A carriage, expertly made out of thin strips of white spruce wood with two large gold crest depicting a golden lion with a crown on its flanks, enters the outskirts of Meiridin. It is escorted by two dozen Royal soldiers in plate armor with the same crest on their tabards.

The midday sun shines on steel and on the six horses pulling the carriage as they trot through Meiridin's cleared streets, emptied an hour prior by the capital's garrison because the King did not wish for cheers or gazes.

King Cenwalh lays sprawled on the bench, facing the silent Exemplar held to his service. He makes a decision about what his Queen advised him to do before he left earlier in the day. He will act since patience has not succeeded.

“Speak to us, Sieg.” The King tells the old sword-master.

“What do you wish for me to say, King?” Siegfried asks calmly.

“The thoughts that have kept you mute of guidance these past weeks.” Cenwalh answers.

The old Exemplar lies back on the bench and brings his gnarled right hand up to his eyes. He sighs and raises his chin to face Caeviel's King in his quality as an adviser instead of a witness for the first time in over two months. It does not surprise him that Cenwalh has only noticed he kept his tongue for mere weeks.

“The Grand Master is unaware of your concern towards the longevity of your Royal line.” Siegfried says.

Cenwalh's lips thin, it does not please him that this subject is the one broached. In fact, it gives him a chill but never in his pride would he admit the fear in his heart towards the Emperor for his blood is Noble and knows not cowardice.

“The Grand Master spoke thus when we last met, 'Alliances built on fright are hard and brittle.'” Siegfried recounts flatly. “Crowns have been lost most often by the bearer's own hand than by those of others.”

“A potent warning you give us.” King Cenwalh comments with a displeased expression. “We are aware that some among our Court have taken steps to ensure they will profit wherever the storm comes from. It is neither unusual nor unforeseen, but whence could they act if they remain by our side?”

“Act? There is no need for action when inaction inflicts a deeper wound than the sharpest dagger.” Siegfried shakes his head. “King Cenwalh, you have quelled support for Elizabeth Vil in but a swift stroke of hemp tempered with ink.”

“Poetic.” Cenwalh smiles, thinking of threat made diversion by decree of exile and of traitors made examples by hanging them down the walls.

“Yet, you have not resolved the root of it.” The old Exemplar criticizes.

“The roots will gather to support a lance-shaped trunk.” Cenwalh replies, taking interest in this game of riddles. Rare are the conversations which can relieve him of the boredom of travels. “The fruits will ripen by spring, to my benefit for the soil this tree grows in is under our Rule.”

“You misunderstand.” Siegfried shakes his head. “I was speaking of more tangible roots and the trunk has already been scorched.”

Cenwalh takes pause at this revelation. He knows the mistake he made. He spoke to this Exemplar as if he possessed the nature of a Court Noble when he should have kept in mind that the Order elevates those who have proven dedication to the Empire.

Naivety some may call it, but not this King as he knows the effectiveness of their doctrine. He has often indirectly attempted to find informants among the ranks of Templars and failed time after time.

Cenwalh blames the fact that he has been busier with plots than ruling lately. He thinks of what was burnt lately. Many old precepts have been scattered to ashes because of the insects targeting Nobility through a crafty agent, but that is too metaphorical.

He ponders. Perhaps an old tie to Izla Meria, gone as grain turned cinders? The King frowns. A Templar would never give advice that could induce him to treat the Duchy of Meria as a problem to solve, especially not when two-thirds of the Order in Caeviel has crossed over to the island.

Twice impossible words, those make the King smile. His risen lips soon fall to a low they had not been at before as he thinks of Suxen whose social ineptitude and mathematical genius would have induced her to think that two negatives make a positive.

Cenwalh thinks of the twice scorched Institute and his mood rises as he finally put his finger on the meaning behind the Exemplar's words. Those who led the second arson, most were of small character unworthy of notice by a King but some stood out by virtue of their pregnancy.

Whether low or high born, humans instinctively care for the newly born and those who carry them. These roots can grow into an inconvenient if not dangerous tree yet cannot be severed because such an act would turn whispered protests into full-blown revolts.

“Good advice, it shed light on darkness we had not kept to mind.” King Cenwalh gracefully acknowledges but merely puts the issue to the back of his mind to deal with it once he arrives at his Royal Palace. “Is our support of the Institute the cause of your latest dearth of opinions? We have already assured the Order that I had no knowledge of the Director's transgressions.”

