Crown Prince Roland was a man constantly besieged.
The Kingdom of Tirea was, to many, a footnote on this great continent of powers. He knew his proud country could not compare to the might of the Grand Duchy of Granholtz, the Kingdom of Dunes or the merchant armadas of the Principalities. But that did not stop those same powers from interfering in every facet of political life.
He was both friend and foe, useful and forgettable.
On the whims of chancellors and sons, dukes and daughters, both he and his kingdom were elevated to kingmakers or irrelevancy at the drop of a hat.
It was a sure sign of disrespect that no matter how well he held himself when scrutinised by other nations, his kingdom would always be viewed precisely as how others thought on the day.
Or at least, that is how it used to be.
In many ways, it was easier before. The foreign embassies based in Tirea were prisons and punishments for diplomats who had exhausted their talents in richer realms.
Now, they were hubs of activity.
Day and night, movement was spied in what windows could be seen. Shadows and masked faces did the rounds in shops and restaurants, trading secrets and tales for more crowns in a day than master craftsmen could earn in a month, for they were skilled artisans in their own right. The skill of subterfuge. Of deceit.
Now it wasn't bumbling diplomats past their prime he had to contend with. It was agents, spies and informers. His reality as heir to the kingdom was to prevent this land becoming awash with foreign state actors.
The Kingdom of Tirea was under siege.
And Crown Prince Roland ........ had no idea why.
He wanted to cry. To beat his head against the wall. But he couldn't. Only he couldn't. He was the Crown Prince. The heir to the throne. When the citizens didn't look to the King, they looked to him.
And so he played the part required of him, when all he wanted was to burst into tears.
Something had happened. He didn't know what. But something had. Over the past year, activity had increased across the border. All borders.
To the east, the Grand Duchy of Granholtz was offering platitudes while it's westernmost dukedom was openly hostile with Tirea. To the south, the Kingdom of Weinstadt was in peril. Rumours were abound that it would become a vassal state to the Kingdom of Dunes. And then Tirea would have two of the greatest powers on the continent at its doorstep.
And that was all practically good news compared to the reports of a massive fae incursion in the Wovencoille.
He'd sent damn near every knight in the city north to plead, beg or be rolled over. And yet no sooner did he empty his reserves did he receive news that Duke Valence was preparing to formally secede. He wanted to believe it was a coincidence, and yet this was too much.
Everything was too much.
Why?
Why did it come to this?
The kingdom's small, irrelevant status suited itself. It was a favoured diplomatic ground. A hub of neutrality with a strong will towards peace and no strength for aggression. Now it was being pulled into something deeper.
Deeper and darker.
For the past month, he'd locked himself in his room, wishing all his responsibilities away while he played with his favourite hobby—moulding clay figurines. Despite the pleading against his door, he'd tirelessly sculpted the finest set of model dragons ever seen in Tirea. He was certain of it. The model fruit slimes he sold under alias were a favoured children's toy. But the model dragons he crafted were admired even by those with greying hair.
That is what he wanted to do.
Not this.
No … there was no choice. He had to pull soldiers from the Loerstadt Gate. It would diminish Tristan's sparse forces even further, but he had no choice. A civil war with the Duchy of Aquina was far more likely than an invasion by Granholtz. Tristan would have to make do, as he always has.
“May I speak, Your Highness?”
And now he had another problem.
As he sat in his carriage, he desperately utilised every force of will at his measure to stop the sweat from rolling down his face. To keep his exterior as the cold heir to the throne intact. He tried with all his might, commanding each and every sweat gland to not betray him at this crucial hour.
Because right now—
He was alone in a carriage with a pretty young woman.
“Of course. You may speak your mind, Lady Renise.”
As the Crown Prince, he was inundated with beautiful women attempting to gain his affection. However, to be utterly alone with one in such a secluded environment was rare.
And so, he kept his eyes to the window, only seeing the reflection of the young noblewoman as she nodded.
Or rather, the former noblewoman who now, for some bizarre reason, wore the uniform of a maid. But perhaps that was only fitting.
House Rimeaux was no more. Its assets and lands were now the property of the realm, to be divided, sold or offered when the time was right.
For the punishment of smuggling, there could only be one result. The forfeiture of all their wealth and holdings. And had that been all they had done, then it would have been the last of it.
