Auspex Fort, Raecum, Principality of Oriens
End of the first month of 576
With the sour aroma of coffee, sitting in his termite-eaten armchair, he tried to take an interest in that inanimate object that, not so long ago, fostered cultural enrichment and personal fantasy.
He wanted to escape from the oppressive situation in which he found himself because of Philipart's actions.
"Come in!," he shouted as he heard the knock at the door.
Entering the place, wearing light leather armor, without his characteristic helmet, the man who, with his words, brought Arcadius to where he is now.
"Montag, good to see you." -He left the book on the table, directing his wry gaze to the newcomer.
"I don't know whether to say the same." Montag sympathized, approaching at a slow pace. "What's the matter with you? You look like the living dead."
Arcadio leaned back against the backrest, closing his eyes and sighing.
"Philipart, Tarvel and Ivette, the coming war, that's what's wrong with me. My best friend betrayed me, my wife was imprisoned for reasons I don't know, I don't know what happened to my son! And now we have to defend two fronts."
"And you have on your shoulders the decision on which rebel we will attack first."
"What?!" He abruptly stood up, walked over to Montag, and grabbed him by the arms. "Explain yourself!"
"I have received information from close friends I have in the Senate. It is said that the choice of whether we attack Philipart first, or Crásico, will be up to you."
He gently released his grip on Arcadio.
"They are rebels! They are the ones who attack..."
"And it is just because they are rebels that they will not attack first." Turning to the table in the center of the room, he interrupted him. "It is enough for them to have the territories of their regions under their power. And if they have armed themselves, it is for nothing other than to defend themselves from our recovery attack."
He placed his hands on the table, contemplating the map lying on it.
"It would be a blessing for them if there were no armed conflict. Let us settle everything diplomatically." He looked at Arcadio out of the corner of his eye. "Something the Senate will not be willing to do."
The Prince fell to his knees, wishing with all his being that what was happening was the stuff of a long and oppressive nightmare.
He knew he had to learn to do things alone, however, he could not do it anymore, he needed help and neither his best friend nor his wife were there to advise him.
"I want to see Wyatt, despite what he did, he was a good consiliarius."
Montag froze as he listened to her request.
What could he say to her without causing her to become more consumed with aggravation, without causing her to throw him out of the fortress and imprison him for causing Wyatt's death? He had to think of a way to persuade him.
"It was discovered that he was involved, along with people from the slums, in a plot to make an attempt on your life. For this he has been sent to a prison, so hidden that I don't even know its location."
At this point Arcadio was no longer thinking clearly, his mind was in a maze. Now it turned out that Wyatt was a damned traitor.
"Then I name you as my new consiliarius, Montifer Montag!" With his eyes watering and sweat trickling down his brow, he crawled swiftly over to the guard, clutching his knees. "Please tell me what to do!"
His eyes widened, she couldn't believe he was standing in front of him. Indirectly, he was putting Oriens' future on a silver platter.
"If you ask me like this." He smiled, bending down to him, lifting his chin. "You should…"