The Exemplar decides to let slide the fact that the King had a narrow view of the scorched trunk he spoke of because he gave the man a chance already, which is more than he deserves in the elder temple guard's opinion.

By experience, although he has never experienced turmoil on this scale, the Exemplar can see that recent events have damaged the people's trust in Caeviel. Peasants and bourgeois are aware that Nobility has acted contrary to their role of protectors by attracting the black plague.

Such a circumstance has allowed the flames of war to further damage Nobility's prestige in Caeviel instead of reinforcing it as it does in four of the Kingdoms. Most depressing to the Exemplar is that misguided titled Nobles bear more responsible for this than the insects.

Another proof that power begets not wisdom, not that the old temple guard lacks those. Had the King not been so ambitious, he would have told the Emperor within the first year of the Princess' captivity that the Director needed more to achieve results within the agreed upon time frame.

But no, Cenwalh had aims to strengthen himself. His vision gazes ambitiously at the forest only to miss the bramble entwined at his ankles. It will eventually cause his downfall, the Exemplar knows, but he weeps at the damage done in the process.

He wonders whether Nobility's blood in Caeviel is thin. The Kingdom is the youngest, pioneered by Noble youth with little future in the Empire. The Exemplar wonders if the Emperor made a mistake in giving this task to Cenwalh.

No, Siegfried immediately refutes the thought. The Shade has informed him that the objective, whatever it was, has been accomplished. Even if it wasn't, he thinks, there was no other candidate for this mission.

The four frontier Kingdoms would have refused to provoke the insects without much consideration, they are loyal to the Empire only to the extent that it benefits them. Mirus could have been made to agree but their Nobility is corrupt and lusts to stack gold atop of gold without end.

“You are silent. Do you doubt us?” Cenwalh questions without a change in expression.

“I would never dare to accuse your Majesty of being dishonest.” Siegfried calmly tells the King, a non-answer if there ever was one. Cenwalh cares not to hide his frown from this adviser. “Countess Lance and Elizabeth Vil, your plans do cause me some worry and I have seen but a fraction.”

“Elizabeth Vil was dealt with according to your Order's instructions.” Cenwalh notes, aiming to hear more before giving the Templars a glimpse of his cards.

“A single hybrid is but a thorn, yet it succeeded in drawing blood and became as renowned as the rose it grew on. The potential for more is a seed that can only be encouraged to sprout so the gardener it belongs to dare not use our fields to grow crops.” Siegfried replies vaguely, aware that the best way to handle this King is to keep him entertained and challenge his acumen.

“Mh.” Cenwalh hums. “The theme of your poetry is no coincidence, and quite adroit. Yet, this apparent non-sequitur is a somewhat heavy-handed clue because it is much too developed. You've introduced the shadow of the black plague from the beginning to remind me that it remains despite their departure.”

“So, I have, King.” Siegfried acknowledges. He stretches his left leg to fight the stiffness permeating it while the King's thoughts are occupied.

“First, the non-sequitur is not one. The Order is preparing for the possibility that the Rykz will create more hybrids to destabilize the Empire. You gave mercy to Elizabeth Vil because of the trouble that condemning her would cause but the point was to spread the news that hybrids can be forgiven and given purpose if they defend the Empire.” Cenwalh says, exposing the first layer of a puzzle he is still trying to unravel.

“Kruzser has ordained it so.” The Exemplar says with a small bow.

“Not the Order, nor the Emperor.” The King notes, his eyebrows raising by a small margin. “What has the administration to do with this?” He asks himself, expecting no answer from the old Exemplar. “No, not the administration. These paper pushers would have needed five years of deliberation to reach this conclusion.” He realizes. “The Shades!” He spits out, almost losing his composure from anger.

The King seethes. Not only did these vultures maneuver against the Institute but they also took a rook he paid a heavy price to attract. Suxen gave him a few priceless constructs but her real value was in the potential behind the Numbers and how she would develop them as she pursued her mad ambition.

“I have no knowledge of such an organization, but if they were to exist and succeed in convincing the Main Temple and the administration to act upon this, then it is of import for the whole of the Empire.” Siegfried speaks up.

Cenwalh forcefully throws his fury to the side to focus on this new piece of information. He sees the logic of giving hybrids the possibility of joining the Empire but thinks that it is far from sufficient to eliminate the threat since the insects are certain to choose traitors.