However, they were not mere opportunists.
The Rimeauxs had orchestrated an entire criminal network whose purpose was to tear funds away from the kingdom. They had betrayed the people.
It was a capital crime. And despite his words to Lady Renise … no, to Renise, he had no intention of waking the Smuggler King and Queen from their prison of sleep.
It was assuredly better than what awaited them in the waking world.
For Damien and Sabilla Rimeaux, there could be no fate other than execution.
As for their daughter, she was still complicit. And though she herself claimed to have never organised or stolen goods through the endless sewers beneath the city, he could not provide her with the leniency he desired.
She would be exiled from the kingdom.
Given the state of the continent, he did not know if that was gentler than imprisonment. But it was the option he deemed most appropriate.
“I would like to know of my destination, if at all possible,” she said. “Though I'm grateful that as Lady Lucina is not in this carriage, we will not be traversing the same road of exile together.”
“That road is not hers to travel. She will never see the sky again.”
“Such a thought warms my heart.”
“Then let it. But although you have been spared the coldest justice, I fear that you will find little solace in the judgement I've provided for you.”
Renise broke into a small smile shorn of humour.
“I will accept any judgement, so long as she receives hers.”
“And she shall. You have my assurances of that. Though I wish I knew more of her reasoning for her madness. She is proving uncooperative, sadly.”
Lucina Tolent.
To think that she'd have the audacity to attack the Rimeauxs in broad … well, not daylight, but night time.
Even so, it was a challenge bold enough that he couldn't ignore it. There would be a coup. And both he and his figurines would lose their heads.
It baffled him why she would take such an outrageous action. Even with the Smugglers Guild at her behest, she lacked the power to force this takeover through as legitimate.
It made no sense!
“There is no reasoning, Your Highness,” said Renise. “Lucina seeks to spin a tale of tying sacks of crowns with strings and ribbons to the doors of the destitute. She will never see herself for what she is. A fool. A worm without hands clawing at a ladder she cannot climb.”
“Oh? And which ladder is that?”
“The one all villains shorn of imagination do, as I'm sure you're aware.”
Roland chuckled, then continued looking out of the window.
… What ladder did Lucina try to climb?! To which metaphorical ladder was Renise referring to?! The nobility were always climbing ladders! They liked climbing actual ladders just as much as imaginary ladders!
“True. Lucina was ever the ambitious type. As most are.”
“And yet no matter how wealthy people like Lucina become, the only summit which remains open to them is to become royalty of gutters. People do not suffer because of kings or queens. It is because of those like her trying to become one.”
Roland nodded, his eyes an immeasurable pool of pity.
Lucina ... was trying to become queen?!
This wasn't a takeover of the Smugglers Guild?! It was the start to a coup?!
“You speak true, my lady. Those like her will never rise above the sewers, because their stench carries with them even in their dreams.”
“How I wish my own dreams could be so lovely. Did she hope to convince anyone that seizing control of both the Smugglers Guild and my home had no bearing on her rather obvious plans for sedition?”
Roland began to feel the sweat starting to appear.
Was it truly that obvious … ?
But it was far too mad! The simple fact was that even with the correct amount of funds, she'd still need to assemble something close to an army.
Where would she get that?
Unless … she hoped that the nobility, the people, would be her army? Was this merely a test of his authority, in the hopes of inciting insurrection?
It was still too weak.
Something was missing.
Something which only the darkness held the answer to. And Roland feared in which direction this darkness resided. East or south. The Grand Duchy or the Dunes. Which was it?
“Even with the funds at her disposal, she would have failed,” said Roland. “She would never have become the Smuggler Queen, let alone the Queen of Tirea. Those like her are destined to be used and abandoned by those they themselves seek to discard.”
Renise looked like she wished to spit as she turned her head away.
“She could never have become the Smuggler Queen, yes. That role is still taken by my mother. As is the role of Smuggler King by my father.”
Roland fell into silence.
Though he'd never met the Smuggler Queen, he'd been in contact with Damien Rimeaux. What began as conversations of understanding had later become a partnership in secret.
Otherwise known as extortion.
One of the reasons he'd refused to leave his room this past month was due to simple necessity. The Smuggler King had approached him with an offer he couldn't refuse. Allow the Smugglers Guild free reign to battle the Thieves Guild, and in return, he would aid in the restoration of the kingdom's crippled finances. Even disband the guild entirely.
