She did not shy away from involving herself in others' matters. Not because she liked being owed favours, not because she enjoyed the conflict. It was rather the opposite: she preferred peace, especially in those places surrounding her own lands and along those routes she traded through.

The matter of Lords Wemding and Monheim had been one such quarrel. A small thing, yet it had only required a small effort on her behalf to resolve this particular dispute between them. While the bishops had ended Monheim's aggression with a pointed reminder of the Church lands that sat between the two lords, she had fostered a gratitude with Wemding, both for the supply of goods that, even four years later, were only half-paid for, and for the trade that supplying those goods had opened up to his prosperous town.

Well, that gratitude now came from the late Lord Wemding's heir, a rather rare case of a third son as heir—the first son had died heirless in middle-age and the second had long-since taken vows. This new Lord Wemding was a timid, bookish man who knew well that his best protection lay in being useful to her.

To involve oneself in such matters was obvious. Above that, she knew the importance of shaping the outcome to reinforce the peace. Not enough to merely delay a conflict, but to set in place such conditions that rendered the conflict untenable or, if still inevitable, then in her favour.

However, that did not mean she would make any and all sacrifices to keep the peace.

"I was told this would be a meeting with the Marchioness."

Opposite her was an older man, beard grey, face wrinkled, a notable thickness to his glasses. He held himself with an energy, though, his gravelly voice clear, albeit accented, and he did not stoop, his height that bit more than her own. Neat clothes, a fabric cap which fit him well, and a cane of a dark, polished wood.

Now that she had regarded him, she disregarded him. "You should be well aware that, even if the young Lord Bavaria is engaged, he would not yet be married. To wait for that may take some years and it is quite frankly inappropriate for you to wish to meet his wife instead of him." She spoke without emotion, neither hot nor cold, a curtness with how she seemed to skip the pauses between words.

This place of meeting was the late Marquess's study in the manor by Munich. Despite the hurry with which she had travelled, she showed nothing but calm now, a blank face that lacked even a polite smile. While she sat, her knight stood behind her, stoic, almost a decoration with how still he was.

The man cleared his throat, his mouth thin. "Don't play games with me. I'm here to see the Marchioness or I'm leaving," he said, then he half-turned towards the door.

"Before I ask if you truly believe you would be permitted to leave, I should ask if you know who I am." Her hand gestured loosely along, her tone almost lazy, gaze not so much on him as near him.

After a breath, he said, "No, I don't."

"Yet I know exactly who you are and have treated you with the respect you deserve."

Her provocation landed with silence; he stilled for a moment, then clenched his fists, drawing in a deep breath. "If this is how I am to be treated, then it is clear the Marchioness has no intention of negotiating in good faith. I'll be going now."

As he turned to make good on his word, she simply said, "No, you will not."

He paid her no attention and went to open the door, only to find it locked. He tried it again. "Open the door now," he said, a loud whisper.

"You seem to be under the misconception that you have any power here. Let me be clear, you do not."

In two slow steps, he turned around, his narrowed gaze focusing on her. "If I do not return safely to the city by sunset, there will be riots."

"So?"

That word came out bored, her head tilted. Such a reaction, it left him speechless, the anger he showed losing its flame for a second before being reignited. "Whoever you are, are you so callous?" he asked.

"Me? It is hardly my fault that your greed has brought the city into revolt," she said, her tone seemingly sharper with each word, by the end leaning forwards, her elbows on the table.

Once again, he did not have an immediate reply.

So she continued. "In any case, I sentence you to death."

Expectedly, he had not been prepared for that, asking, "What did you say?"

"You are sentenced to death."

He stared at her a moment longer, then let out a single breath of laughter. "Very funny. Now, where is the Marchioness?"

"It is not funny at all," she said, a frown touching her brow as she returned his stare. "You truly do not understand. It is quite pathetic, really. You must think yourself so very clever and capable and yet you are nothing."

"Enough!"

His shout echoed in the room, so loud, only for her to give no reaction, not so much as a flinch—nor did her knight so much as frown.

