For a few moments, his friend seemed to be at a loss for words. It was a satisfying sight, seeing him gape, and he couldn’t remember the last time he had seen him like that. He would take this as vengeance for Olivier not telling him that he had gotten married.

“What would a dead prince be doing at my estate?” Olivier finally managed to say. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “No, from the way you said it, I can only assume that the prince isn’t actually dead. So…” He opened his eyes and glared at him. “Care to explain, Roel?”

He informed him of what had transpired over the past few weeks – his order to assassinate the prince, his decision to let him live, the aftermath of the siege and its effects on his reputation, the Royal Council meeting in which he was appointed commander, and finally, his conversation with Cardinal Eudes at the House of Sybille. By the time he finished, the windows had become tinted with the orange glow of the late afternoon sky.

Olivier interrupted his story a few times to ask for more detail about certain things, but other than that, he remained silent, a stony expression on his face. Several minutes passed before he spoke.

“Sloppy work on your part,” Olivier said. They were words that offered no consolation or sympathy; he found himself grinning.

“Unfortunately, I lack your cunning and political maneuvering,” he said wryly. “Before I realized it, I had been caught in a web of schemes. Several of them.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“What do you mean then?”

“If you were going to let the prince live, there were several ways to do it. The mercenary – Rados, was it? – doesn’t sound too trustworthy, but Joseph would’ve figured out how to hide the prince and transport him to a safe place. Instead, you gave the prince a horse and gave him instructions to ride to my estate. I’ll ignore the fact that you put my life at risk. From whichever way I look at it, you chose the worst option. So, either you wanted to leave his fate up to luck or you made the decision at the last minute.”

“You’re right,” he admitted. “It was only when I was about to kill him that I changed my mind.” He had intentionally left that part out of his story either out of shame or a guilt-ridden desire to have Olivier call him out on it.

“It’s not like you to make such an impulsive decision, Roel.” He let out a deep sigh. “You knew the prince for a few days at most. Did you trust him just because he offered you a spot on his ship?”

“I…” He thought back on that night. Ghislain had his eyes closed, waiting for his death. But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t slit his throat with the knife in his hand.

Confused, Ghislain opened his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts now?” he said. “I didn’t take you for the kind of man whose convictions could be shaken so easily.”

It took a few moments before he could find his voice. “I’ll bring you a horse.”

“What?”

“Do you know the port city of Albine? I have a friend there. His name is Olivier de Gennes. It should be easy to find him. Tell him I sent you, and he’ll accommodate you. It doesn’t matter what you do from now on as long as you don’t reveal your identity.”

“You can’t be serious.” Despite being offered his life, Ghislain’s eyebrows were furrowed in anger. “Does giving mercy make you feel powerful? You think you can fuck around with people’s lives like this? How many of my soldiers are dying right now because you orchestrated this whole thing? Where is your sense of shame?”

“I know,” he said quietly.

“You want me to be honest? I offered to let you join us because I felt pity for you.” Ghislain laughed coldly. “A man with a flashy sword and armor but carrying no self-respect. The sight of you sickens me. If you want to be a spineless coward that blindly obeys orders, then at least see it through!”

“I know!” He didn’t mean to shout but he did. Ghislain fell quiet. “I know that this isn’t a decision that I can make lightly. I’m betraying the kingdom. There are men dying right now that didn’t need to. I know all of that. But I’ve made up my mind.”

There were various justifications for why he had chosen to do what he did. One was that he had been touched by Ghislain’s offer. Another was that he couldn’t understand why the king had ordered to have his brother killed. He could even pretend as if he were trying to take a stand against the Royal Council by disobeying their orders. But the truth, as it sometimes is, was simple and selfish.

“I wanted to rebel against myself,” he confessed to Olivier. “I can’t even say that sparing Ghislain’s life was a moral judgment. I did feel goodwill towards him, but there was nothing else more to it. For once, I just wanted to do something that was unexpected of me. You’re right – it’s not like me at all. And that’s why I did it.”

He chuckled bitterly. “Twelve years of bowing, kneeling, scraping my knees against the ground. When does it end? To be honest, I thought of confessing to the Royal Council. Telling them that I wouldn’t follow their orders. Then, I’d accept my punishment with my head held high. But I’m too cowardly even for that.”

He expected another biting remark from Olivier, but instead, his friend cleared his throat and then stiffly put his hand on his shoulder. “Well, what’s done is done,” Olivier said in a low voice. “I shouldn’t have asked you to justify yourself.” He removed his hand and, as if unsure of what to do with it, rested it on his lap.

