Duke Theodore Valence was a man surrounded by worms.
Cravens, beggars and simpletons ringed his hallowed ducal court. And had that been all they were, he may very well have given them no other thought.
But even cravens, beggars and simpletons had their uses. And none of those leeching off his wealth and status had even a crumb of it.
They were whimpering fools to the last. Jesters without tricks as they slouched and shuffled across his halls that were older than the streets of the royal capital. And yet they bowed and curtsied so low to the Contzens that their chins touched the floor.
Too often did they forget that their own ruler bested the king in both wisdom and years. He'd ascended to governorship over Aquina while yet an infant. And now, Duke Valence was a man proudly in his greying years, each hair proof of his stature and will to survive in a world ever seeking to throttle him.
A fact often forgotten by those who served him.
The Duchy of Aquina was a land beset by peril. It was the centre of the kingdom, and the centre of plots. He'd seen it with his own eyes as his borders were swallowed with each passing year, his streets becoming unfamiliar and dirtied as they teemed with outsiders and vandals.
But that wasn't enough to cower him.
No … it only made him do what he should have done years ago.
Decades ago.
As a man whose wisdom only matured with age, he knew not only how to survive in this world of untold dangers, but flourish in it. And so finally, he now shunned entirely the need for his council of frightened crows—his advisors, counsellors and erstwhile mentors.
After all, why would a man who was gifted with foresight need the caws of those who only looked to the past?
No … those in his court were not only cowards and imbeciles. They were traitors. And if his wisdom had ever failed him, it was in allowing those fools to have guided his actions for so long.
They'd begged him not to ire the fae. Not to antagonise the kingdom.
They should have begged him not to throw them into the ring of blood instead.
“Woooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!”
“You can do it! I've 5 silver crowns riding on you!”
“I bet on the turtles! Go turtles!”
“Don't hit the shells! Go for the fangs! The fangs!”
Duke Valence smiled from his balcony as he oversaw the final bout of the day. If indeed, it could even be considered as such.
Because in the wide ring, a host of men ill-fit to hold more than a quill were quaking. They wore the rags of armour stripped from those who'd already perished, and carried weapons blunt from their failures to save their last wielders.
“My duke! Please! I beg you! This … This has gone far enough!”
A voice cut through the cheering crowd. One he vaguely recognised. That skulking half-wit had claimed to be steadfastly by his side since he was a boy. And yet when he'd proposed the Tournament of Crowns, he'd been the first to object.
He was fortunate to not be the first thrown in. The initial batch of blood turtles were younger and smaller. The ones he and the rest of the court's cowards now fought were larger and more ravenous. Their ends would be swifter, if not more merciful.
Satisfied at his decision to do away with his chains, Duke Valence settled back in his seat as he allowed the cheers of his people to wash over him.
Dusk had passed and now moonlight dripped across the sand filling up the arena. But none of the seats were empty. Because if the Duke decided that one final act was to occur this evening, then it was decided that each and every soul would stay.
This was the flourish, the simple comedy, on what had been a marvellous day of showmanship. Of Aquina's might.
He was disappointed that the Snow Dancer wasn't present. But he'd long grown weary of the ways she could irk him. She was petulant and whimsical, but she was useful and at least semi-obedient, and thus tolerated.
And besides, his tournament was not without great names.
The Silver Sisters had arrived from the Kingdom of Dunes, his letter sent when the first wooden beams had yet to be erected. Then came the Summer Maiden from Lissoine, ever seeking an opportunity to best her rival from Weinstadt. Lady Torrid had answered the call, of course. Both were fated to draw each other's blood before the tournament was done. And then there were the mercenaries from Granholtz, serving both themselves and the duchies they represented.
And all for the paltry reward of 10,000 gold crowns.
Duke Valence couldn't help but chuckle as his fingertips drummed against his impressive stomach. He could host another Tournament of Crowns the moment this one ended. He could also have emptied his treasury entirely. But even if he no longer required his wealth, he had no desire to donate it to the undeserving.
Aquina's wealth had taken decades to accumulate. He would not see it spoiled in a single day.
Were it only that he wasn't as frugal with his ambitions.
Duke Valence's smile vanished as he again measured the wasted years.