That Damien Rimeaux revealed himself as the Smuggler King, at immediate risk of imprisonment, was proof of his sincerity. Or ability for deceit.
It was, of course, comical that a man responsible for diverting the kingdom's crowns was ready to assist in helping it. But it was a proposal Roland dared to grant, if for no other reason than he considered the Smuggler King to be much less of a threat than the Dancing Rat.
The Smugglers Guild were profiteers and opportunists. They were brutal and dangerous. But they were not the Thieves Guild.
The loss in law and order, he deemed, was worth the risk. Even if it meant beggaring himself to smugglers, he would do what was required to ensure that the kingdom's soldiers received their pay.
It was a precarious tightrope.
And one which he navigated due to no input of his own.
That the entire Smugglers Guild's hierarchy was present in one location was unprecedented. That the opportunity to defeat them was taken by an unknown adventurer was a blessing from above.
For the first time in months, he could see daylight streaming down between the clouds.
Two rival criminal syndicates had been defeated. And an adventurer with overwhelming strength had appeared to facilitate it.
Had this mystery girl bearing his sister's namesake not appeared, he felt certain that Lucina would have escaped justice, seeking refuge in whichever darkness had promised to aid her in completing her schemes.
He was already prepared for that news when he'd stormed the Rimeaux Estate.
He was not prepared, however, to see the entire hierarchy of the Smugglers Guild presented before him in one large, vomiting pile. Commendations were in order. And a visit to the Adventurer's Guild to do so.
For a moment, Roland thought about his youngest sister taking up arms as an adventurer. The very image almost made him break out into a snort. She was unashamedly lazy, caring only for her creature comforts.
And that's why he was particularly fond of her.
Why, she was the smart one!
She did what she wanted, whereas Roland played the part expected of him and made a hash of things as a result. It would be better if his role was taken by someone … anyone else. Even the cat sleeping on the windowsill was better suited to lead than he was.
Alas, that was not how his world worked.
“Stop.”
Suddenly, Roland called out to the carriage driver. It rolled to a swift halt.
Looking past the window, he caught sight of a familiar balcony.
There was a cafe there. A simple one of little fame. Yet he recalled memories from there more clearly than he could the events of tonight.
Upon that balcony was the last time he'd toyed with his younger siblings all at once. A precious moment, made harder by the knowledge that whereas they had grown, he had not.
He closed his eyes.
Then, he turned to face the former noblewoman, feeling the nostalgia soften his already weak heart.
“Renise. Would you care to stop for—?”
He immediately stuttered, seeing the young woman already facing him. Her eyes were harder than granite.
“Crown Prince Roland.”
“Y-Yes, my lady?”
Renise clenched her fists, bringing them against her chest and the ill-fitting maid uniform someone of her station wore.
“Regarding my judgement … I … I wish to serve House Contzen in any capacity I can. Your family … has been merciful. Though it is presumptuous of me, I ask that my sentence of exile instead take the form of my lifelong service.”
“... That is indeed presumptuous. What service would you offer the kingdom that would give reason to decide against the judgement I've already proclaimed?”
“Lucina Tolent would not have acted without guarantors,” said Renise, her gaze hardening further. “She is ambitious, but not blindly stupid. To have made her move so openly, she must have expected assistance. Promises. I believe that those who conspired with Lucina Tolent to ruin my family are still present in the shadows. I would see them brought into the burning daylight.”
Roland was aghast.
So even this young woman shared his deepest fears. It wasn't just blind ambition which motivated Lucina Tolent.
He pursed his lips.
The movements across the border. The activity within the foreign embassies.
Were they now openly cajoling his own nobility into treason?
Roland couldn't be sure. He'd need to ask Florella. Or Tristan. They would be much more capable of understanding the events of the past month than he. The past year, even.
Suddenly, he looked at the young woman opposite him.
The one with so much determination burning in her eyes.
And then he knew what form her punishment would entail.
“Come, Lady Renise. Join me for tea.”
“Tea, Your Highness?”
Roland nodded. He felt something light up in his head. A way to break free of this relentless siege.
“We have much to discuss. And your judgement is not yet complete, Smuggler Princess.”