Olivier’s awkward gesture relieved all the tension in his chest. “Are you trying to apologize?” he asked with a small smile.

“I am. You think I’m incapable of acknowledging when I’m at fault?”

He laughed. “No, I just think it’s unfair for you to become any more perfect. You’re already rich, smart, and well-connected. Isn’t that enough?”

“You forgot handsome.”

“I assure you that I didn’t.” Olivier frowned, and he laughed even harder. “You know, I felt quite envious of you when I met Maia. I knew you would get married eventually, but it still feels weird to think of you with a wife. It’s just so…mundane.”

“Now you’re just trying to pick a fight with me.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I really am envious. Neither of our lives can be considered normal, but I’m happy for you, Olivier. Truly.”

“No need to be envious. I’m doing what was expected of me, too. My father arranged the marriage.” Olivier glanced at the door. “Maia’s the third daughter of a viscount. My family is rich, that’s undeniable, but money can’t buy a title of nobility. At least not directly.”

“Wow, so you’re nobility now?”

“My children will be. I’m in a gray area between gentry and nobility. The nobles might respect me a little more now in our dealings, but not by much.” Olivier’s face darkened. “Some might dislike me even more.”

“Ah. I suppose it’s my turn to apologize now,” he said.

“What are you on about?”

“I assumed that you wanted to be married, but I didn’t consider your own circumstances. I should’ve expected that a merchant family would always want to maximize its profits.”

“It’s fine, I don’t think much of your opinion anyway,” Olivier replied with a smirk. He glanced again at the door, and the smirk faded. “I’m not unhappy with the marriage. I always knew that my marriage would be a transaction of sorts, and I trust my father to strike a good deal. I’m more worried about how Maia feels.”

“How did you get the family to agree to the marriage?” he asked. “Sounds like a rough bargain.”

“She’s a widow. Her fiancé fought for Duke Alan a few years ago, but he died in battle against the Takrins. She was engaged again, but that man caught a fever and died. Nobles can be a superstitious bunch. The head of the family was quite desperate to be rid of her, and well, here I am. That’s another reason we got married so quickly. They didn’t want to give me a chance to die.”

“She’s had a rough past.”

“Yes.” Olivier sighed. “But enough about me and her. What about you? It should be easy finding someone, you being Hero of Rove and all.”

“Please, don’t start this.” The silhouette of a girl appeared in his head, and he quickly pushed it away. “What wife is content knowing that her husband will always be away from home, fighting the kingdom’s battles? Especially now that I’m a commander.”

“You know…” Olivier’s eyes met his. “You don’t need to do this. I can get you far away from the continent. Or we can hide you in the Volshek Confederation; I have some connections there. We can fake your death, get you a new life.”

“Feeling inspired by the prince?” he said with a forced chuckle.

“I’m serious, Roel.”

“I know. Thank you, I really do appreciate your offer,” he said with as much sincerity as he could muster. “But I will lead.”

“Stubborn to a fault,” Olivier said, shaking his head. “I’ve told you this many times, but I’ll never understand why you want to keep fighting.”

“Me neither,” he admitted. “Maybe I’m just trying not to disappoint my childhood self.”

“You’re certainly as unreasonable as you were when you were younger.”

“Lay off me.”

“What do you think happened to the prince?” Olivier asked, and there was a shift in his composure. His expression became serious, his posture straight, and he rested both of his elbows on the table, his fingers interlaced. This must be how he looked during the guild meetings.

“Well, if he didn’t show up here, perhaps he had a different place in mind.”

“Or he ran into some trouble,” Olivier said.

“True.” He had been trying not to think of that possibility, but the prince was a lone man on a horse. He could’ve fallen victim to bandits, monsters, or even the Rove prisoners. Olivier was right in calling his decision sloppy.

“Then there’s that cardinal of yours. You can’t bargain with a man unless you know what he wants. What he truly wants.”

“He seems to have the support of the king,” he mused.

“Don’t stop there. It could be that he’s even acting directly on orders of the king.” Olivier frowned. “Kings, cardinals, dukes. You’ve attracted the most troublesome kinds of people. Anyone else you haven’t mentioned? Pope Hadrien perhaps?”

“Don’t act like this is my fault.” He knew Olivier was joking, but he couldn’t help giving a low sigh. “There’s another matter I want to talk to you about.”

