*Estan*

His stiff leather boots clipped against the bare stone slabs that passed for a floor in Ryonic Castle. Flickering torchlight cast shadows across equally bare stone walls, with the only break from the grey monotony being an occasional tapestry depicting some equally dreary scene from his father's conquest of the Western Marchlands.

A few men-at-arms stood rigidly at regular intervals in the audience chamber as he shuffled through, their gazes focused and professional. Focused on what exactly he wasn't sure, since there was literally nothing of interest in the entire fortress, let alone the large hall, but focused they remained, nonetheless.

Rain lashed at the windows, running in rivulets against the thin glass and pattering to the floor in places where they weren't sealed properly. With nothing remotely pleasing to attract his gaze, he settled on examining his father as he crossed the empty greeting chamber. Stiff backed, white-haired and uncompromisingly austere, the head of the Ryonic line was a match for his castle.

Finally, Estan reached the foot of the steps leading to his father's throne and took a knee. He held his head low for the customary three breaths, and two more passed before his father's voice cut through the silent room.

"Rise," the gravelly voice demanded, and Estan rose, lifting his gaze to meet a pair of icy grey eyes sunken into a lined and startlingly pale face. "Report," came the equally brisk follow up.

Estan bowed his head one more time – it never hurt to show obeisance before the Lord Castellan, after all – and then settled into an attentive posture as he began his report.

"Thank you, father. I believe I made significant inroads with the jarl's heir, and the sultanate once more re-affirm their desire for a closer trading alliance with us. On that note, Escribar are still sending their silver exclusively via the western road through the Marchlands, and they are keen to change this state of affairs. The sultanate are equally keen to block any expansion economically from their neighbours, so I believe we have common cause with the sultan in this matter. I would not be surprised if there is another tranche of assassinations in the coming months, though, as the two countries 'discuss' amongst themselves."

The news elicited nothing more than a grunt and a wave of the hand, so he continued. "Nothing of note from within our borders. The peasants are kicking up a bit of a fuss about the new tax burden, but I don't see anything major coming from it. We should look to-"

His father's voice again cut through the chamber, silencing him in an instant. "The things you know about the 'peasants' as you call them – our subjects, need I remind you – could fit on the edge of my blade."

Estan shifted uncomfortably under the heavy disapproval while his father continued to berate him.

"What gives you such confidence in your predictions?" the older man asked. "Did you pick up a seer class while gallivanting off with the scions of the court?"

"No father. I only meant that I do think it likely that the… subjects… will tire themselves out well before you need to take action."

He gritted his teeth as he stumbled through the explanation, seething internally. One of his father's favourite games over the last few years was to demand his presence and attempt to humiliate him in front of their men, whether or not he was right. The Lord Castellan of the Ryonic Fortress, Duke of the Western Marchlands and a High Lord of the Sunset Court was beyond rebuke in his sanctum, and so Estan had to play out this ridiculous pantomime and listen to the old fool prattle on.

"Have you talked to the union leaders then? Visited the swamps where they work to assess environmental degradation? Reviewed production quotas and looked at the state of the roads leading to our major trade partners?" A small crack in the composure of the duke appeared, just for a moment, and Estan nearly recoiled at the rage he saw, before the mask slipped back on. "No? Perhaps you should have less confidence in your assertions then, my son."

He bowed his head in chastisement, willing the flush of his cheeks to calm and keeping his anger tightly in check. He heard a slight shuffle from one of the guards near to him and wondered briefly if they were smiling at his humiliation behind their obscuring helms. Bastards.

"Do you think it likely that the peas-… subjects will revolt?"

His father let out a humourless chuckle at that. "Revolt? No, nothing so dramatic. We snuffed out any revolutionary sentiment over a decade ago, while you were still but a boy. No, there are other consequences that we need to worry about. Coordinated slowdowns and the like."

"Forgive me for my ignorance father, but how can they get away with that? You are the Lord Castellan, why not send out your men if they begin one of these strikes. I will volunteer myself. I'd match a dozen of them if they tried to raise arms."