Still, the King realizes, turn-coats can be bought if not trusted. He does not care for this. This potential problem is one for the Emperor's Phalanxes and the eastern Kingdoms to deal with, and if it becomes concrete then the chaos will only give him more room to work with.

He estimates that the worst would be for hybrids to infiltrate Caeviel and cause damage to his Court, which he can exploit to further tie them to his purpose. Cenwalh has already made good use of one hybrid and how it scattered an entire regiment of experienced archers after all.

It scared the highest among his Court and served to warn the Shades that his graciousness has limits. Cenwalh feels the carriage slow down, he decides to think about the Exemplar's amusing riddle from the throne since there are official matters to attend.

“As always, Sieg, the Kingdom benefits from your tongue. It polishes the spots other advisers fail to notice.” King Cenwalh tells the Exemplar, returning the old man's previous shrouded criticism about his honesty with interest.

The Exemplar does not rise to the insult. He stands up, bows with a straight back, and leaves with these words of dismissal. He has done his duty as an adviser to the King by shedding light on the cracks forming in Caeviel's land.

He has ensured the safety of all those mistreated by the Institute, and likely maneuvered the King into compensating them as well, which is part of his duty as a member of the Templar Order.

Cenwalh frowns as the sword-master steps out of the carriage because the old man is of lesser status but does not speak further because Templars stand outside a Kingdom's social order, and Exemplars especially so.

It remains a mark of disrespect because temple guards do not breach such etiquette unless they are making a point about their independence or acting as direct representatives of the Emperor.

The King looks on the departing man with disdain. He is aware that his insult is the immediate reason behind this attitude but it also hints that the source of the Exemplar's silence is sentiment rather than an expression of official disapproval from the Order.

Cenwalh asks himself whether it is that the old man has grown sentimental towards insignificant peasants with age or if it is that he has stumbled upon some secrets. Like the threats he sent Duke Meria for allowing a selfish truce and to force the Izla to fight to the end.

The King carefully adjusts his crown while dismissing these pointless thoughts. After all, no matter what the Order thinks of him they'll do their duty towards the Kingdom at their utmost capability.

“We are the Kingdom.” Cenwalh declares while standing up.

The leader of his Royal guards, helmet stuck under his arm, bows in acknowledgment. The King smiles and steps out of the carriage with a wide majestic gait to head to the throne room surrounded by his most loyal elite soldiers.

He does not follow his escort despite half walking in front of him nor does he match his pace to the sound of their graves striking the ground in rhythm. They follow his lead and his pace, it is truth ingrained in King Cenwalh's very being.

He enters the throne room and strides the red carpet without a glance to the kneeling servants standing to the side with jugs of wine or platters of fruit. He merely nods to receive the bow his Chancellor makes from the left side of the throne.

The King granted this old friend the honor for his long years of service, which began in the days of his own father as shown by the white in the Chancellor's shaved beard.

“We will receive a subject to hear supplication later this day, the elder of the women fortunate to survive the fire at the Institute.” Cenwalh declares as he sits down on his throne, finding the pillows much more comfortable than the carriage's.

“She will be summoned at once, my King.” The man bows again before throwing the briefest of looks to a young blond aide who swiftly takes her leave.

“You may all see to your duties.” Cenwalh mildly dismisses the rest with a wave of his hand. Servants, guards, and officials bow before taking their leave.

“Shall the other leaders be hinted at to repent for their acts?” The Chancellor proposes carefully.

“No.” Cenwalh denies. “The oldest shall present herself as a supplicant to show contrition for rash actions taken, no crime was committed.”

“Yes, my King.” The man acknowledges, immediately understanding. “A wise and merciful action to put an end to discontent.”

“You will keep an indirect ear to actions taken following the audience. Were this subject to fail in quelling the rest after been given the privilege of an audience, you will discreetly remind her of the responsibilities of a leader and that the weight of the lives on her shoulders.” Cenwalh speaks flatly.

“One among many will think the herd can hide their treachery while one who stands above will strive to protect the herd from wolves and internal dissent.” The Chancellor murmurs, his voice full of praise.

“A minor matter.” Cenwalh dismisses pridefully.