He had squandered time, all due to the fools whose cries were now soaked with terror and blood as Aquina's carnivorous turtles advanced. But time was merely a commodity. And he was both wealthy and powerful enough to gain it back.
Especially when he now chose to align himself with more fitting confidants.
If only they knew how to announce themselves. Yet again, another insult.
“I see you invite yourself when no invitation was given. Is this lack of formality acceptable in the Grand Duchess's court?”
To the Duke's side, a girl silently joined him in watching the theatrics below.
Staying hidden in the shadow of his balcony's pavilion, she offered only a glint of a smile, enjoying as she did her petty games of secrets and concealment.
The Duke put up with it. As did the crossbowmen watching from the next balcony. He was satisfied to see a pair of bolts trained towards her.
He was less satisfied to see them still aiming at her ghost after she moved. They would need to be whipped and replaced.
“My duke,” said the Dealer, the outline of a bizarre garment showing as she performed a full curtsy. “I apologise profusely for the unannounced intrusion. As I travel faster than letters, I often eschew etiquette for practicality.”
The Duke paused, slowly accepting the curtsey, if not the manner of entry.
Not caring to guess at the haphazardly dressed girl's whereabouts in his shadows, he turned instead and focused on the spectacle below, his attention determined by the cheering of the crowd.
“It is good you remember some basic courtesies, at least. Few in Aquina offer me the full respect I deserve. The insolence is palpable.”
“Not insolence, my duke. But merely a reflection of your kindness, mercy and generosity. Your benevolence is well known. You are beloved amongst your people.”
The Duke looked at the crowds baying for blood, then to the screaming of his former advisors as they ran from his blood turtles.
He nodded.
“True. Do you hear how they cheer? That adoration is not for this tournament alone. My people have always enamoured themselves with the displays I gift. They are not like those in Reitzlake, who dare howl like wounded wolves when their alms are slightly misshapen. Mine know the meaning of devotion. And gratitude.”
“So I see. Even now, the blood curdling screams of those loyal to you rings with the sound of gratefulness.”
The Duke agreed. And so he said nothing.
“How does the Aquina Grand Tournament compare to those held in Granholtz, girl?”
“Why, I dare say yours is superior. If the people of Reitzlake howl like wolves, then those of our cities shriek and wail like frightened banshees. For all our culture, it appears that sophistication was still never our greatest talent.”
The Duke snorted. That the admission came from a subject of Granholtz amused him greatly. After all, that the Grand Duchy was considered the capital of art and civilisation beggared belief. Though Aquina only matched its smallest duchy in size, it matched … no, it surpassed its greatest duchy in splendour and beauty.
And his wealth?
That was enough to outshine all the duchies under the Grand Duchess's command. And that made him indomitable.
“Quite so. I see your mercenaries as they ply their trade in my ring. Barbarism at its finest. It is plain they never see tournaments as grand as this in your homeland.”
“Indeed, the tournaments of the Grand Duchy pale against yours, my duke.”
He smiled, but not before ensuring that it couldn't be seen. As the Dealer would find out, more than one could utilise the shadows.
“I take it you've been to many, then?”
“Rarely, actually. I do not need to visit tournaments if my wish was to gamble.”
The Duke nodded. His fingers ceased to drum against his stomach.
“And yet here you are, gambling on my generosity. Speak and be done with it. What is the Grand Duchess's response? How soon does she wish to sign the accords?”
The Duke did not turn to face the girl. Even so, he could see the outline of a bow protruding from the shadows. That she still maintained her courtesies even when he wasn't watching was enough to light the fires of expectation in his heart.
Now he awaited the good news from the east.
“The Grand Duchess has considered your proposal. I offered my own thoughts, and was able to persuade her to agree to a memorandum of understanding. Should your bold and cunning venture to have the Winter Court carve the kingdom in two come to fruition, Granholtz would be delighted to enter more advanced discussions concerning Aquina's diplomatic status.”
The Duke gripped the arm of his chair.
A memorandum of understanding?
The insult tasted like rotten grapes in his mouth.
A memorandum … words as worthless as the platitudes from the Dunes. Just like the Dune King, the Grand Duchess was playing coy as she allowed her hounds to lead their own leashes, with his duchy as their playground.
Duke Valence clenched his fists.