“You need army officers, so you came to me for recommendations,” Olivier said immediately.

“Am I that easy to read?” he half-muttered.

“A man like you who hems and haws, constantly doubting his own capabilities? A blind man could read you.” Olivier’s tone became softer. “No, it’s a sound decision. I’d do the same in your position. No matter how competent one person is, he is still only one person. You need to surround yourself with capable men. A commander’s group of officers is like a king’s council.”

“Some of the nobles have approached me, but I gave vague answers,” he said. “I’ll need their resources eventually though. The question is who I should choose.”

“And how many,” Olivier added. “If you have too many of the capital’s nobles in your circle, then they could come together and turn against you. You can’t let them have a majority. How many officers were you thinking of?”

It was a question he had asked himself on the way to Albine. “No more than four or five for now. I’ll need more later, but I’ll make that decision when the time comes. I also need intelligence on the Graecians. I was hoping you knew someone.”

“And I’m guessing you need all of this as soon as possible?” Olivier said with a frown.

“Yup.”

“You’re insufferable. But I had a feeling that’s why you came here.” He took some pages of parchment from the stack on the table and handed them to him.” I’ve already compiled a list of names for you. We’ll look over them tonight and make the visits tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Olivier,” he said warmly. “Truly.”

“And what can I do with your gratitude?” he retorted, but there was a small smile on his face that quickly disappeared. “The Graecians are formidable foes. The merchants are already making preparations.”

“Do they think we will win or lose?”

Olivier grimaced. “That’s the wrong way to think about it with merchants. For now, the outcome of the war is irrelevant. It’s the individual battles that everyone in the merchant guilds is watching. If you capture a port town or some part of a major trade route, the merchants will show up in the very next hour.”

Roel thought of King Maxime’s wars. He had never paid much attention to the aftermath; he was always moving from one battle to another. But now these were important considerations. “They say that the two groups of people who follow after an army on its warpath are prostitutes and beggars. Perhaps merchants should be added as the third.”

“I won’t be your personal bank, but if you lack funding, I can –”

Olivier was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Darling, it’s getting late.” Maia’s voice was muffled by the door. “Will you and Sir Roel be joining the table for supper?”

“Not tonight,” he answered. “Have some servants bring up our meals. Also, some spirits. The ones at the back of the cellar.”

“Very well.”

As the sound of her footsteps receded from the door, Roel gave his friend a wary look. “A bit cold, aren’t you? Treating your newlywed wife like that.”

“Are you lecturing me about women?” he replied with a cocked eyebrow. After a moment, he glanced at the door and said with a hint of guilt, “I’ll have you know that I try to take her out every few days. Can’t I have one night away from my wife? We have much to discuss.”

“Fair enough,” he said, relieved that his friend wasn’t as callous as he thought he was. “I’ve decided on the next thing we need to discuss: what was your wedding like?”

“Don’t be so bitter. I would’ve invited you if I could.” Olivier looked at him. “Oh, you’re serious. You actually want to know?”

“Of course.”

“I guess I should start at the beginning. And before you say anything, I don’t have the same knack for storytelling that you do.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” he protested.

“Sure, sure,” Olivier grumbled. “Anyway, let’s see…”

Olivier truly wasn’t a good storyteller. He had a habit of focusing too much on the details – the material and color of the rugs in the viscount’s halls, the shoddy craftsmanship of the tables at their wedding, the superiority of Volshek artisans. But Roel had promised to hold his peace, so he listened without saying a word.

They only met a few times every year, and each time, he was reminded of what different lives they led. He didn’t feel any resentment, just faint envy. He knew that Olivier had his own fair share of troubles – he was a prominent member in the merchant guild of Albine, always dealing with black market dealers and sly traders exploiting loopholes in market regulations. Furthermore, because he dealt in luxury goods like exotic spices and textiles, a single plundered cargo ship could be a tremendous loss for him.

Nonetheless, he couldn’t help seeing Olivier’s stories as strange, otherworldly tales in which the only king was profit. Truth be told, he could barely understand some of the terms and concepts – Olivier had tried to explain the different types and uses of charters to him several times now – but he was still intrigued. He often wondered if Olivier felt the same way when he talked about battles and monster subjugations.

Nursing a sour spirit that had come from a far-off country whose name he couldn’t pronounce, he listened more attentively to Olivier tonight than he ever had before. War was on the horizon, and he wasn’t sure when they’d be able to meet like this again.