As Alpheo went around the table, introducing each man with a blend of humor and rrint , Ilbert's initial assumption solidified: these n had been companions of the prince consort during his rcenary days. Their relaxed deanor, shared jokes, and the ease with which they addressed one another spoke of bonds forged not through titles, but through battle and shared blood.
The first one he was presented of the bunch of commoners was Asag, he did not leave that much of an impression, he was not that tall nor he seed to be adept with the sword, the only unusual thing about him was his burnt-scar, that he tried to hide with hair that fell onto the side of his face , but that were still visible whenever he turned his head around.
Jarza was the eldest of the group, broad-shouldered , raised his goblet in mock salute as Alpheo introduced him, he was clearly not from the south, nor from the empire , as his hue of skin suggested he ca either from across the sea or from Azania or Alarnia.
A foreigner...
Finally, there was Egil, whose neck-long curly blonde hair seed like that of a moman. While his outward appearance might have marked him as a man of quick-laugh, there was no mistaking the fire in his sharp eyes.
Alpheo gestured to Egil with a sly grin. "Sir Egil here commands my light riders. It was his charge that shattered the right flank of Lechlian's forces and turned the tide of the battle."
Ilbert inclined his head politely toward Egil. "Sir Egil," he began, "since that day, I've often pondered how such a feat was possible. If I recall correctly, Lechlian's cavalry outnumbered yours, particularly with knight . How did you manage to bypass them and strike the infantry with such precision?"
Egil leaned back slightly, raising an eyebrow "Bypass?" he echoed, the corner of his mouth twitching into a faint smirk. "I didn't bypass them, Lord Ilbert. The day I run , is the day I stop being a man. I killed the ones who dared to fight and ignored the rest."
Ilbert's eyes widened slightly, and Egil chuckled before continuing, his tone growing sharper. "As soon as we finished our javelins, we got onto real fighting. Most of them broke at the first sign of disorder. They're brave shouting about honor and glory until the fighting gets real, then they ride for their mothers. We chased the bold ones, gave them a quick end, and let the cowards run."
He leaned forward now, fixing Ilbert with an intense gaze. "I knew my place wasn't with the survivors. My riders and I needed to be where the battle was still alive. That's why we cut through them fast, regrouped, and hit the infantry before they could breathe."
Egil shrugged as if dismissing the entire ordeal. "Simple enough: fight smart, strike hard, and don't waste ti on those already beaten."
Alpheo chuckled. "As you can see, Egil has a knack for horse-fighting while having a ....particular view on life"
Ilbert nodded slowly, his brow furrowing in contemplation. Though Egil's explanation was straightforward, the lord found it difficult to reconcile the ease with which the light cavalry had bested a force not only larger but better equipped. It defied the conventional wisdom of warfare that had been ingrained in him since his youth.
Alpheo's gaze shifted toward an older man seated a few places away, his posture dignified yet relaxed. He gestured toward him with a smile. "And here, Lord Ilbert, is Lord Shahab, my grandfather by marriage. When Her Grace, Jasmine, ascended the throne, he was among the first to rise against the rebellion led by his uncle , rallying his forces to her cause and was among the first to fight alongside ..."
Lord Shahab inclined his head modestly, though his sharp, knowing eyes betrayed a quiet pride. His silver-streaked beard frad a face weathered by years of command and experience. "Duty to one's family and sovereign is the essence of our bonds, Lord Ilbert," he said with a low, gravelly voice. "I trust you'll find it so in ti."
Ilbert nodded respectfully to a relative of her liege
Alpheo turned to his right, where Lord Xanthios sat, his wolf-emblazoned surcoat catching the light of the nearby fire. "And of course, you've already exchanged words with Lord Xanthios."
Xanthios leaned forward, a wry smile playing at his lips. "Indeed, we have. Lord Ilbert," he said, his voice deep and steady, "you'll find Jasmine to be a ruler of unmatched generosity, alongside her husband —toward those who prove their usefulness."
The subtle emphasis on the last word lingered in the air for a mont
Ilbert t Xanthios's gaze, nodding thoughtfully. "A quality I am certain we shall all benefit from in due ti."
Alpheo gestured toward another man seated nearby, his posture formal and reserved. "And lastly, Lord Damaris, who had been of great help during the battle holding the center against a superior force, while my n did their part" he said, his tone polite but without the warmth reserved for closer companions.
Ilbert inclined his head respectfully, and Lord Damaris mirrored the gesture, his expression neutral. "Lord Ilbert," he greeted simply.
"Lord Damaris, a pleasure to make your acquittance" Ilbert replied, his tone equally calm.
The exchange was brief and formal, the two acknowledging each other without further comnt before Alpheo smoothly moved the conversation along.
As the presentations finished , Ilbert stared at every face in the room with a newfound clarity. Of the nobles present, only three bore the unmistakable signs of great lords: Lord Shahab, Lord Xanthios, and Lord Damaris.
Suddendly it struck him like a well-aid arrow: the rest of the nobility had likely refused to take up arms in support of the crown, which would explain the clear difference in forces. The reason was probably , and yet clearly Jasmine's controversial marriage to Alpheo, a man of common origins turned prince-consort. Which sowed such division between crown and nobility.
