"We are now a realm divided. In one camp stands those with honor and a right to rule, in the other there is deceit and murder. The former must crush the latter with impunity." Prince Jean Desramaux just before leading an army to put down the 2nd Pelariaux Rebellion, 2nd of Memusnahn, 300 PR. 

It was the 23rd of Geshan. King Francois Desramaux III had been dead for ten days, but none have been allowed near his body except for the Priests of Mostrosty who are tasked with preparing the body for burial. All the while, the realm has been mourning. Despite his original intentions, Phillipe had opted for a smaller ceremony for his father and even his own ceremony. With the wedding now only a month and a half away, it seemed folly to have guests travel from across the realm three times in such a short timespan - those in the furthest reaches, such as House Lebassieux in Lebatou or House Licette in Licon, would not even be able to make it for all of them if they were to return home with each interum. While the news of the King's passing was sent throughout the realm with the information that none were expected to be present for the funeral or the Prince's coronation, some closer vassals made the journey all the same. The Duke D'Aurrennes, the Duke de Hemroux, the Duke de Parseille, and the Duchess Renangers were all in attendance, along with several Counts from the surrounding towns within the Desramaux Plains, Aurel Fields, and Guillaume's Trees. In fact, even though the intention was for a small familial gathering, the only nobility that did not make the journey were those within the former borders of the Pelariaux Dynasty. Those from Garlennes, Lebatou, and Licon, along the Southern King's road and against the Desramaux Range, sent their regards and deepest sympathies to both the dynasty and the realm. House Pelariaux was notably silent. Then again, they almost always are.

The young prince was surprised by one letter of sympathies in particular. It arrived not by falcon, but by hawk. It provided similar sentiments to the other letters received - 'deepest condolences,' 'the realm will never be the same,' 'looking forward to the continuation of the King's rule through his son,' and such others. But, what made this message stick out from all of the rest to Phillipe, was the last few lines.

King Francois III's death is regrettable for yet another reason. In our dealings with his royal highness, he showed traits that are commonly rare in leadership. He was a respectable, noble, and honorable ruler whose word we could trust. This is a quality that has lacked in many 'rulers' over us, and that we hope continues with his successor. While we regret our inability to leave the herd at this time, our loyalty to House Desramaux will continue should the new King prove themselves as his father did. - Blazing Arrow, Herd Chief of the Mannes

The Mannes, Phillipe had never heard of his father's dealings with the centaurs who occupied the Trentenn Woods. Perhaps it was for a good reason, then, he never knew of such dealings, for there were very few that must have occurred. With no wars, the king had no reason to seek out their might, and with no quarrels between the tribe and the surrounding villages, there was no reason to negotiate with them. At some point he must have met with them, and he clearly left a strong impression. Phillipe hoped to continue the good relations with these centaurs; perhaps one could be brought to the capital to serve as the royal horse-master, or would that be insulting? Perhaps Advisor on Equine Business. No. Chief Cavalry Commander? The name could come later. He must send a letter responding to Blazing Arrow and make known his intentions to continue the relationship the Mannes enjoyed with his father. 

There was a knock at the door. Phillipe had been scouring over letters from vassals as well as reading through some of his father's notes. One in particular was of interest to him, his great uncle's report on the Siege of Desramaux City and the assassination of his grandfather. No doubt, the death of his father will begin to stir unrest in both kingdom's, especially about the union. Phillipe had already begun to dread a confrontation by his cousins Prince Claude or his son Jean-Claude. Not that the young prince expected the capital to be put under a siege, but knowing what allowed it to happen so swiftly, and how they pushed the Pelariaux forces back quickly, would be important knowledge for any soon to be king. Phillipe turned to answer the door and was pleasantly surprised to be greeted by Mathi. Both gentlemen had their finest black jackets on, a single golden rose sat pinned to their lapels, with thin, almost imperceptible floral embroideries were woven along the back and sides of their jackets. The Princes smiled and embraced one another.

"Are you ready?" Mathi asked, adjusting his shirt, ensuring it was properly tucked in after the hug.

"As ready as I will ever be. I take it the priests have finished?" the young prince closed the door to his chambers as the two of them began to make their way down the castle corridors to the chapel.