Very well.
He understood this game. It was the one he'd played since the day he was born.
But only now would he press his advantage, when all the other players had turned their sights away and believed him spent. Because within Aquina was a treasure grander than the stars.
Again and again, insults piled against him like summer rain. First the kingdom, slighting him even as he held the keys to its verdant heartlands. And now it was the Grand Duchy, refusing his approaches even as they should be falling to their knees in a bid to gain Aquina's allegiance.
They were all fools.
Imbeciles undeserving of their station. Those of high nobility only had one currency to gamble with, and that was their lives. Their bet against him would prove their last.
Even this girl and the shadows she represented. They believed they knew his plans, his mind. The arrogance … and the ignorance.
Indeed, they knew as much as the servant rushing to enter the balcony, his eyes never once noticing the other gaze that was sent his way.
“My duke, the guards have reported frost in the lower halls. And … singing.”
He ceased gripping the arms of his chair.
Instead, the Duke allowed his smile to show.
He would let Lotus House wonder.
Fools to a tee. They did not know that the seeds they'd given him had blossomed into a tree far beyond their expectations. The roots had spread beyond their sights, far and wide as he cast his plans to roads never traversed.
Lotus House would suffer. They would regret having shared their knowledge of the fae with him, never knowing how sorely they'd underestimated his will. They would come to regret their part in his rise.
Just as the Grand Duchess would.
She would rue her wasted opportunity as much as the Duke would enjoy demonstrating it.
Tirea. Granholtz. The Dunes.
They all thought him old and weak, feeble and mad.
Insults upon insults. They would come to understand that revenge was a dish best served cold. And none burned colder than the Winter Court.
The Duke rose without acknowledging the girl in the corner. The Duchy of Aquina was his stage, after all. And he had no need to share it.
He strode from his balcony, towards his castle to meet his prize. As he did so, he smiled, knowing already what sight to expect.
Because for a man who was old, he still possessed the greatest ambitions. And he would finally see them realised. It was time for his enemies to taste a measure of the insults they had delivered to him.
The last laugh would be his, as it was always destined to be.
And nobody, he knew, could now stop him.
Duke Theodore Valence was a man surrounded by worms.
Cravens, beggars and simpletons ringed his hallowed ducal court. And had that been all they were, he may very well have given them no other thought.
But even cravens, beggars and simpletons had their uses. And none of those leeching off his wealth and status had even a crumb of it.
They were whimpering fools to the last. Jesters without tricks as they slouched and shuffled across his halls that were older than the streets of the royal capital. And yet they bowed and curtsied so low to the Contzens that their chins touched the floor.
Too often did they forget that their own ruler bested the king in both wisdom and years. He'd ascended to governorship over Aquina while yet an infant. And now, Duke Valence was a man proudly in his greying years, each hair proof of his stature and will to survive in a world ever seeking to throttle him.
A fact often forgotten by those who served him.
The Duchy of Aquina was a land beset by peril. It was the centre of the kingdom, and the centre of plots. He'd seen it with his own eyes as his borders were swallowed with each passing year, his streets becoming unfamiliar and dirtied as they teemed with outsiders and vandals.
But that wasn't enough to cower him.
No … it only made him do what he should have done years ago.
Decades ago.
As a man whose wisdom only matured with age, he knew not only how to survive in this world of untold dangers, but flourish in it. And so finally, he now shunned entirely the need for his council of frightened crows—his advisors, counsellors and erstwhile mentors.
After all, why would a man who was gifted with foresight need the caws of those who only looked to the past?
No … those in his court were not only cowards and imbeciles. They were traitors. And if his wisdom had ever failed him, it was in allowing those fools to have guided his actions for so long.
They'd begged him not to ire the fae. Not to antagonise the kingdom.
They should have begged him not to throw them into the ring of blood instead.
“Woooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!”
“You can do it! I've 5 silver crowns riding on you!”
“I bet on the turtles! Go turtles!”
“Don't hit the shells! Go for the fangs! The fangs!”
Duke Valence smiled from his balcony as he oversaw the final bout of the day. If indeed, it could even be considered as such.
Because in the wide ring, a host of men ill-fit to hold more than a quill were quaking. They wore the rags of armour stripped from those who'd already perished, and carried weapons blunt from their failures to save their last wielders.
