Windy fir woodlands.

STARING at her rippling reflection in the cup, Vaiu paused to take in her progress—or lack thereof. Frustrated, she pondered, wondering why she longed for the mundane when the very world was her oyster. Even for one such as herself, life was too short for all the lives she dreamed of living; searching for feelings that she knew might one day destroy her. Around her the world changed and was changing still; she could see it but barely remembered, grasping for a past long gone.

A gulp of aged wine, a sigh, a feeling of restless anticipation bubbling. Vaiu observed from the threshold of wakefulness as twilight, then dawn passed in a chaotic blur, and, as startling as a falling pan in the dead of the night, morning arrived.

With it the burdens of her title.

"—liness? Your Holiness?"

"Y… es?" Vaiu drawled, her mind temporarily reverting to a state of coherence. In front of her was a smouldering fire. Shafts of sunlight pierced through the morning fog, with it the chorus of a waking forest; chirping birds, scrambling squirrels and the muted footfalls of servants and guards at work on the camp.

"This is important," came an exasperated sigh from the one beside her. The matriarch blinked, her head swivelling slightly to glance at her niece, who stood arms crossed, disapproval etched upon her face.

"Forgive me, Lovell," Vaiu said, motioning mildly for the young woman to continue as she reached for the half-empty bottle of wine held by someone standing behind her; Vaiu was uncertain who, and she deemed it inconsequential. Though many wished for her downfall, few possessed the means to poison her drink, and those who did would not dare. As long as she remained favoured by the Elders, it was almost comical how little she had to do to safeguard her life.

"I spaced out for a moment there. You were saying?"

"...Are you drunk, My Lady?" asked Lovell. The matriarch emptied the remainder of the wine into her cup, a vessel intricately crafted of gold, while the younger woman watched with concern as Vaiu discarded the now empty bottle into waiting hands.

"Nay."

"...If you say so," came another sigh. Vaiu observed with a hint of fond amusement as Lovell's attention returned to the parchment slip she held, her delicate features creasing into a slight frown.

"Well," Lovell began, "Prince Everhard's hold over Bycrest has been solidified. Over the past week, several Algrian lords have received missives purportedly from the prince—most likely from his aide, Ser Richard, given the prince himself is, at the moment, too preoccupied with hunting the Princess to do anything else. These missives implored the lords to put down their arms and swear fealty to the Hertelean crown. It also demanded tribute to aid post-war efforts in restoring the capital. These letters have been largely disregarded, with more attention being paid to an ongoing conflict between the lords of Claula, Erytria and Kinsmouth over a series of large ruby mines previously controlled by the crown along the borders of the fiefs concerned. The lords of Algrim remain indecisive regarding mustering an army to drive the Hertaleans out of Bycrest; with the king imprisoned, many question the legitimacy of his heir, unwilling to sacrifice their men for a fledgling girl ruler."

"Ugh," Vaiu groaned, emptying her cup in a few inelegant gulps. The Matriarch dropped the now empty utensil in the hands of the girl standing behind her; whom she now realised was one of her maidservants. "Annoying," she muttered. "I suppose there are valiant men of noble lineage vying, so righteously, to take the burdensome mantle that is the crown?"

"More than a few, Your Holiness," Lovell quipped, giggling at Vaiu's tone. "Nine contenders have emerged, including Duke von Berat of Stotford, the wealthiest and most powerful of the lot, and Duke von Deniz of Manchesto, the king's third uncle. Duke von Emre of Alismouth, a distant cousin of the deposed heiress, has also garnered significant support. The six other candidates are deemed inconsequential; a rather varied gathering of ignorant old slobs and deluded young men lusting after power beyond their ken. Though with so many kinglings now running around vying for support many fear another civil war is on the horizon."

"A civil war?" Vaiu's interest was piqued by the words. Turning to leave, she abandoned the warmth of the dying campfire. "The Hertaleans and Verumittes would surely delight in such strife."

"Indeed," Lovell replied. "Our spies have gathered substantial proof of Verum's involvement in the sudden collapse of Bycrest defences; everything from bribes and threats to assassinations—some even fulfilled by members of our creed. The Verumitte crown approved numerous materiel loans, ship leases and monetary sponsorships from certain vassals to ensure the success of the war effort. They also announced that their Second Fleet, which aided in the moving supplies, and Verumitte mercenary troops under Hertalean contract, will remain at the Ignis basin; I quote, 'they are to anchor off the coast of the Cinden islands, indefinitely, to support the "reformation" of the "rogue" state, Algrim, and ensure the "safety" of our allies inland'. In response, a marriage proposal on behalf of the Hertalean crown prince, Everhard Wesselbutum to Verum's first princess, Alina Scymaester, was made by the Hertalean crown imploring that the marriage would further unify their kingdoms' bonds. Verum has yet to respond, though I suspect the proposal might be supported by King Lendar given how beneficial it would be for his son's reign in the end.

"Shortly after this announcement, Luscan raiders, given free passage through The Gulf of Manley and The Black Sea by Aries, attacked Hertalese and are currently ravaging its western islands and coastal regions. With the Hertelean first and second fleets invested in the war effort, the affected regions are incapable of mounting an effective defence. Verum's First Fleet attempted to intervene but was routed by a joint fleet of the Arien Second Fleet and a contingent of Luscan raiding vessels; both sides lost a total of twelve ships in a confronta—My Lady!"

