[b]Early Morning, February 3rd, 4901 YDC[/b]
[i]Bayerich, Kingdom of Velendaal[/i]
[hr]
King Iestyn III pursed his lips as he stared into the depths of the porridge in his bowl. His mind had been racing since an attendant had whispered the news in his ear. He was short an uncle and two cousins, and two more wanted nothing more than to tear at each other’s throats. That was a fact of life he’d known ever since they were children. He remembered when Ecruir tore pages out of Olarth’s books. Or when Olarth threw Ecruir’s lead soldiers into the lake. It was a cycle that had never broken. Only now, the stakes were higher than fairy tales and toys. 

“Dear, your breakfast will get cold,” a voice sang. Iestyn blinked, looked up and found the gentle face of his queen. He smiled back weakly and toyed with his spoon. 

“My breakfast is the least of my worries, Ilsye,” he said. 

“I’m sorry, I know. Emperor Naerzo was always good to you.”

“He was a good man, and a good emperor. Now he’s gone and so is the only cousin I ever got along with. Vomlur might have been his father’s equal.” 

Vomlur had been more like an older brother than a cousin. While the younger siblings either fought or hid themselves away in their rooms, Vomlur rode horses and spent time with Iestyn. Groomed from birth as the inheritor of the greatest empire known to history, Vomlur was schooled by the most esteemed professors in history, warfare, sciences and language. He’d pass on what he learned to an enthralled, young Iestyn. The twins were always absorbed in their own fantasies. What use did they have for such academics? After all, everyone always considered it a given Vomlur would ascend the throne. Last night had put that assumption to rest.

“It’s only a matter of time before either Olarth or Ecruir ask for my help,” Iestyn continued. “Who would you chose?”

Ilsye folded her hands and grinned. “Neither.” When Iestyn cocked his eyebrow, she added, “You are my king and my husband.”

“But if you were in my position?”

Ilsye leaned close, running her foot up Iestyn’s leg beneath the table.“I am for Velendaal. And you are Velendaal’s king,” she cooed. “Olarth, Ecruir, they can’t hope to be the man Naerzo was.” Iestyn squirmed in his seat as he felt Ilsye push her sole into his groin. Their gazes locked, breakfast all but forgotten.

“Yllendyr needs a strong emperor,” Ilsye said. “Someone like Vomlur, yes. But I’d prefer someone like [i]you[/i].” She fixed him with a devilish grin.

Iestyn threw his napkin off his lap and was across the table in seconds. He pulled Ilsye close and in her ear whispered, “I think I’ve found my appetite after all."

[center]- - - - -[/center]

[b]February 6th, 4901 YDC[/b]
[i]Bayerich, Kingdom of Velendaal[/i]
[hr]
Iestyn perched himself on the windowsill overlooking the courtyard. He was in a private room of the palace, joined by just a handful of close confidants. Among them was his brother Prince Chaylen, field marshal of the army. 

“Ecruir has requested Velendaalen soldiers to keep the Shogunate in line,” Chaylen said. “Place has become unstable, with the Shogun dead.” 

“Least we can do is make sure his replacement doesn’t get assassinated too,” Iestyn said. He took a sip from his wine glass and turned from the window. “Ecruir shall have what he asks for.” 

Iestyn’s lifelong friend, Lord Adoln was next to speak. “But what about your sights on-”

“Ecruir needs to be assured we stand with him,” Iestyn interrupted. “So long as Velendaal fulfills its obligations to the throne, he will be satisfied, and we have breathing room.”

Chaylen nodded. “We must guard our hand until the cards are in our favor. We side with Ecruir, who wields the true power in Yllendyr. Once Olarth is no more, there will be only one brother to deal with.”

“The only thing that concerns me is the Sentinels,” Adoln said with a shrug. “If Olarth is defeated and Ecruir is crowned, they’ll pledge their loyalty to him.”

“I’m sure I can reason with my uncle,” Iestyn replied. “He’s a prince of Velendaal.”

“Maybe, but I agree with Adoln,” Chaylen said. “The Sentinels are a sleeping giant. Ecruir must not be coronated before we’re ready.”

The men shared knowing looks behind their wine glasses. The Imperial Order of Sentinels had declared neutrality until an emperor was crowned. While the auxilia were the Imperium's hammer, the Sentinels were its scalpel. It was an elite, entirely elven military and more than a match for the contemporary armies of the day. If it pledged loyalty to either claimant, things would get much, much harder.   

After a moment, Iestyn slid off the windowsill, looked each man in the eye and raised his glass. 

“A toast. To Velendaal and the Imperium.”

“To Velendaal and the Imperium,” they said in unison.