The story so far: Adon Santinetta and Crown Prince Lorens, accompanied by Princess Carena and Lord Bardonnel, make a state visit to Satele, where they encounter a mob at the dock. After reaching the palace, they attend a welcoming luncheon that quickly turns political, and later that night, during a ball in their honor, an assassin strikes, barely missing his target.
One // Two // Three // Four // Five // Six
Early the next morning, Sergeant Hoden, guarding the door to the Crown Prince’s suite, knocked four times and let Adon into the room. Petron Bardonnel had already arrived, and moments later, Carena, looking tired but cheerful after her late night at the ball, came through the door that connected the two suites. Lorens greeted them and invited them to seats around a round table, set for a meal, in a corner of the main living area. Once they were seated, a Palace Guard soldier, Manol Lamsen, served them breakfast, then took up a post at the door.
“Uncle,” the prince said, laying his napkin across his lap, “I trust that Lord Marini returned safely to his home last night.”
“Yes, lord,” Adon replied. “Thank you for letting me take a squad of the Guard to ensure his safety. On the way to his residence, he told me he will leave today for the Marini estate on the coast. He felt it the most prudent action, though it means one less supporter for King Mirando to call on here in Delphino.”
Lorens sipped his tea. “Your uncle took the attempt on his life with impressive poise. He treated it as if it occurred weekly.”
“He gave me a similar impression several times last night,” the captain said, finishing a slice of bacon. “I received an education in Satelen politics and chicanery from him in our short time together. I was appalled.”
Lorens laughed. “Indeed! My father’s court is a child’s playground compared to Mirando’s! Pray the Shepherd that it always remains so!”
Petron dabbed at his lips with a napkin before speaking. “Did he offer any insights that might help our negotiations today?”
“Yes, he did,” Adon said, downing an orange juice he found quite refreshing. He suspected it came from the Summer Isles. “Uncle Luko warned me that King Mirando’s trade minister is part of the opposition. He’s a close associate of Lord Corado Marinacci, who is almost certainly the paymaster behind all the riots.”
“Much as we suspected,” Petron said, nodding, “especially after he took your measure—very boldly, in my opinion—at the luncheon, captain! More took note of that little incident than you may realize.”
Lorens’ brows knitted together. “He seems excessively confident, which troubles me. What he did was very aggressive. By the Shepherd, Grania was part of the conversation, and Mirando was mere feet away! He acts as if he no longer considers them a threat—as if he’s already won. That he acts with impunity concerns me greatly. I would leave immediately if these trade negotiations were not so critical.”
Petron pursed his lips. “How, then, do you want me to approach the talks, Your Highness? It feels like we are no longer dealing with King Mirando’s government but a future one with Marinacci at its head.”
“I don’t think we should count Mirando out yet,” the prince responded after a long moment’s thought. “Until we know better, we should assume Lord Andalo speaks for Satele, but take none of his proposals at face value! If we can, we should agree to nothing that might fatten Marinacci’s purse or increase his power. We want to give him nothing that he could use against the present king.”
Lord Bardonnel nodded slowly, considering. “Yes, Your Highness. I will confine my offers to our traditional trade goods and keep well away from metal goods and weaponry.”
“If I may,” Adon interjected, and Lorens nodded for him to proceed. “The Andalos dominate mining, and the Bacalars control the textile industry here. It would not surprise me if those families, which fly the same colors as the Marinaccis, attempt to line their pockets through these talks. Helping either of them eventually helps Corado Marinacci’s cause.”
“We’ll make a trade negotiator out of you yet, Uncle,” the Crown Prince said with a grin.
Petron grimaced, scratching the side of his head with one hand. “These exclusions severely limit our options, but I think I can work within such limitations. Much will depend on their opening offer. It should give me some insight into what they really want.”
“What they really want is King Mirando dead so they can take over!” Princess Carena said confidently, depositing her fork on her plate with a clink. “It’s as simple as that!”
All three of the men stared at her. She had been eating quietly but clearly listening intently to their conversation. Her eyes returned their stares resolutely.