"Let me be clear, you have committed treason. The city cannot refuse taxation. There is no situation under which that is acceptable. Of course, if the city is unable to pay, then the debt may be negotiated. We both know that this is not the case."

He took a step forward, voice hushed, yet full of anger. "The city pays more taxes year after year and for what? With or without me, the city will bring this matter to the King!"

She stared at him with amusement that slowly melted into disgust. "I know your plan, how you intend to offer to be under the King's rule and directly pay him taxes. The kind of plan a merchant thinks perfect. Of course the King wants more money and power, while the burden of taxation is then lessened for the city."

For the first time, he truly froze, his mouth a touch open with no sound escaping it.

"What you fail to grasp is that, if the King agreed, would not every city clamour for the same? Where would that leave his vassals? You think a city rioting is a threat, these rulers of the realm are the ones with armies. They would be justified in their actions, that the King agreeing to such terms would constitute a break of their sworn oaths, for how can he knowingly accept something which lawfully belongs to his vassal?"

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Pausing there, she gave a slight shake of her head, then she fixed him with a stare, cold—chilling.

"Never mind that a city which does not pay taxes has no purpose," she said, quieter, that last word lingering on her lips. "A parasite which devours food and gives nothing back. The young Marquess would be justified in simply razing it to the ground. If he does not take my advice to do so, then I shall personally bring in my army against the traitors."

As she finished saying that, she rose to her feet and, for a long moment, she held his gaze, then broke into a small smile.

"Still, you are fortunate that I am merciful"—his mouth thinned and eyes narrowed—"so you will be permitted your last rites before your execution."

She did not care for his reaction, her head already turned away to find her knight.

"We are leaving."

There was no need to look at the man any more, so she did not, followed behind her knight as he walked to the door, pushed aside the man, and opened the door. Outside the room, she spared those present a polite smile.

To one in particular, she gave a slight nod as she said, "Father." The priest replied with a broad smile that turned hollow as he walked past her into the room.

Of the others, two joined her in a walk to a nearby room. It had been a drawing room and now was an office for someone who could not bear to so much as stand in that room which reminded her of her late husband.

As for the last of the trio, she turned to him with a gentle smile and said, "Lord Bavaria, how much you have grown since my last visit."

The boy who had to wear the mantle of a young man gave an empty chuckle, his hand coming up to scratch at his chin. "Please, aunty, not you too," he said, a joke that even he didn't believe in.

"I am afraid it would be inappropriate to address you otherwise given what we are to discuss."

She said it gently, yet her tone was firm and, in the silence afterwards, he glanced at his mother, took his cue from the pointed silence. His hands tensed, fingers trembled. "Of course. It is my mistake, Princess Julia."

Although he brought up his gaze while he spoke, there was a feeling of him speaking to someone behind her, awkward even if not stilted. Still, she smiled.

"My Lord should be aware that it is those who would treat him familiarly that he should be most vigilant around. Many people will give him advice at this time precisely because it costs them nothing and may bring them great boons, either directly from his actions or from the building of his trust. Rather, it is those familiar with him who shall be harshest because to err in front of them is an opportunity to learn, while those who would pander to him only encourage him to make such mistakes so they may show their magnanimity in forgiving him of his transgressions."

As distracted as he had seemed before, he focused up and listened intently to the end. "Then, is Princess Julia treating me familiarly?" he said, almost a whisper, this time the humour stuck in his chest.

"That is for My Lord to decide."

Silence fell for a second, then she took a few more steps to an armchair that had survived the room's change in purpose.

"Why not take some time to think over what has happened while I chat with your mother first," she said, gentle—but firm.

He gave a weak nod, then turned around and left the room.

The silence that followed lasted a while longer, not uncomfortable, but thick. While she sat still, her host busied herself with neatening up the new desk. Eventually, though, those little actions gave way to an unnatural calm.

"Is this… truly necessary?" her host asked, quiet, fingers entwined.