“My duke! Please! I beg you! This … This has gone far enough!”
A voice cut through the cheering crowd. One he vaguely recognised. That skulking half-wit had claimed to be steadfastly by his side since he was a boy. And yet when he'd proposed the Tournament of Crowns, he'd been the first to object.
He was fortunate to not be the first thrown in. The initial batch of blood turtles were younger and smaller. The ones he and the rest of the court's cowards now fought were larger and more ravenous. Their ends would be swifter, if not more merciful.
Satisfied at his decision to do away with his chains, Duke Valence settled back in his seat as he allowed the cheers of his people to wash over him.
Dusk had passed and now moonlight dripped across the sand filling up the arena. But none of the seats were empty. Because if the Duke decided that one final act was to occur this evening, then it was decided that each and every soul would stay.
This was the flourish, the simple comedy, on what had been a marvellous day of showmanship. Of Aquina's might.
He was disappointed that the Snow Dancer wasn't present. But he'd long grown weary of the ways she could irk him. She was petulant and whimsical, but she was useful and at least semi-obedient, and thus tolerated.
And besides, his tournament was not without great names.
The Silver Sisters had arrived from the Kingdom of Dunes, his letter sent when the first wooden beams had yet to be erected. Then came the Summer Maiden from Lissoine, ever seeking an opportunity to best her rival from Weinstadt. Lady Torrid had answered the call, of course. Both were fated to draw each other's blood before the tournament was done. And then there were the mercenaries from Granholtz, serving both themselves and the duchies they represented.
And all for the paltry reward of 10,000 gold crowns.
Duke Valence couldn't help but chuckle as his fingertips drummed against his impressive stomach. He could host another Tournament of Crowns the moment this one ended. He could also have emptied his treasury entirely. But even if he no longer required his wealth, he had no desire to donate it to the undeserving.
Aquina's wealth had taken decades to accumulate. He would not see it spoiled in a single day.
Were it only that he wasn't as frugal with his ambitions.
Duke Valence's smile vanished as he again measured the wasted years.
He had squandered time, all due to the fools whose cries were now soaked with terror and blood as Aquina's carnivorous turtles advanced. But time was merely a commodity. And he was both wealthy and powerful enough to gain it back.
Especially when he now chose to align himself with more fitting confidants.
If only they knew how to announce themselves. Yet again, another insult.
“I see you invite yourself when no invitation was given. Is this lack of formality acceptable in the Grand Duchess's court?”
To the Duke's side, a girl silently joined him in watching the theatrics below.
Staying hidden in the shadow of his balcony's pavilion, she offered only a glint of a smile, enjoying as she did her petty games of secrets and concealment.
The Duke put up with it. As did the crossbowmen watching from the next balcony. He was satisfied to see a pair of bolts trained towards her.
He was less satisfied to see them still aiming at her ghost after she moved. They would need to be whipped and replaced.
“My duke,” said the Dealer, the outline of a bizarre garment showing as she performed a full curtsy. “I apologise profusely for the unannounced intrusion. As I travel faster than letters, I often eschew etiquette for practicality.”
The Duke paused, slowly accepting the curtsey, if not the manner of entry.
Not caring to guess at the haphazardly dressed girl's whereabouts in his shadows, he turned instead and focused on the spectacle below, his attention determined by the cheering of the crowd.
“It is good you remember some basic courtesies, at least. Few in Aquina offer me the full respect I deserve. The insolence is palpable.”
“Not insolence, my duke. But merely a reflection of your kindness, mercy and generosity. Your benevolence is well known. You are beloved amongst your people.”
The Duke looked at the crowds baying for blood, then to the screaming of his former advisors as they ran from his blood turtles.
He nodded.
“True. Do you hear how they cheer? That adoration is not for this tournament alone. My people have always enamoured themselves with the displays I gift. They are not like those in Reitzlake, who dare howl like wounded wolves when their alms are slightly misshapen. Mine know the meaning of devotion. And gratitude.”
“So I see. Even now, the blood curdling screams of those loyal to you rings with the sound of gratefulness.”
The Duke agreed. And so he said nothing.
“How does the Aquina Grand Tournament compare to those held in Granholtz, girl?”