Yet, despite the disarray within the royal ranks, Alpheo had triumphed—a feat that grew more impressive the more Ilbert dwelled on it. His victory was no re battlefield accomplishnt; it was a declaration of legitimacy, to those that ignored his wife's crown.
Nothing establishes a ruler's worth like winning a war against daunting odds.
Ilbert's mind turned to his own precarious position. He realized by now that there were probably two faction within Yarzat, and by swearing fealty to Jasmine and her consort, he had thrown in his lot with the royal faction—a choice he now understood was as much about survival as allegiance.
Without Alpheo's protection, Lechlian would almost certainly seek vengeance for his perceived betrayal, so he could only join the royal faction as not even being neutral could work with his circumstances.
His gaze drifted back to Alpheo, who exuded a calm authority as he engaged with those around him. If anyone could shield him from Lechlian's wrath, it was him.
The future belongs to the bold, Ilbert mused, and for now, there is no bolder ally than the prince-consort of Yarzat.
--------------
As the conversations ca to an end , Ilbert resud his al, though his attention wandered as Lord Xanthios leaned closer, regaling him with the story of the siege of Arduronaven. With a grim satisfaction, Xanthios described the rebel lord's humiliation, recounting his walk of sha to the chopping block, sothing that he was never tired to tell to whoever had ears..
As Ilbert listened, a thought stirred in his mind, a flicker of mory reigniting. He turned toward Alpheo, the young prince-consort who had thus far proven more formidable than he had imagined. With asured respect, he addressed him, his tone steady but deferential.
"My lord," Ilbert began, "I must comnd you on the tactics you employed during the siege of Arduronaven. A coordinated attack from within and without—truly magnificent in its execution."
Albeit dishonorable, not that I think he cared much about it, since he was fighting against a criminal without honor.
Alpheo inclined his head slightly, his lips curving in a faint smile. "You honor with your words, Lord Ilbert. Though I wonder, does everyone here already know of this tale?"
Ilbert nodded solemnly. "They do, my lord," he confird, his voice laced with cautious respect. Then, after a brief pause, he added, "And... if I may, there is a na so have begun to use when they speak of you. Would you care to hear it?Though I believe it would be better to say in private..."
Hearing that Alpheo gave a small chuckle filled with the pride of a victorius general ''Whatever they call won't change what her grace's n have achieved , and if they forget about the details the hundreds cadavers outside Arduronaven will be good enough of a reminder .
You can be at ease , my lord, and speak without reserve''
Hearing the answer Ilbert coughed lightly, clearing his throat before speaking. "So have taken to calling you... Yarzat's Little Fox," he said, his tone careful, though his choice of words sparked an imdiate reaction among the prince's n .
The gathered lords chuckled quietly amongst themselves, their mirth barely restrained. However, Egil could not contain himself, bursting into a hearty laughter that shook the table. Jarza, seated nearby, hastily covered his lousy friend's mouth with both hands, though his shoulders quaked with suppressed amusent, knowing very well that such behaviour could not be displayed in public.
Alpheo, ever composed, allowed a smirk to tug at the corners of his mouth, mostly forced . He leaned back slightly, resting one arm on the chair as he tilted his head. "I understand the 'fox' part," he remarked "But why, I wonder, 'little'?"
Ilbert, maintaining his composure despite the amusent around him, gave a small shake of his head. "I cannot say for certain, my lord," he replied, keeping his tone neutral.
Yet in the recesses of his mind, the answer ca unbidden: It is likely for your youth and stature. At barely older than his own son, Alpheo's age and stature seed to strike a contrast with his sharpness on the battlefield. Ilbert wisely kept this thought to himself, focusing instead on Alpheo's asured reaction to the moniker.
Alpheo anwhile maintained his composed deanor, the nickna lingered in his thoughts. Yarzat's Little Fox, he mused inwardly. He would have preferred sothing more imposing. Yet, as the words rolled through his mind, a faint sense of amusent tempered his initial irritation.
Still, it's not without its charm, he thought. His lips twitched in the barest of smiles. The nickna reminded him of one of his favorite Norman rulers, who had also earned the title of "fox" , Guiscard Hauteville. To share such an epithet, even in jest, was not the worst legacy to begin carving for himself.
Who know perhaps I should take the fox as my emblem...they can call what they like, wolf , rabbit , dog , as long as they rember I outsmarted them.
As Alpheo was thinking about how to answer that , suddenly the quiet murmur of conversation and the clinking of goblets was disrupted with the tent flaps burst open. A man stumbled in, his breath ragged, his eyes wide with urgency. The lords and commanders seated at the table froze mid-bite, their expressions ranging from confusion to irritation at the abrupt intrusion.
The man, dressed in the colors of Yarzat's court, sprinted forward, his boots scuffing against the ground. He stopped several dozen steps from the main table, his knees hitting the dirt with a thud. His head bowed low as he raised his voice, breathless but clear:
"Your Grace! My lords! Her Grace, the princess—she is with child!Her grace expects a child!She who is fertile has blessed the royal family"
The words hung in the air like a clap of thunder. The tent went still, every pair of eyes fixed on the ssenger as the enormity of the announcent settled over them.
The princedom was finally about to have an heir.
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