"When I arrived, I asked if you wished for my advice, or for my help. You chose my help and so I have given it. Regardless, at this point, to let him go would only lead to him trying to incite rebellion."

Her host made an attempt at a smile, only for her lips to tremble. "It is not that I regret asking for your help."

"I know," she said, gentle. "It is only natural that someone raised to be a wife should be unsuitable to rule. You are taught to compromise, to be convincing with words, to show compassion. However, that is not how one must rule. Your son is a marquess. His word is law. There is no room for disagreement. For him, compromise is merely a tool with which he may compel compliance to his terms.

"When he has no tool which is suitable, though, there is violence. There is no tool more suitable for this traitorous mayor. Consider what compromise this mayor would accept and consider how others would view your son for accepting it. When someone threatens to harm themself unless their demands are met, one should always tell them to do it. If the city riots, it is the people of the city who will suffer, not your son. How could a good mayor want that for the people he rules over?"

Although her host gave no reaction to those words, there was no doubt they had been heard, a sigh soon the reply given. "Life has not been easy for you, has it? I only now grasp the burden which my husband had to carry."

"A burden made easier for him as he had your support," she said with a certain weight.

Her host shivered. "Did he?" she whispered, the words more seen on her lips than heard.

"As for me, my parents did prepare me for this in their own ways. I am thankful for it. When I came into my majority, I had to slowly reclaim much of my rightful power. Power is not something which sits idle, that it degrades, others infringing upon it. Without my parents, I would have relinquished many things I deserve.

"It is precisely because I know how hard it is to take back such power that I would not have Otto let it go now. Others will think him weaker than his father, yet he is precisely as powerful, it is merely that he is less willing to exert his power."

Another silence settled, calm, cold, fireplace silent. Eventually, her host spoke up. "You have my thanks for helping with this issue. Is there any other advice you would give?" Quiet words, yet no longer fragile.

"Have some faith in your husband. You know best the kind of man he was, that he would not have brought the city to ruin with outlandish demands. It is one thing to threaten riots and another for them to happen.

"However, I worry that there has been an outside group inciting this unrest. While we may hope that this was the Nelli family and thus the matter is solved, if that is not the case, you should look to the connections your husband had inside the city. That said, I do have one particular suggestion…."

She paused there, waiting for her host, then continued at the little nod given.

"Bring in the guildmasters one at a time and ask them if they believe their charter is unfair. If they think it is, have them confirm their answer, then quite simply dissolve it. Regardless of how they would then try to take back their answer, have them escorted out."

Her host's eyes widened before she collected herself. Her hands together, she went to speak once only to change her mind, her reply coming after another long breath. "Is that not inviting dissatisfaction?"

"That is, you worry others would call you tyrant?" she said lightly, a smile on her lips. "What is tyrannical about releasing people from an agreement they think unfair? Of course, there is great importance in the order with which you call these guildmasters. One should first focus on those who do not contribute much in dues. Once a couple of such guilds have been dissolved, the others will know that this meeting is not one to be taken lightly."

There she stopped, having felt she had perhaps already said too much, her host not one with a simple mind, merely a mind still muddled by grief.

Sure enough, her host soon spoke. "Indeed, these guilds are no small part of the city, so, for them to agree that the charters are fair, it undermines any argument of excessive taxation."

Her lips curved into a small smile.

"These matters…" her host whispered, falling into a sigh. "My parents have pressured me to make my brother regent. Every issue that arises, I end up worrying what they will say…."

"Why?"

That single word cut through the stale air, her host raising her head.

"Why should you care what anyone else thinks if you are doing what you believe best for your son? Marchioness, no, you are acting in the stead of a marquess. Would your husband have given in to such baseless pressure? Should your son cede power to your brother? Be strong, Dorothy. For a few years, be strong, set the right example for your son. Rule, even if it breaks you into countless pieces. I shall put you back together however long it takes, however many times, okay?"

Her stern tone grew gentle by the end, so very gentle. Her host let out a single laugh on the verge of a sob. "Julia… I do not deserve such a friend."

She gave no comment.

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