“Why, I dare say yours is superior. If the people of Reitzlake howl like wolves, then those of our cities shriek and wail like frightened banshees. For all our culture, it appears that sophistication was still never our greatest talent.”
The Duke snorted. That the admission came from a subject of Granholtz amused him greatly. After all, that the Grand Duchy was considered the capital of art and civilisation beggared belief. Though Aquina only matched its smallest duchy in size, it matched … no, it surpassed its greatest duchy in splendour and beauty.
And his wealth?
That was enough to outshine all the duchies under the Grand Duchess's command. And that made him indomitable.
“Quite so. I see your mercenaries as they ply their trade in my ring. Barbarism at its finest. It is plain they never see tournaments as grand as this in your homeland.”
“Indeed, the tournaments of the Grand Duchy pale against yours, my duke.”
He smiled, but not before ensuring that it couldn't be seen. As the Dealer would find out, more than one could utilise the shadows.
“I take it you've been to many, then?”
“Rarely, actually. I do not need to visit tournaments if my wish was to gamble.”
The Duke nodded. His fingers ceased to drum against his stomach.
“And yet here you are, gambling on my generosity. Speak and be done with it. What is the Grand Duchess's response? How soon does she wish to sign the accords?”
The Duke did not turn to face the girl. Even so, he could see the outline of a bow protruding from the shadows. That she still maintained her courtesies even when he wasn't watching was enough to light the fires of expectation in his heart.
Now he awaited the good news from the east.
“The Grand Duchess has considered your proposal. I offered my own thoughts, and was able to persuade her to agree to a memorandum of understanding. Should your bold and cunning venture to have the Winter Court carve the kingdom in two come to fruition, Granholtz would be delighted to enter more advanced discussions concerning Aquina's diplomatic status.”
The Duke gripped the arm of his chair.
A memorandum of understanding?
The insult tasted like rotten grapes in his mouth.
A memorandum … words as worthless as the platitudes from the Dunes. Just like the Dune King, the Grand Duchess was playing coy as she allowed her hounds to lead their own leashes, with his duchy as their playground.
Duke Valence clenched his fists.
Very well.
He understood this game. It was the one he'd played since the day he was born.
But only now would he press his advantage, when all the other players had turned their sights away and believed him spent. Because within Aquina was a treasure grander than the stars.
Again and again, insults piled against him like summer rain. First the kingdom, slighting him even as he held the keys to its verdant heartlands. And now it was the Grand Duchy, refusing his approaches even as they should be falling to their knees in a bid to gain Aquina's allegiance.
They were all fools.
Imbeciles undeserving of their station. Those of high nobility only had one currency to gamble with, and that was their lives. Their bet against him would prove their last.
Even this girl and the shadows she represented. They believed they knew his plans, his mind. The arrogance … and the ignorance.
Indeed, they knew as much as the servant rushing to enter the balcony, his eyes never once noticing the other gaze that was sent his way.
“My duke, the guards have reported frost in the lower halls. And … singing.”
He ceased gripping the arms of his chair.
Instead, the Duke allowed his smile to show.
He would let Lotus House wonder.
Fools to a tee. They did not know that the seeds they'd given him had blossomed into a tree far beyond their expectations. The roots had spread beyond their sights, far and wide as he cast his plans to roads never traversed.
Lotus House would suffer. They would regret having shared their knowledge of the fae with him, never knowing how sorely they'd underestimated his will. They would come to regret their part in his rise.
Just as the Grand Duchess would.
She would rue her wasted opportunity as much as the Duke would enjoy demonstrating it.
Tirea. Granholtz. The Dunes.
They all thought him old and weak, feeble and mad.
Insults upon insults. They would come to understand that revenge was a dish best served cold. And none burned colder than the Winter Court.
The Duke rose without acknowledging the girl in the corner. The Duchy of Aquina was his stage, after all. And he had no need to share it.
He strode from his balcony, towards his castle to meet his prize. As he did so, he smiled, knowing already what sight to expect.
Because for a man who was old, he still possessed the greatest ambitions. And he would finally see them realised. It was time for his enemies to taste a measure of the insults they had delivered to him.
The last laugh would be his, as it was always destined to be.
And nobody, he knew, could now stop him.
