Crown prince POV 

It was not a graceful escape out of Lunarend’s Keep.

Johannis prepared a body double for the queen to chase whilst they navigated out the sewers. Changed out of his clothes and into an unassuming tunic and dirty brown shroud. They emerged from of the slums of the city’s lowest tiers. Covered in the stench of shit. Meandering through the crowded alleys between crumbling stone and rotting wood. The news of a coup d’etat has been spread. Canary’s men filing down the streets, pulling at every hood and every blonde they see. Dirty children with grime smeared faces peeking out of the alleys to watch the commotion. The city’s gates are already closed. The order has been sent that no one is allowed out without at least a thorough check. His face on posters on every wall. She’s spreading the news of his birth for the whole of Astia to know. He bites down on his tongue bitterly. This fucking bitch!  

It’s through two more windy trudges in literal fecal water that they finally make it safely out of Lunarend through the exit by the rivers of Misty Woods. However safe as it can be secured by two hundred of his men that Johannis has placed. They can't stay, neither can they follow them. It’s only time before Canary realizes she’s chasing sheep and refocuses her efforts and they'll need to travel discreetly with little attention drawn to themselves as they possibly can. They hop into a merchant’s livestock wagon routed for Solaris Stronghold, his uncle Jerard’s castle.  

Ten days later and they’re along Pauper’s Road, meandering between mountainous valleys and uneven land specifically used for goods transport. They couldn't take the shorter route because Canary probably has it swarmed with guards by now. The trip is bumpy on screeching axels and chickens incessantly pecking at their feet with quite little bawks. Their messengers have been coming forward with information enroute during their pitstops in inns and taverns but he isn't entirely in the mood to hear what they have to say so he's left that to Johannis.

Then a raven swoops in the gaps of the wooden bars. Landing on his shoulder to preen her feathers. Myra. She's late. She probably got lost trying to find him now that he's no longer in Lunarend. But it's still mystfying how the bird does eventually. She's baffling intuitive for an animal. He finally retrieves the correspondence. His hand trembles as he furls it out. Soril’s handwriting. A strange nostalgia and sorrow lumps in his throat as he reads.

The Estelian infiltrator’s name is Rakgar. His mother is the Sansara. His sister currently has Feror. We have him captured. The Wascald traitors have locked us out of the city. I’ll find an opportunity to dispose of them. They are too treacherous to be kept alive. But rest assured, you should hear good news in a few fortnights if all goes well. On the side note, I stumbled upon the third princess Bathory Yggstel Weiss in Ryden. She requests a meeting with you.   

The tears begin welling in his eyes again. Scrunching the note up. He’s always jokingly taunted his demise, but he never thought it would be so bitter to actually have him die. Then he's reminded he isn't alone when Johannis breaks the silence with an awkward cough,

“Do you want to talk about it? You've been unusually quiet this entire journey.”

There’s a softness to the usual rigidity to his features. A straggly ragged man with nasty scars down his burly arms that he’s used to repeatedly knock him down to the ground during sword practice. An easing patience in his voice contradictory to the rough and stern tone to mock him frail and weak. Relentlessly reminded him how Soril would’ve long landed a hit. They can’t be all blessed with everything. Combat simply isn’t his forte. It’s foreign to witness this side of Johannis and Ysaac questions if he’s in the presence of a stranger. 

Ysaac swallows down his tears, adorns his gilded armor, 

“What’s there to talk about? I made a bad move, he made a bad move, and now we both pay the price.” Johannis sheaths his sword which he has been polishing with the hem of his hood before resting his elbows on his knees to say,  

“You don’t have to put on this façade. No one’s watching.”  

“You’re watching.” 

“I served your father for all thirty-four years of his regime. I witnessed all three of you grow up.”  

Ysaac takes a fractured breath and steels himself, “Quit it. I won’t cry.” and all it does is wring an empathetic sigh from Johannis, “It’s true what they say about the sins of our forebearers get inherited by the next. There’s no shame. You are still a child.”  

Ysaac snarls at him, “I’m twenty-three.”  

“A child.” Johannis emphasizes, “playing a vicious, vicious game against players far more seasoned than you. I warned you. It takes more to keep the high lords placated than simply placing a blade upon their necks.” 

“Placated them long enough.”  

“But not nearly enough to keep them down.” the words still sting his heart when he must voice it out, 

“How did he die? Was it the infiltrator?” Soril wrote him he’s quite the force to reckon with. Canary still received the news first. Probably from those greedy cunts at Ghastlight. Johannis hands over an ornate box to him, 

“Quinn Westley sent this. Found it on the meeting table beside his aunt and uncle’s dead body.” Eldenwood. Huh. Someone’s head probably rolled for this. These trees are sacred in Rothingale. It’s sacrilege to even piss on it let alone cut it down. They take it very seriously there. It’s empty except for a note, courtesy of the Redmoon Tavern,  

“What was inside?”  

“Crying Nightshade. Wiped the entire army out.”  

“These things are known to be extinct.”  