Crown Prince Roland was a man constantly besieged.
The Kingdom of Tirea was, to many, a footnote on this great continent of powers. He knew his proud country could not compare to the might of the Grand Duchy of Granholtz, the Kingdom of Dunes or the merchant armadas of the Principalities. But that did not stop those same powers from interfering in every facet of political life.
He was both friend and foe, useful and forgettable.
On the whims of chancellors and sons, dukes and daughters, both he and his kingdom were elevated to kingmakers or irrelevancy at the drop of a hat.
It was a sure sign of disrespect that no matter how well he held himself when scrutinised by other nations, his kingdom would always be viewed precisely as how others thought on the day.
Or at least, that is how it used to be.
In many ways, it was easier before. The foreign embassies based in Tirea were prisons and punishments for diplomats who had exhausted their talents in richer realms.
Now, they were hubs of activity.
Day and night, movement was spied in what windows could be seen. Shadows and masked faces did the rounds in shops and restaurants, trading secrets and tales for more crowns in a day than master craftsmen could earn in a month, for they were skilled artisans in their own right. The skill of subterfuge. Of deceit.
Now it wasn't bumbling diplomats past their prime he had to contend with. It was agents, spies and informers. His reality as heir to the kingdom was to prevent this land becoming awash with foreign state actors.
The Kingdom of Tirea was under siege.
And Crown Prince Roland ........ had no idea why.
He wanted to cry. To beat his head against the wall. But he couldn't. Only he couldn't. He was the Crown Prince. The heir to the throne. When the citizens didn't look to the King, they looked to him.
And so he played the part required of him, when all he wanted was to burst into tears.
Something had happened. He didn't know what. But something had. Over the past year, activity had increased across the border. All borders.
To the east, the Grand Duchy of Granholtz was offering platitudes while it's westernmost dukedom was openly hostile with Tirea. To the south, the Kingdom of Weinstadt was in peril. Rumours were abound that it would become a vassal state to the Kingdom of Dunes. And then Tirea would have two of the greatest powers on the continent at its doorstep.
And that was all practically good news compared to the reports of a massive fae incursion in the Wovencoille.
He'd sent damn near every knight in the city north to plead, beg or be rolled over. And yet no sooner did he empty his reserves did he receive news that Duke Valence was preparing to formally secede. He wanted to believe it was a coincidence, and yet this was too much.
Everything was too much.
Why?
Why did it come to this?
The kingdom's small, irrelevant status suited itself. It was a favoured diplomatic ground. A hub of neutrality with a strong will towards peace and no strength for aggression. Now it was being pulled into something deeper.
Deeper and darker.
For the past month, he'd locked himself in his room, wishing all his responsibilities away while he played with his favourite hobby—moulding clay figurines. Despite the pleading against his door, he'd tirelessly sculpted the finest set of model dragons ever seen in Tirea. He was certain of it. The model fruit slimes he sold under alias were a favoured children's toy. But the model dragons he crafted were admired even by those with greying hair.
That is what he wanted to do.
Not this.
No … there was no choice. He had to pull soldiers from the Loerstadt Gate. It would diminish Tristan's sparse forces even further, but he had no choice. A civil war with the Duchy of Aquina was far more likely than an invasion by Granholtz. Tristan would have to make do, as he always has.
“May I speak, Your Highness?”
And now he had another problem.
As he sat in his carriage, he desperately utilised every force of will at his measure to stop the sweat from rolling down his face. To keep his exterior as the cold heir to the throne intact. He tried with all his might, commanding each and every sweat gland to not betray him at this crucial hour.
Because right now—
He was alone in a carriage with a pretty young woman.
“Of course. You may speak your mind, Lady Renise.”
As the Crown Prince, he was inundated with beautiful women attempting to gain his affection. However, to be utterly alone with one in such a secluded environment was rare.
And so, he kept his eyes to the window, only seeing the reflection of the young noblewoman as she nodded.
Or rather, the former noblewoman who now, for some bizarre reason, wore the uniform of a maid. But perhaps that was only fitting.
House Rimeaux was no more. Its assets and lands were now the property of the realm, to be divided, sold or offered when the time was right.
For the punishment of smuggling, there could only be one result. The forfeiture of all their wealth and holdings. And had that been all they had done, then it would have been the last of it.