"Yes. Priest Anselm finished preparing him for burial and has lit the necessary incense. Priest Margot has said the necessary prayers, that Dekinhold see him judged justly, and now Priest Alix awaits the attendants so that we might celebrate his life." Phillipe smiled slightly to himself.

"So much ceremony, and for what?"

"Pardon, my lord - err" Mathi gained a look of embarrassment, Phillipe raised his hand in protest.

"My coronation is not for another day or two. And besides, today we are just family."

"Thank you, Phillipe. As I was saying. Pardon, Phillipe, but I do believe it has something to do with pleasing the gods." Phillipe looked on without responding. "All of that ceremony."

"Oh, yes. I hope you are right." Mathi gave a chuckle.

"About what?"

"That it is for the gods. That means they really do give a damn." Both Princes fell to solemn expressions and continued their walk in silence. What did the gods care? Priest Anselm was the priest of Mostrosty, he cleans the bodies of the deceased and then bathes them in all kinds of perfumes while burning incense. The scent is supposed to call the God of Death forth to safely ferry the dead onto the next life. The bath is to prevent rot and so the person does not arrive to the next life dirty and smelly. Priest Margot was a priest of Dekinhold, and they prayed that the God of Justice give the deceased a fair trial, so that they may find joy in the next life. The alternative was never really explained, but then again, did it really need to be? Where we went was unclear, on account of no one being able to come back and tell us. The prince recalled reading in a book about another book, written by a powerful wizard who killed themselves in a way that they would be brought back within two weeks so that they might experience death and then write about it. The book that mentioned this did not go into much further detail, simply offering it as one theory presented forth throughout the centuries of our existence. With the ability to actually communicate with the gods, you would think someone would just ask them, but then again, would they answer honestly if it was a dreary place? So, it would be expected that their answer would be of something pleasant, and perhaps that's why no one has asked - what if they were to lie? Could the gods lie? Phillipe shook these thoughts away, hoping for pleasant memories of his father to come flooding in as they appeared for the final part of these ceremonies.

Simply called a memorial service, it was a time for sharing memories of the deceased, good and bad, as all in the room searched for closure and to be at peace with the loss of the loved one. Somehow, Phillipe did not think he could find such peace today. There was so much his father had left undone, so many lessons he had yet to teach, though, he had no idea what the lessons were. It was a search for something he did not know the description of. But he knew the essence of what he was looking for. King Francois Desramaux III was a loved and respected monarch. He reigned over the most prosperous time in their kingdom's history, and he managed to do so after pulling the nation back together after a civil war at just fourteen years of age. Phillipe hoped to learn his father's methods through his many notes and reports that he had kept in his chambers. Wishing he could return to his studying, the Princes entered the silent chapel.

Everyone else had already arrived, with the guest rooms being the closest to the chapel, it was no surprise his vassals would have arrived first. Phillipe suspected his late arrival was due to people not knowing how treat him just yet. Family members who had already begun treating him like a King not one month ago, now were uncertain, fearful they might be too forward now that the assumed eventuality has actually happened.

Every square inch of wall within the chapel had been covered with gold roses on fields of black. Even Priest Alix, who normally wore a blue robe for Darion, was adorned in black robes with some golden roses throughout. Family pride would never die for the Desramaux. Prince Claude and Jean-Claude were the first to stand and greet the young prince.

"Your majesty, it is so good to see you arrive." Claude said with a sweeping motion as he went for a bow.

"Yes, my king, we have all been waiting eagerly for you." Jean-Claude said as he imitated his father. Phillipe gave a feint smile to both.

"Thank you cousins. Let us celebrate our King and loved one." Phillipe continued along his way down the central isle to his seat directly next to his father. On the way, vassals bowed and smiled at the Prince, each one offering a different rendition of his cousin's sentiments. Then he reached Thierry and Mathias, with them was Thierry's son, Prince Louis, and a space next to Mathias for Mathi. The Prince hugged his uncles and cousins.

"How are you?" Prince Mathias' words were the first real words of comfort Phillipe had felt these last ten days. He looked into his uncles eyes and saw much of the same sorrow he felt himself.

"I will manage, uncle, thank you." Mathias patted him on the shoulders.

"Good. Well. Good." Mathias returned to his seat and allowed Thierry to give a sentence or two.

"Nephew. This will be difficult for us all. If you feel yourself choke up, we can step in." Phillipe nodded in appreciation.