“How did you come to this conclusion?” her brother asked at last.
“It’s obvious,” she said a little defensively, her eyes falling to her plate, where she fiddled with a half-eaten piece of toast. “The Vallerois are weak, with an heiress who would rather retire into obscurity than rule. She certainly won’t agree to a political marriage again, if she can help it. So, now is the perfect time for the opposition to get into position to pick up the pieces when it all falls apart. And if they can’t do it peacefully, they’ll gladly go to war for the throne. That’s what the Aertellans think.”
“The Aertellans!” Lorens said with a chuckle. “Have you been eavesdropping on their embassy staff?”
“No, Lorens,” she said with an edge to her voice, “I got it straight from the mouth of Count dor Ammil. We had a wonderful talk in between dances last night.”
“This Count dor Ammil just told you what the Aertellan embassy thinks about the situation here?” Lorens asked, incredulous.
The lilac shoulders of Carena’s silk dress rose and fell slightly. “He did. Are we not allies? He said our ambassador thinks so, too, and that the Angevan and Nevan ambassadors do as well. They are all tense and ‘just waiting for the final snowflake to fall to start the avalanche.’ That’s how Nelius put it.”
“Nelius?” Lorens asked, confused.
“Yes, Nelius! Nelius dor Ammil! The count I danced with last night!” she huffed. “Must I write it down for you, Lorens?”
“You must excuse me, dear sister,” he said, “but I am at a loss, having never done more than greet the count you danced with last night. I recall seeing you with him after the receiving line, but I could not remember his name.”
“Well,” Carena said, retreating just a little, “I will reintroduce you at the next function, whatever it is. He is a charming gentleman.”
Lorens raised an eyebrow. “More charming than your Margonni suitors?”
“Far more,” she retorted, rolling her eyes. “None of them even approaches his class.”
“I look forward to meeting him, then,” the prince said evenly, then hurried on. “Adon, get a message to Captain Parees as soon as possible. Tell him to float Kestrel down to our docks by the Temple of the Sea. If he needs a reason, tell him to provision the ship for our return voyage. I don’t want our transport home to suffer should violence erupt while we’re here. Tell him to be ready to sail every time the tide goes out.”
“Yes, lord,” Adon said. “If he must, he can always sneak down there tonight, as the moon will be dark. I will go to see him myself when we’re done here.”
“Take a soldier or two with you,” he commanded. “That goes for everyone. No one goes anywhere without Palace Guard escorts. Even you, little sister—perhaps especially you. You would make a valuable prize for the opposition, if they were so bold.”
To everyone’s surprise, she raised no objection. “I will.”
“Good.” Lorens finished his tea. “Petron, my friend, I will accompany you to this morning’s negotiations, but if they go past noon, I will have to leave. I’m meeting with our ambassador over lunch, and I will discover whether all the ambassadors think Satele is on the brink, as Count dor Ammil claims.”
“Yes, lord,” Petron said. “Your presence should help us project a strong front and, I hope, curtail any undignified ploys.”
The Crown Prince grunted. “Have you forgotten that we are in Satele?”
A quarter-hour later, Lorens and Petron were led to a richly appointed chamber adjacent to the throne room. In the room’s center stood a massive, gleaming table intricately inlaid with diverse woods to depict the Taurani people’s first landing on the shores of Osegra more than a millennium earlier. A dozen chairs made of mahogany and rich burgundy leather surrounded it. Curtains along the outside wall had been drawn back, admitting a dull gray light into the room, the cloudy sky presaging afternoon rain.
A servant poured them wine and water while they waited for the Satelen delegation. Lorens drummed his fingers on the table with growing impatience. After ten minutes, he began to mutter under his breath.
His hands clasped before him on the table, Petron cleared his throat as he leaned toward the prince. “My lord,” he whispered, smiling as if he were telling the prince a private joke, “take no offense. Act as if the delay does not bother you. Lord Andalo is employing an old trick: making us wait, hoping we will become angry, trying to get an advantage over us. I should have warned you he might do this. I would not be surprised if he has someone watching us.” He chuckled as if he thought his “joke” was funny.