However, they were not mere opportunists.
The Rimeauxs had orchestrated an entire criminal network whose purpose was to tear funds away from the kingdom. They had betrayed the people.
It was a capital crime. And despite his words to Lady Renise … no, to Renise, he had no intention of waking the Smuggler King and Queen from their prison of sleep.
It was assuredly better than what awaited them in the waking world.
For Damien and Sabilla Rimeaux, there could be no fate other than execution.
As for their daughter, she was still complicit. And though she herself claimed to have never organised or stolen goods through the endless sewers beneath the city, he could not provide her with the leniency he desired.
She would be exiled from the kingdom.
Given the state of the continent, he did not know if that was gentler than imprisonment. But it was the option he deemed most appropriate.
“I would like to know of my destination, if at all possible,” she said. “Though I'm grateful that as Lady Lucina is not in this carriage, we will not be traversing the same road of exile together.”
“That road is not hers to travel. She will never see the sky again.”
“Such a thought warms my heart.”
“Then let it. But although you have been spared the coldest justice, I fear that you will find little solace in the judgement I've provided for you.”
Renise broke into a small smile shorn of humour.
“I will accept any judgement, so long as she receives hers.”
“And she shall. You have my assurances of that. Though I wish I knew more of her reasoning for her madness. She is proving uncooperative, sadly.”
Lucina Tolent.
To think that she'd have the audacity to attack the Rimeauxs in broad … well, not daylight, but night time.
Even so, it was a challenge bold enough that he couldn't ignore it. There would be a coup. And both he and his figurines would lose their heads.
It baffled him why she would take such an outrageous action. Even with the Smugglers Guild at her behest, she lacked the power to force this takeover through as legitimate.
It made no sense!
“There is no reasoning, Your Highness,” said Renise. “Lucina seeks to spin a tale of tying sacks of crowns with strings and ribbons to the doors of the destitute. She will never see herself for what she is. A fool. A worm without hands clawing at a ladder she cannot climb.”
“Oh? And which ladder is that?”
“The one all villains shorn of imagination do, as I'm sure you're aware.”
Roland chuckled, then continued looking out of the window.
… What ladder did Lucina try to climb?! To which metaphorical ladder was Renise referring to?! The nobility were always climbing ladders! They liked climbing actual ladders just as much as imaginary ladders!
“True. Lucina was ever the ambitious type. As most are.”
“And yet no matter how wealthy people like Lucina become, the only summit which remains open to them is to become royalty of gutters. People do not suffer because of kings or queens. It is because of those like her trying to become one.”
Roland nodded, his eyes an immeasurable pool of pity.
Lucina ... was trying to become queen?!
This wasn't a takeover of the Smugglers Guild?! It was the start to a coup?!
“You speak true, my lady. Those like her will never rise above the sewers, because their stench carries with them even in their dreams.”
“How I wish my own dreams could be so lovely. Did she hope to convince anyone that seizing control of both the Smugglers Guild and my home had no bearing on her rather obvious plans for sedition?”
Roland began to feel the sweat starting to appear.
Was it truly that obvious … ?
But it was far too mad! The simple fact was that even with the correct amount of funds, she'd still need to assemble something close to an army.
Where would she get that?
Unless … she hoped that the nobility, the people, would be her army? Was this merely a test of his authority, in the hopes of inciting insurrection?
It was still too weak.
Something was missing.
Something which only the darkness held the answer to. And Roland feared in which direction this darkness resided. East or south. The Grand Duchy or the Dunes. Which was it?
“Even with the funds at her disposal, she would have failed,” said Roland. “She would never have become the Smuggler Queen, let alone the Queen of Tirea. Those like her are destined to be used and abandoned by those they themselves seek to discard.”
Renise looked like she wished to spit as she turned her head away.
“She could never have become the Smuggler Queen, yes. That role is still taken by my mother. As is the role of Smuggler King by my father.”
Roland fell into silence.
Though he'd never met the Smuggler Queen, he'd been in contact with Damien Rimeaux. What began as conversations of understanding had later become a partnership in secret.
Otherwise known as extortion.
One of the reasons he'd refused to leave his room this past month was due to simple necessity. The Smuggler King had approached him with an offer he couldn't refuse. Allow the Smugglers Guild free reign to battle the Thieves Guild, and in return, he would aid in the restoration of the kingdom's crippled finances. Even disband the guild entirely.