"...Yes?"

Lovell frowned. "...Are you even listening?"

"Unfortunately, yes," Vaiu drawled. The Matriarch looked up to realise she was standing outside her tent; her feet having carried her there of their own volition. With a sigh of her own, Vaiu lifted the tent flaps, crawling underneath to lounge on the fur rugs that lined the floor inside, her dress of red satin undulating and clinging unto her sultry form; like ripples on a lake of blood underneath a moonlit sky; decadent.

Another sigh came from behind the Matriarch. "Your Holiness," Lovell admonished softly as she crouched to help Vaiu pull off her moccasins before unburdening herself of hers as she entered the tent.

"Did I permit you to enter, Lovell dear?" Vaiu grumbled into a cushion as her niece settled beside her.

"I am not done with my report, Your Holiness."

Vaiu sighed again.

Seemingly taking it as permission to continue, Lovell resumed speaking. "A detachment from Verum's Second Fleet has erected a naval blockade at the mouth of the Morgan Channel, and around the Algrian islands north of the Ionian Sea. Wary of a potential economic blockade, or worse, an invasion at the hands of the recently militaristic Verum and Hertalese, the Ivonnian crown has begun stockpiling food and war materiel before which they had issued a call to arms to all the kingdom's feudal lords and knights. A fleet of Ivonnian warships is at the moment being mustered to sail north towards the Morgan Channel to negotiate safe passage for merchant vessels into Ivonnian waters. Tequila and Quilton also condemned the assault on Bycrest, describing it as "uncouth" and "grasping" going further to—"

"Your Holiness," another voice, feminine, called from outside the tent, cutting Lovell off; the young lady sighed upon facing interruption once again.

"Yes," Vaiu replied, her voice muffled by the cushion underneath her face.

"Pardon my intrusion," the voice said, "but the Nameless that were sent out three days ago have returned with your quarry, Your Holiness."

"Aden?" The matriarch asked, her posture stiffening.

"Yes, Your Holiness, the queen and heiress as well."

"...Where is he then? Bring him to me."

"As you wish, Your Holiness."

"...I thought you despised the duke?" Lovell asked, a strange expression—something between a grimace and confusion—bubbling unto her countenance.

"...I do."

A pregnant pause followed Vaiu's response.

Lifting her head slightly from the cushion, the matriarch caught the younger woman's doubtful stare trained on her. "I do!" she exclaimed.

Lovell raised her left brow at the comment, her expression morphing into one of comprehension. "...Of course," the younger woman deadpanned. "Shall I… leave?"

"No!" Vaiu exclaimed with a drunken burp. "Just… How do I look?" she asked, patting down her spotless crimson dress and adjusting her hair.

"...I am leaving," Lovell said rising as she reached for her shoes at the exit.

"What! No! You will not abandon me here!"

"Nay, 'ready have, M'lady."

"Get back here, you traitorous wench! I said get back here, godsdammit!"

Aden let out a deep sigh as he walked alongside the abbess who escorted him. Their Majesties were absent, compelled to stay behind with another woman. Though he felt uneasy about the arrangement, he knew there was little he could do but comply. At a measured pace, he followed the woman through the encampment. While it was referred to as a camp, one could mistake it for a military outpost. In the centre of the clearing stood several sizable linen tents, looking as though they could be disassembled swiftly if need be. Nearly two dozen saddled horses were tethered to one side of the camp, the faint light of dawn glinting off their watchful eyes. Though the camp was not densely populated, Aden still noted several abbesses and members of the Nameless during their passage.

Moments later, the duke reached the entrance of a rather modest tent, where a woman, whom he presumed to be of high rank in the Creed given her attire, awaited him.

"You may address me as Priestess Lia during your time here," the woman stated curtly, confirming half of his suspicions. "I urge you to conduct yourself with decorum in the presence of Her Holiness and during the remainder of your stay under our care. I assume you are already acquainted with our rules?"

Aden nodded.

"Very well," she said, lifting the tent flap and motioning for him to enter. "Enter."

Aden complied, stepping into the tent to find a slender woman reclining on cushions in the centre. A tray of wine goblets lay in a corner, as well as a few empty wine bottles on a rather elegant tablecloth. The duke's gaze returned to the woman, locking with hers.

"...It's been a while," Aden said, breaking the uneasy silence. His expression was bland, but his eyes held a hint of a complex emotion. Forlornness? Longing? Caution? Even he couldn't say for certain.

"Yes," Vaiu said, her expression stoic. "Yes, it has." Her right index finger twitched where it lay on her lap, a nervous tic Aden recognized immediately.

"You seem tense," he observed, raising a brow. For some reason, he found the sight of the anxious Matriarch, contrived as it may be, somewhat amusing.

"No," she denied, deliberately stilling her trembling finger. "No, I am not. Why should I be? You are the one held captive, not I."

Aden fell silent for a moment before chuckling softly, his gaze softening and losing a bit of its edge for a moment.

Then he smiled, saying. "How have you fared, little red?"