“Not anymore apparently.”  

“Even so, how did the Wascalds manage to afford this. Their family’s been struggling from Estelis raids and their ceaseless squandering on parties and renovations.” They were so strung up about keeping their image by hosting lavish balls and dances they couldn't afford to the detriment of themselves. He’s seen the treasury records. They didn't even pay their due taxes to the Crown for the past two years. No. That was a dumb question, he rephrases,  

“Was it Canary Lovern?” He wouldn’t be surprised if she pulled some strings by loaning them gold. Her family controls more than half of the Kingdom’s wealth and he's danced with the notion that Wascald wouldn't sit still and accept death as it comes. Canary wouldn’t give up on the prospect of having the biggest producer of raw metals in Astia indebted to her either. Whoever he makes enemies of, she swoops in to make them friends.

“Your guess is good as mine.” Johannis shrugs, “I had someone investigate whilst you were mourning. Word came in this morning an entire crate beneath Widow’s Lake was uncovered and it’ll be put on auction in the forthcoming full moon, bottle by bottle. You know what this means?” 

“Whoever controls it, controls the flow of this war.”

“But something still doesn’t add up.” Ysaac focuses away from the chickens to Johannis's face. His words grow weary and ominous,  

“Aside from our dusted troops. There’s also a pile of Estelian corpses that could have only been amalgamated after the fact. Four more limbless prisoners were discovered in the dungeon tower muttering, witch, witch, otherwise completely delirious. Whoever killed them, frightened the enemy forces into complete retreat from Wascald’s lands. But I reckon the ore production won’t be resumed anytime soon. Both the city and mining cite has been entirely crumbled.”

He does recall Soril sending him another note about Estelian troops being murdered by an unknown man with a plague mask. He’s already sent someone to investigate that but, thus far, no news has been returned. He instead inquires,

“What about Soril’s body. Was it retrieved?”  

“Strangely, that has been buried. We thought he was dusted along with the rest of the troops at first, but Quinn said his men found graves at the top of mount Kanra. Two corpses were uncovered there, one of Soril’s and the other was of a nameless red hair girl, completely unidentifiable.” This certainly is very strange. Was it the perpetrator who killed the Estelians that buried them? Or was it someone else entirely? Regardless, if they're going after the Estelians, it'll make them a potential ally. It’s something he should keep in the back of his mind to further delve into once they get to Solaris Stronghold.

With the King’s council completely on Canary’s side, the best assumption he can make is she has a force equivalent of 500 000 men. He knows he’s distributed 100 000 two months ago to their south-western borders to thwart the Estelian invasion there. Either way, even with his uncle Jerard’s factions, he’s still outnumbered if he does declare a full-on internal war against Canary and he knows she’s smart enough she won't resort to that either. Not when Estelis is still chipping away at them. But so long as Elwyna is in her captivity, it makes him incredibly unsettled to sit still. He says instead,  

“Let’s change the route. Head to Rothingale. We’ll focus on securing the weapon first, before Canary does.”  

“I can send someone. You don’t have to make the trip personally. It’s more important to amass support for yourself right now. Show some face to the Lords in the east, they have a large army of 200 000 and your uncle has already invited them to his castle. They haven’t fully deflected to Canary’s side, and they have reasonable grudge not to after her family’s crippling tariffs on their lands. If you leave Astia, it only solidifies your younger brother’s claim by allowing Canary to make her moves.”   

“No. I should. It doesn’t matter what she promises them if we get our hands on the Crying Nightshade.” 

“You do not learn from your previous mistakes. Violence can only be a temporary solution to patch a hole.” 

“Yet violence remains the most reasonable gamble to make. If the weapon has already been used, it’s safe to assume that it won’t just be us who will be going after it. This is beyond a simple conflict for my claim to the throne, but Astia’s safety as a whole. It’s too important of a task to leave to some squire. The Lords from the east can wait.” and that makes Johannis look at him with a strange fatherly pride. It gives him goosebumps. Johannis waves for the horseman to reroute. 

Ysaac tears a sliver of cloth from his clothes and scribbles a note to his uncle. Requesting for the transference of his funds. Uncle Jerard has a close relation with father so he knows he would never deflect to that usurper’s side out of familial bonds. He tells the location to Myra, sending her away. But right as he does, the wagon pulls to an abrupt halt. Before them, a garrison approaches. Their commander, a blue haired young man, tied to a ponytail. Bull emblem,  

“Alright, alright. Routine spot check. What are you carrying?” he says frivolously tapping his already drawn sword against his shoulder. The merchant stutters,  

“Just some chickens, my Lord. And my two helpers.” They immediately put their shrouds ups. Emerick Uwen. His father, a member of his father’s council, now the Queen’s. Canary sent them here. He clicks his tongue, she's being extremely thorough. Emerick loops around the cage. Johannis reaches beneath his shroud, gripping his hand around his sword as Emerick approaches towards the bars and orders,  

“Remove your hoods. I need to see some faces.”