That Damien Rimeaux revealed himself as the Smuggler King, at immediate risk of imprisonment, was proof of his sincerity. Or ability for deceit.
It was, of course, comical that a man responsible for diverting the kingdom's crowns was ready to assist in helping it. But it was a proposal Roland dared to grant, if for no other reason than he considered the Smuggler King to be much less of a threat than the Dancing Rat.
The Smugglers Guild were profiteers and opportunists. They were brutal and dangerous. But they were not the Thieves Guild.
The loss in law and order, he deemed, was worth the risk. Even if it meant beggaring himself to smugglers, he would do what was required to ensure that the kingdom's soldiers received their pay.
It was a precarious tightrope.
And one which he navigated due to no input of his own.
That the entire Smugglers Guild's hierarchy was present in one location was unprecedented. That the opportunity to defeat them was taken by an unknown adventurer was a blessing from above.
For the first time in months, he could see daylight streaming down between the clouds.
Two rival criminal syndicates had been defeated. And an adventurer with overwhelming strength had appeared to facilitate it.
Had this mystery girl bearing his sister's namesake not appeared, he felt certain that Lucina would have escaped justice, seeking refuge in whichever darkness had promised to aid her in completing her schemes.
He was already prepared for that news when he'd stormed the Rimeaux Estate.
He was not prepared, however, to see the entire hierarchy of the Smugglers Guild presented before him in one large, vomiting pile. Commendations were in order. And a visit to the Adventurer's Guild to do so.
For a moment, Roland thought about his youngest sister taking up arms as an adventurer. The very image almost made him break out into a snort. She was unashamedly lazy, caring only for her creature comforts.
And that's why he was particularly fond of her.
Why, she was the smart one!
She did what she wanted, whereas Roland played the part expected of him and made a hash of things as a result. It would be better if his role was taken by someone … anyone else. Even the cat sleeping on the windowsill was better suited to lead than he was.
Alas, that was not how his world worked.
“Stop.”
Suddenly, Roland called out to the carriage driver. It rolled to a swift halt.
Looking past the window, he caught sight of a familiar balcony.
There was a cafe there. A simple one of little fame. Yet he recalled memories from there more clearly than he could the events of tonight.
Upon that balcony was the last time he'd toyed with his younger siblings all at once. A precious moment, made harder by the knowledge that whereas they had grown, he had not.
He closed his eyes.
Then, he turned to face the former noblewoman, feeling the nostalgia soften his already weak heart.
“Renise. Would you care to stop for—?”
He immediately stuttered, seeing the young woman already facing him. Her eyes were harder than granite.
“Crown Prince Roland.”
“Y-Yes, my lady?”
Renise clenched her fists, bringing them against her chest and the ill-fitting maid uniform someone of her station wore.
“Regarding my judgement … I … I wish to serve House Contzen in any capacity I can. Your family … has been merciful. Though it is presumptuous of me, I ask that my sentence of exile instead take the form of my lifelong service.”
“... That is indeed presumptuous. What service would you offer the kingdom that would give reason to decide against the judgement I've already proclaimed?”
“Lucina Tolent would not have acted without guarantors,” said Renise, her gaze hardening further. “She is ambitious, but not blindly stupid. To have made her move so openly, she must have expected assistance. Promises. I believe that those who conspired with Lucina Tolent to ruin my family are still present in the shadows. I would see them brought into the burning daylight.”
Roland was aghast.
So even this young woman shared his deepest fears. It wasn't just blind ambition which motivated Lucina Tolent.
He pursed his lips.
The movements across the border. The activity within the foreign embassies.
Were they now openly cajoling his own nobility into treason?
Roland couldn't be sure. He'd need to ask Florella. Or Tristan. They would be much more capable of understanding the events of the past month than he. The past year, even.
Suddenly, he looked at the young woman opposite him.
The one with so much determination burning in her eyes.
And then he knew what form her punishment would entail.
“Come, Lady Renise. Join me for tea.”
“Tea, Your Highness?”
Roland nodded. He felt something light up in his head. A way to break free of this relentless siege.
“We have much to discuss. And your judgement is not yet complete, Smuggler Princess.”