The older man sighed, still maintaining that air of disappointment. "Because, you fool, things exist in a delicate balance. We own this land because we can hold it by right of arms, but they work the land, and we need them. They need us too, for without our protection they would fall prey to bandits. Without our trade links with neighbouring powers, they would have no way into other markets to sell their produce. But push them too far, and they will leave. They will down tools one day, walk straight out of the swamps and leave the Marchlands entirely."

Estan nodded along, performing the role of an attentive and eager student while his father droned on with the same drivel as always.

"You don't think the sultanate would welcome them with open arms?" his father asked, somewhat rhetorically.

Estan waited for a beat before realising he actually wanted an answer. "Ah… yes?" he replied shakily, before grasping upon an interesting point. "But is not the point of some of your more generous policies towards our subjects precisely that they will entice the peasants to stay instead of leaving? Our tax burden is lower than those of the sultanate and Escribar by a not insignificant margin."

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He did his best to keep the disdain from his voice, though his father's curled lip suggested he wasn't entirely successful.

"You think the sultan wouldn't happily lose a little coin just to see us fail, boy?"

The duke huffed when he received no immediate answer, and finally leaned back in his throne. "You can't force a man to work for long, boy. Eventually he will decide it would be better to live in the wilds. At that point, you'd best be prepared to pull the plough yourself."

Estan ducked his head again, hoping to be dismissed, when his father spoke up again. "I spoke with Varice today. She is investigating reports that the sultanate is attempting to expand into the swamps to the north of our territory. Buying up large quantities of half-silver from outside of the Sunset Kingdoms. That would put them in direct competition with us..."

Estan forcibly stilled his hands from twitching. He kept his posture controlled and looked up to meet the assessing gaze of the Duke of the Marchlands. Hard grey eyes met softer blue ones, and Estan found himself looking away first. "I'm sorry father, I didn't have access to that information while I was at court. How would you suggest we proceed?"

"Hold off on your arrangements for now, no further promises. I will discuss with Varice when she returns."

There was a brief moment of silence, before his father nodded once and uttered a single word, concluding their business; "dismissed."

The hall was grand, with elegant stonework prominently displayed, and lush carpets and drapes decorating the walls and floor. Colour was everywhere, and benches heaved with food and drinks aplenty. No waiters unfortunately, but some compromises had to be made for security, after all.

Estan sprawled on a plush divan with a satisfied expression as he crushed a nut in his hand before throwing it up and snapping it from the air. He crunched indulgently a few times before speaking to the equally relaxed young men and women around him.

"He suspects nothing, the pompous old fool."

Jeers met his statement and a dark-skinned man in a colourful robe responded. "Your father is no fool, Estan. He is the most dangerous of all the high lords to our plan. You are sure he has no doubts?"

Estan snapped another nut from the air, falling back into the divan and partly to the floor as he did so. A chorus of hoots and hollers followed, and he waved a hand at the callers as he levered himself up. The colourfully dressed man was staring at him, hard-eyed and serious despite the levity surrounding him.

"No, Yander, he suspects nothing as I said." He brushed his fine trousers down, scraping crumbs from the rich cloth in derision. "He lives in the past, unwilling to consider the benefits of cooperation with fellow lords."

Yander nodded at that, and raised his voice, "Then it appears we are almost ready! Our time has nearly come my friends, to unite the Sunset Kingdoms under a single banner. We have clawed our way into the military and intelligence networks thanks to the cunning of our friends." He gestured grandly to several men and women throughout the room, and cheers greeted them as they raised glasses or hands in acknowledgement.

"We are on the cusp of seizing control of the economies of our various kingdoms too, thanks in no small part to the adventurous work of Escribar's favoured daughter." Yander winked to a well-dressed woman who curtseyed to the room, drawing a swell of admiration from those present.

