Hallowed

9

Baptiste followed his prince back to their chambers. He sat obediently beside him on the couch while his master fingered through the book he still had, detailing the history of Haroma.

"What are you searching for?" Baptiste asked eventually, growing bored of simply watching him scan and flip, scan and flip.

Heiko didn't bother glancing over when he replied.

"I have suspicions."

Baptiste c****d his head, exhaling a little sigh. He should've known he wouldn't get a straight answer.

"Of what?"

"Haroma."

Now he was toying. Baptiste bit back a huff and stood, crossing for the pitcher that was placed on a table near the balcony. He took it in both hands, as it was both made of clay and filled heavily with wine and brought it over to the prince's goblet.

Prince Heiko exhaled a quick noise and put out a flat hand, covering the cup.

"Water, tonight."

Baptiste paused only momentarily before placing it on the floor beside the couch - mostly out of indolence, though there was also a possibility that later in the evening the prince might've changed his mind, depending upon the shifts of his moods.

"Because of the duke?" Baptiste asked, taking his spot beside the prince again. This time he tucked his legs beneath him, his lean slightly towards the prince, as it always was. Leaning away from the prince would seem incriminating if anyone saw – a slave should always favor his master.

Heiko inhaled deeply and exhaled heavily.

"The ride to the border is four days. I've been in the palace for three. My brother sent Adelbert before he knew I was going to dally. This was not a final chance for reconciliation – he never trusted me from the start." Heiko spoke, casting a devious look to Baptiste. "I suppose he wouldn't after I cooked his friends."

Baptiste looked down and away. He heard Heiko sigh.

"Not to mention King Vincente and his dog don't believe what I said. They believe me to be a spiteful brat who wishes to dent my brother's reign as much as I can. They believe that I wish to stop the treaty with whatever lies and deceits I can muster. I do wish to stop the treaty, of course."

Baptiste looked over. "I know of longbows."

Heiko returned his gaze, brow pressed.

"What?" He asked.

"I...I know of longbows. I grew up...I've seen archers practicing with them. Perhaps I can be of help." Baptiste stumbled. He didn't know why Heiko didn't want peace with the Ilysians, but he wished to do anything he could to help his master.

The prince considered him.

"You've seen the archers." He murmured, cold eyes on his slave, their attention far from the planes of Baptiste's face, where they rested.

"Perhaps I can convince the king." Baptiste said, returning Heiko's gaze with a softer one, as the slave had yet to perfect the cold, appraising eyes that the prince had probably perfected long before Baptiste's ripe age of thirteen. "And the general."

"And the general," The prince repeated, before he posed, "And how are you going to do that?"

Baptiste knew how, but he was afraid to tell the prince before he had actually done it. So, instead of replying honestly, the slave offered a little shrug.

"I do not know yet. But please let me try. I'm Burkean. I'm-"

"More reliable than your master." Heiko finished, eyes narrowing in thought. "The general does favor you. Though, he may think that your information is tempered by your loyalty to me."

"Have we another option?" Baptiste asked.

A flash of an expression crossed Heiko's face, too quick for Baptiste to catch its nature.

"We," Heiko said, smirking. "We are a we, Baptiste?"

Baptiste stilled, unsure if this was a trick, stomach flipping.

But then his prince sighed. "It is worth a shot. It must be done tonight, however, out of the sights of Adelbert, before I am tied to my horse and brought to my brother as a traitor."

Baptiste relaxed at the diversion of his undivided attention.

"Do you reckon they're out of their meeting," spoke the prince. "The king and the duke?"

It wasn't a question posed for Baptiste. It was just a musing that his whirring mind had already answered. Baptiste took the opportunity to respond anyway.

"I suppose you spoke of the archers because that is what King Ingo is asking for of Ilyos. If Duke Adelbert made mention of it, then King Vincente would certainly retire early."

Heiko turned to him, brow pressed, and Baptiste wondered if it would have been better to leave him to his thoughts. But the prince simply nodded.

"It's been the better half of an hour. Adelbert is a straightforward man when he does not reminisce. I'm sure he's spoken my brother's terms by now. Which means Vincente has retired. Do you figure we could find his rooms?"

Baptiste could. He knew where the king's gardens were – and his rooms beyond it. But he couldn't tell the prince. His assignation with the king and the general would not be met kindly by his master. In fact, Baptiste was sure he would lose trust, what little of it he had in the boy. Still, making suggestions – 'this hallway perhaps', 'to the left, I think' – such could be played innocently enough.