Lorens played along, smiling broadly. “Good one, Petron! And so right you are!”
After another five minutes, Lord Rigorio Andalo—a tall, spare man with a dark, narrow mustache and an equally narrow beard along his jawline—breezed in from a door on the room’s far side, calling out good-natured apologies for his tardiness. Two beefy aides trailed him, looking more like private guards than assistants. At his own pace, an eager Lord Corado Marinacci sauntered in behind them, appearing as if he were expecting to watch a prize fight.
Lord Andalo made hurried introductions as they sat opposite the Margonni. “We are honored by the presence of Crown Prince Lorens,” he said in a deep baritone, bowing slightly in the prince’s direction. “We hope our negotiations will be to your satisfaction.”
Lorens nodded politely. “Thank you, Lord Andalo!” he said in his booming voice, subconsciously rising to the challenge in the Satelen’s courtly manner. “We only desire the mutual benefit of both kingdoms.” He smiled, meeting the eyes of the four Satelens across from him, finally lighting on Lord Marinacci. “I am a little surprised by your presence, Lord Marinacci! I would think you would have many more important duties to attend to.”
The Satelen nobleman smiled back at the prince. “My responsibilities are considerable, Prince Lorens,” he answered affably. “But these trade negotiations are vital to Satele’s interests, so King Mirando’s requested I add my expertise to our delegation’s negotiations. The king has given me broad discretion as to the direction of these talks.”
Lord Bardonnel nodded, smiling. “That sounds like an excellent place to begin, Lord Marinacci! What do you propose? I do not believe it is indecorous of me to say that the sudden rise in your tariffs spurred us to request these negotiations. Frankly, we are interested in seeing those duties returned to their former levels, and, in exchange, we are prepared to make favorable concessions to Satele.”
Lord Andalo chuckled. “My advisers warned me you would come straight to the point, Lord Bardonnel, but I had no idea you would be this direct!”
Petron smiled. “I see no reason to prolong our negotiations, Lord Andalo. From our perspective, the situation seems quite plain. As longtime allies, we can strike a swift, mutually beneficial agreement—unless there is some complication of which we are unaware.”
In the ensuing silence, Lord Marinacci fussed with his cuffs, drawing everyone’s eyes to him. He looked up suddenly at Lorens, flashing a smile. “I do not consider our position in these negotiations to be a complication. Not at all!” He clasped his hands together and leaned forward, speaking earnestly. “In fact, our offer is simplicity itself! We are willing to reduce the present duty on your exports, not just to the former level, but also by another ten percent!” His face beamed with magnanimity.
The Crown Prince’s brows lowered, and he turned his head slightly, peering at the Satelen aristocrat out of the corner of his eyes. “I may be young, Lord Marinacci, but even I realize an offer like that does not come without desiring an equally generous concession from Margonne. I am anxious to hear what you seek from us.”
“What I propose is mutually beneficial, both nationally and personally, Prince Lorens,” Lord Marinacci replied, a grin slowly forming on his face. “I wish to negotiate for your sister’s hand in marriage.”
A note:
While an arranged marriage between noble houses was not unusual, Lord Marinacci’s bold proposal was highly unusual, even rude, on several points. First, coupling the marriage so brazenly to a tariff reduction made Margonne appear to be selling the princess for an economic concession. Second, the proposal’s surprising nature seriously breached the etiquette of the day, as normally, the groom’s family made its intentions known over the course of months—at least many weeks—through private channels to sound out the bride’s family on its receptivity to the match. Third, Lord Marinacci asked the wrong person, as Crown Prince Lorens lacked authority. Fourth, such matters were often conducted privately between the families’ appointed representatives who had been given explicit instructions and powers regarding the terms of the marriage agreement and any exchanges of wealth and property. Fifth, and hardly least, because the proposed marriage would affect two kingdoms at the highest levels (especially if Lord Marinacci successfully deposed King Mirando), it was also a matter of state that could not be blithely handled at trade talks.
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oooo he went there! Brash!
How rude of the man!