He continued, "but despite our many successes and years of long work, there is one domain in which we have made little headway. Estan, if you would be so kind…"

Estan leapt to his feet, swaying slightly from the abrupt movement and waving off the heckles in response. He smiled indulgently as he spoke, captivating the room as would a practiced showman.

"The peasants! The commoners, the rabble. You know them! Penny-pinchers and workshy busybodies with their unions and councils and village assemblies. Of course we have struggled to take control of their organisations, for who amongst us would stoop to their level? Alshin – how about it? Fancy donning a cap and dredging the swamps for treasure, nothing but half-silver for protection from the delirium mists?"

The man he had singled out was jostled by his fellows, throwing up his arms in mock-horror. Estan sighed wearily in commiseration. "I know my friend, I know. Won't somebody think of your poor robes? Silk from the City of Spires itself!"

He allowed the laughter to fade. "The truth is, my friends, we will never gain influence from within the peasant population. We must excise our power from above, as is right." He snapped his fingers, pointing to Yander as he spoke "and I know, I know! I know what you will say in response."

Yander jumped in, responding with the same graceful timing he always seemed to have, the handsome bastard. "What about the threat of a rising? We have barely recovered from the last one."

"Precisely! We have barely recovered, but we have recovered. Our position is stronger than before, the only thing we must fear is competition between ourselves. The unions are weaker than ever, with many of their key leaders dead. The militancy is gone, and all remember the outcome of the battle of Sternsbridge."

A few people nodded their head at that, though most stayed quiet. Just uttering the name of that battle brought to mind painful memories for many of the noble scions present today. Estan even saw a representative of the Crimson Lions flinch in response, though he tried to cover up the move.

"We need not repeat such heavy-handed tactics. After all, who among us would seek to spend precious coin on supressing an uprising when there are new markets opening up before us? We are on the precipice of ascension as a nation! The Sunset Kingdoms will take their rightful place alongside the true powers of Tsanderos, and our reach will extend to the-"

Yander coughed politely and Estan reigned himself in.

"Yes, well, you all know our goal. No, what I mean to say is that we should not waste our efforts on supressing the peasants. We need merely remind them of what happened the last time that they rose above their station."

He paused then, having recaptured the room almost immediately and keeping them on the edges of their seats. "And who better to remind them than one of their heroes?" Another hush fell over the hall, deeper this time and holding an undercurrent of unease. "How better to show our dominion over them than to capture and own the only surviving member of that unprecedented battle?"

"I have risked much in obtaining this information, for my father guards his secrets jealously. Varice is a cunning spider, but I skipped across her web and discovered a most terrible plan. Duke Ryonic moves in shadow, forming a secret pact with the most esteemed mercenary company within our borders. Even now, thirteen Fangs of the Crimson Lions are traversing the Unclaimed Peaks far to the east in search of the Butcher of Sternsbridge! In capturing her, he seeks to place himself above the rest of the court, above your kin!"

Cries of outrage met his words, and all before him looked concerned, save the few he trusted and conspired with. Yander stayed silent, not begrudging his taking of the credit for the information. Good, the bastard owes me anyway.

He raised his hands to quiet the heckles and shouts of the crowd. He loved the feeling of control when he spoke. He played them like a lute, each word a plucked string and each sentence a beautiful refrain. Time to reel them in.

"But fear not my friends. This will not be allowed to stand. When the Lions bring that bitch to justice, it will be an alliance of all houses that meets them, not my father's petty schemes! We will parade her through our lands, and the commoners will finally understand that there is only one consequence for disloyalty in the Sunset Kingdoms!"

The room filled with cheers, and Estan beamed at the men and women around him, highborn one and all. Nowhere in sight were the spymasters and old bureaucrats that ran the various principalities, causing division and strife between noble brothers. The decaying generals and silver-tongued advisors that had pitted them against one another for decades would spit in rage at such a gathering, but they were a thing of the past.

He, and his fellows, would take the reins of their nation from the undeserving, and forge a kingdom to stand tall against the world.

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