality. Nothing's quite as comfortable as staying in one's own home, after all. You've managed to keep this place remarkably intact. I see you even went to the trouble of recreating some of the old furnishings, down to my favorite tea set. Not bad at all. Please, sit."
Edmund seated himself across from them, his curiosity evident. "Maintaining the legacy of a hero is the duty of every citizen," he replied, his voice carrying a hint of reverence. "Forgive me if I seem overly sentimental, but I grew up on tales of your valor. In fact, I own a replica of your battle armor, which I keep in my quarters. I used to imagine myself as the defender of the realm, much like you once were. Sadly, reality doesn't allow the same freedom."
Gawain examined him with a keen eye, noticing the slight tension in the prince's shoulders, a stiffness that seemed born of both respect and discomfort. Gawain arched an eyebrow. "Relax. I may have been dead for seven centuries, but I wasn't old when I died. I was only thirty-five, so you're not exactly talking to an ancient relic here."
Edmund laughed, though he looked somewhat sheepish. "I suppose it's difficult to shake off the image of those additional centuries. It feels odd to think of you as someone not much older than I am."
"Time does create a gap," Gawain agreed. "For example, back in my day, we didn't have such formalities. A drink or a duel was usually enough to get to the heart of things. But nowadays, it seems people insist on layers of pleasantries before getting to the point."
Edmund blinked, then burst into laughter, his earlier tension dissipating. "My father was insistent that I should approach you with the utmost formality. He went on and on about the importance of protocol. But, frankly, I think too much formality only serves to annoy people."
"There we go," Gawain said with a nod, smiling approvingly. "That's the spirit. So let's skip the pretense, shall we? You're here to gauge my intentions, aren't you?"
The prince's smile faltered slightly, as if Gawain's straightforwardness had thrown him off balance. "You're… certainly direct."
Gawain chuckled. "That's how we ancient types communicate—straight to the point. So, tell me, has your father sent you to question my motives? To see if this resurrected ancestor of yours is a threat?"
Edmund's smile returned, though it was tinged with reluctance. "This wasn't on my father's orders, actually. He's far too cautious to send me for something so overt. No, this is my own initiative. You have to understand, I'm naturally curious about your intentions."
Gawain motioned for him to continue.
"You've been back for some time now, enough to understand that much has changed in seven hundred years," Edmund began, pausing as if weighing his words. His gaze flickered toward Rebecca before continuing. "I have to ask, did you come back for the Cecil family's interests?"
"That question is a bit too broad," Gawain replied evenly. "Of course, I'm here for the Cecil family's interests, but it depends on which interests we're talking about. I could lay claim to a considerable amount, after all. For instance—the ducal title and the southern lands, which the Cecils held in perpetuity, could be a point of discussion. Wouldn't you agree?"
Edmund's composure faltered, clearly uncertain if Gawain was speaking in jest. He forced a smile. "But… as per the kingdom's laws, your title and lands were passed to your descendants upon your death. Later, they were stripped of their status after violating those same laws. All of this was well within the legal framework."
Gawain leaned forward, his expression serious. "Yes, within the law. But according to that very law, my heir was only to inherit my title and lands after my death. As long as I lived, only my eldest son had the right to exercise my powers, with limited authority through what is known as the 'legal delegation of power.' Legally speaking, my heirs should have held only noble status without my level of authority. But I'm very much alive now. The law is silent on what happens when a man rises from the grave."
Edmund looked utterly bewildered. "You mean to say that the inheritance is… invalid?"
"Exactly," Gawain confirmed, enjoying the prince's confusion. "The inheritance was never legally transferred. A century ago, the kingdom stripped my descendants of something they never rightfully held. By rights, those titles and lands remain mine. The law doesn't anticipate a scenario where someone like me comes back."
Beside him, Rebecca stared at her ancestor in awe, hardly able to believe what she was hearing. In the adjacent room, Amber was eavesdropping with unabashed curiosity, whispering to Byron, "This guy's good—he's outdoing me in shamelessness!"
Meanwhile, Edmund appeared close to a breakdown. He struggled for words, finally managing, "But… no one could have predicted your return… And, respectfully, you did die."
Gawain shrugged. "Forget logic and precedent. They ceased to apply when I crawled out of the ground. Now, don't misunderstand me. I don't plan to reclaim what's been forfeited. The royal family's decision regarding my descendants was justified—I'd have punished them myself for their actions. I'm only letting you know that, if I wanted to contest the succession legally, I could. There's enough ambiguity in the wording of our laws to argue for a case."
Edmund raised his hands in surrender. "I understand now. Father always warned me about how wily you were, but this conversation has truly brought that to life."
"An old man can be cunning, especially when he's lived through turbulent times," Gawain said, giving the prince a pointed look. "In my time, we were either direct or poetic. During our savage years, we lived off the land, unashamed of it. In more civilized days, we could name a wine thirty ways and compose verses to accompany each name."
"Truly impressive," Edmund said, looking thoughtful. "Perhaps we can continue this frank discussion on what you intend to address with my father tomorrow."
Gawain gave a slight nod, confirming his suspicions. This conversation, as he'd suspected, was indeed the real negotiation.