Baptiste nodded to the prince. "I figure we could."

~~~

"Archers," Vincente grumbled, swirling the contents of his silver hammered cup in his hand.

They had retired to the king's rooms, which were more opulent than the others, but not very opulent at all. In the winter months it would be covered in furs, the way it was covered in silks now, though Cele was sure the transition would happen soon. Winter was coming.

"We have the information," Cele sighed, empty handed himself. "Now which do we believe? The simple duke or the silver-tongued princeling?"

"Longbows – have you heard of such?" Vincente asked, eyes on his general.

Cele raised an exasperated brow and shook his head. "Rumors. I knew the Burkean were good hunters. I knew they could make their way around a bow. But hunting bucks and hunting armed men are two entirely different things, so I wrote them off."

Vincente nodded.

"An arrow going through armor is not possible." He said after a moment, as if trying to convince himself otherwise. "Not from the distance he spoke of. Not from a draw back."

"Would he lie so overtly to us?" Cele asked. "He may be a brat, but he is also a prince."

The answer was obvious, and the two probably would have shared a laugh at the absurdity of the question, had the situation not been so consequential.

"He could be lying to make us hesitant of the treaty. If we think the Simonese do not need archers and still that is all they ask for, we would rightfully be suspicious." The general said.

"Not just suspicious." Vincente countered, reclining back on the couch. "We would accuse them of deceit."

"And we would not sign a treaty." Cele finished. "A domino event of that capacity would invariably spite King Ingo."

Vincente's eyes drifted to the balcony. For a moment he was quiet, and Cele allowed that. There were times in such heavy conversation where the mind simply goes dark - even if for a second - where nothing is produced, no thoughts, no judgements. Vincente deserved those small respites.

"I try to place myself in his shoes." He hummed eventually.

"King Ingo?" Cele reached for an olive, where they were steepled in a pile on a copper dish on the table between them. There was a jug of wine beside them, one he was sure would be empty before the end of the night.

"Prince Heiko." Vincente corrected. "When he arrived, I thought I had him. A prince trying desperately to grasp at any sense of authority he could. As a third son, it was unlikely he would ever have the throne, so that internal struggle was likely gnawing at him from a young age - no matter his affections for Ingo or Alfred.

And while I wasn't expecting that boy - Baptiste - it only served to point. A vessel for which Prince Heiko could release anger. A small taste of the type of control he is denied."

Cele listened, chewing his olive. It was the very peg he put the prince in as well, if not a bit more expounded, as Vincente was always more elegant with his phrasing.

"And, of course, I wasn't truly expecting him to blunder in the negotiations. He is an Achterecht, after all. King Gotthard prided himself in his pedigree and would've passed down identical values. Not to mention the fact that Prince Heiko is well known in association with intelligence, whether it be to a Burkean or an Ilysian. For the sake of gods, even the Haroman merchants know of the man."

The general grunted, knowing it to be true.

"The calm in his voice is not a farce."

It was then that Vincente looked to his friend.

"Do you understand?"

Cele did. The prince did not put on a front when it came to his placidity. It was not a show to hide the desperation for respect. It was real. When the boy spoke, it was confident, it drew eyes and ears. As if the attention of others gravitated to him without any coaxing.

But that begged the question of what Prince Heiko truly wanted.

"And frankly," Vincente continued, his tone almost one of defeat "I was not expecting four campaigns. Nor the 91st."

Cele exhaled a breath of irritation. Neither had he, but it came from the duke's mouth, and the duke wouldn't lie. Not about that. Why would he? He was unaware that such was an important factor for the king of Ilyos to measure a man's character.

"Not quite seasoned, but no longer green." Cele spoke.

"A soldier, either way." Vincente replied. And when the king studied Cele, his pressed expression, he shot out, "Don't give me that look. I don't like it either."

Cele didn't want to know the kind of havoc the prince could potentially wreak on a field of battle. Eventually, the words circling his mind escaped his lips.

"We cannot let him leave."

Vincente looked to him in surprise.

"We cannot have him..."

Cele trailed, trying to consolidate the thoughts, order them in a way that would make them sound sensible. His brain worked like a general's. Orders were spoken, and there was no need for his soldiers to question them because there was no need for the soldiers to demand reasoning. And when one is allowed that freedom for long enough, the reasoning no longer appears to them clearly. Luckily, Vincente understood that.

"To have him as an enemy," Cele finally found the words. "Could prove to be detrimental."

Would was the more likely scenario, though at this point, it would be beating a dead horse, and the king knew it, too. Still, his eyes remained on Cele's for a long moment, as if trying to decipher a way out of this nasty Simonese mess.

He found none.

"I agree." His words were solemn. "We cannot have Prince Heiko leave Ilyos thinking of Ilyos as an enemy. We must continue to offer him our hospitality regardless of the Simonese ambassador."

He frowned at the thought of the man. "Duke Adelbert had said that this was Prince Heiko's last chance to prove his fealty. Perhaps his failure will result in exile."

It was a thought that had crossed Cele's mind as well, though not the most pressing.

"What would bring a man to burn an entire guard alive?" He heard himself ask. "Beside madness."

"Is madness something that can be discounted?" Vincente mused, bringing his finger to his lip and chewing his thumbnail in thought. The question held no real value, as both men knew it was unlikely Prince Heiko was not in his right mind. "King Ingo must have had many friends in his guard."

"Many veteran warriors." Cele added. "It could be seen as an act of treason."

"I wonder why it wasn't."

"Would he really exile his brother over his days idling here," Cele went on. "When he didn't exile him over the burning of the guard?"

Vincente considered the question.

"Regardless," He sighed. "Both could be argued as acts of treason, no matter what color your blood. King Ingo's council will likely push for exile."

"Considering Prince Heiko seems to have few friends in the Simonese court." Cele agreed. "How can you wish to gain favor from the outside if you cannot even do so with your own brothers?"

"We cannot assume Alfred dislikes his brother," the king interposed.

Cele plucked another olive from the pile, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.

Alfred Achterecht, the second son and general of the Simonese army. Most believed his mettle was cut from the same material as his father's. Simple, honest, brave. It was said that the Achterecht line was born with modest and plain faces, an extension of their veracity. Plain faces riddled the household. The late king Gotthard, King Ingo, General Alfred, even the current king's offspring - Prince Gotthard II and Princess Ada. Cele wondered what that said about the prince they now housed, fair as he was.

"Certainly though," Cele said eventually. "A person of Alfred's character wouldn't enjoy the games-"

A hard knock interrupted him. It was not the knock of a servant, who would be trained with soft raps and gentle voices calling from the other side.

Vincente stood, reaching for a paring knife on the table - as if someone would be bold enough to attack the king so tactlessly. But old habits die hard, as they say. For Cele, as well, who was already halfway to the door when Vincente called out calmly.

"Who is it?"