“There is some news about the former Exemplar.” The Chancellor mentions while watching for his Liege's reaction. After a few seconds, he interprets the silence as permission to speak. “Dame Vikiana has left Meiridin yesterday, by ship. There are people who may continue surveillance in Meria if you wish so, my King.”

“No need to take the risk unless your spies in Castle Lance have been caught.” Cenwalh waves his hand dismissively. “The daughter is of more concern and import.”

“My King?” The Chancellor probes, surprised because they have long outlined plans to act upon to deal with the Countess once she runs out of value.

“It has occurred to us that the problem we face with Leomi Lance is not her life but her death and the manner in which it unfolds.” The King declares, straightening his posture on the throne while his eyes wander to the stag crest of Izla Meria hanging on the wall. “We must wait for her to overreach before casting her down. Her reach extends far beyond what it should be and touches on the next generation of Nobles that will lead our Kingdom. Titled Nobility will turn on her by a large margin if given sufficient justification to placate their subjects' anger. We need not find a good reason to end her pitiful life and ideals, merely await provocation of any kind to act.”

“What if she were foolish enough to overreach before we can secure alliances with other Kingdoms?” The Chancellor asks.

“It is doubtful she would be so idiotic.” The King says, throwing his minister a brief look of praise. “But, if Countess Lance were to be so courteous as to present her neck before we decide to take it, then the resulting unrest will still doubly play in our favor. As a way to divert our Court's attention from foolhardy ambitions and an example of the threat to present my equals. It shan't be overly difficult to use this to convince Kings and Queens that an alliance to guard against above as well as bellow is to our mutual benefit.”

“Rare are those who could have found the timing to both save their skin and increase their reputation.” The adviser comments while stroking his chin. “It is fortunate for the Kingdom that my King's vision is so clear it saw through the chaos of events to catch this Countess' deceitful intent.”

“Enough.” Cenwalh utters, growing weary of praises. “Have you obtained this so-called charter?”

“I have, my King.” The Chancellor nods. “A good move, it benefits Countess Lance indirectly through her position as Grand Commander while also benefiting those titled Nobles who choose to accept the Hospitaliers' presence on their lands.”

“An increase to influence and stability for the price of some coin? Is there more to it?” Cenwalh questions.

“Not that we can discern for now, the language used in the copy is convoluted but such is always the case of legal documents.” The Chancellor answers. “It is possible that the presence of Hospitaliers in Meiridin would benefit us when the time comes to condemn their Grand Commander.”

“Oh?” The King says, his interest piqued.

“According to this Charter, as long as we act within the laws of the Kingdom then they will have to silently bend the spine. They could even possibly be made to participate because Countess Lance and Countess Odo are planning to use this Charter as the foundation to the Hospitaliers.” The adviser explains.

“You mean to say that if they were to betray the word of it, their organization would crumble?” Cenwalh asks.

“Even betraying the spirit may be enough.” The Chancellor responds carefully.

“Good, take charge of this matter but do not waste too much time on it. They are using that piece of paper so it is unlikely for the final draft to be beneficial to us.” Cenwalh says, turning his mind to another matter. “We shall take every Duke and Duchess south in spring, including the future Duchess Lance but not Duchess Edusa Hetlan of course. It would be counter-productive to force her to refuse our summons while she searches for a consort and a weakened Hetlan requires a stabilizing leader for its mines to continue producing ore for our blacksmiths.”

The King keeps it unsaid because it need not be uttered that keeping his Court close will ensure undue ambitions do not sprout. There is also the fact that titled Nobles with high positions as theirs would be very reluctant to leave their lands while some of their competitors remain.

“Understood, my King.” The man bows. “Have you reached a decision about the army Countess Lance is so openly gathering?”

“Yes.” King Cenwalh smiles viciously. “A peasant is allowed to keep a portion of their harvest but it belongs in right and truth to the Liege as the land is theirs. We shall partake in the fruits of our subject's labor and savor the taste.”

The King does not notice the slight frown of concern that appears on his Chancellor's forehead. The man thinks it inappropriate for a titled Noble to be compared to a peasant and is stunned that the King would be the one to do so.

He thinks that these words are disgraceful but he would never dare to say so even in private and away from his King's ear. Never would a Ruler have said such a thing before those dangerous ideas emerged on Izla Meria.

Worse, perhaps, is how a trivial game of chess made his King unduly wary of mere peasants. The Chancellor takes relief in the fact that these things will be easily dealt with through Countess Lance's public execution.