"Thank you, uncle." Prince Phillipe let Mathi sneak passed him to return to his seat as the young prince walked up a single step and found himself seated just in front of his father's corpse. Seated in a row by himself, Phillipe was a mere ten feet from the now lifeless body of a once noble King and father. Priest Alix stood at the center of the landing where the casket and body were placed, to the left was a pulpit, to the right was a wreath of freshly cut golden roses. The priest of Darion went to the pulpit, their eyes looking over the crowd of black, each outfit having a hint of dynastic pride, as the nobles wore some kind of pin or patch or scarf to express their own families colors.

"Darion is a loving god. A loving god that, many millennia ago, breathed life into this world of ours. Life is precious. Life is pure. Life, is a gift. A gift that one should never through away so lightly, nor should they call others to do so for them. We are all here today to celebrate the life of not just any man, but a King; a King that understood the value of life, not just in themselves, but in others as well. Some of you, I am sure, remember the horrible conflict that enwrapped our kingdom just some forty years ago?" The crowd of nobles all nodded and moaned in agreement. Phillipe scanned across the room, many of the nobles would have served in that war, with their parents having been the patriarch or matriarch at the time. He especially took notice of the Duke de Hemroux, Beauves Hemramaux II. The Hemramaux family was a cadet dynasty of House Desramaux, with Yves Hemramaux I being the bastard son of King Abeau Desramaux I. Being granted a duchy of his own after the first major successful conquest of the Dynasty against the Lefouvre's two-hundred years ago, Yves founded the Duchy and city of Hemroux. With a marriage to a Lefouvre Princess, and the adoption of half of their house sigil, House Hemramaux has served as the Dynasty's most loyal vassals all this time. It was Duke Yves Hemramaux III who went to war with his son, Beavues II, and it was Duke Yves III who lost his life defending the capital. He led a cavalry charge to the back of the Pelariaux line, disorienting their forces in the back to leave their front vulnerable. The down side of the gambit was the death toll on the cavalry division, but it paid off substantially. Beauves II was the only vassal not wearing something to show his own family colors of Azure and Crimson. Priest Alix continued.

"Any other ruler, no matter how honorable or noble, would have so easily been tempted to put a bloody end to such a conflict. Who could blame the young king, when the perpetrators of the war had also killed his father?" Prince Thierry became noticeably tense, clenching his fists to keep his change in temperament from others.

"Instead, understanding the sanctity of life, King Francois Desramaux III brought a quick end to the conflict, and offered forgiveness instead of vengeance. Kindness, instead of cruelty. This very much set the precedent for his forty-six year reign. Life has continued to flourish in our kingdom, and Darion, while sad to see the loss of a life, will be filled with joy knowing how many lives were saved because of this one." The priest bowed to the audience, turned to the casket, and bowed once more. They then opened their arms to invite any other speakers to the pulpit.

Many went up, eventually forming a single file line down the entire center isle, as vassals of high and low status brought forward memories. Some spoke of good deeds done for the kingdom, such as the successful rationing implemented during the winter of 329 PR, which was a harsh winter that came just after a terrible harvest. Very few deaths were reported due to starvation, something many are still astonished by. The Duchess de Renangers spoke highly of a more personal relationship the two had, a platonic one of deep respect for one another, and how impressed she always was for his devotion to his late wife, in spite of the constant suitors. Prince Thierry gave a very brief speech, in which he only spoke of a time when they were children, before the death of their father. Francois was ten, Thierry eight, and the two had been practicing with their swords in the courtyard while their father smoked and looked on. Thierry always knew that their father paid more attention to Francois' footwork, as the future king must be an excellent swordsman if he hoped to survive long. It was because of this, that Thierry would always try and out perform his brother. Perhaps it was to make their father notice him more, or perhaps it was to challenge Francois to be better, either way, he knew it bothered him. Not only did he have the pressure of their father watching him so intently, but now he had a younger brother always trying to out do him. But, he always rose to the challenge, beating Thierry again and again in their duels. And yet, even after he had been crowned king and their father had been killed, Francois would sometimes let Thierry win. They never addressed it, but they both knew, and Francois knew how much it delighted his younger brother to have his father praise him, to turn his attention to his second son. Thierry thanked Francois, and returned to his seat with some applause from everyone. The room fell silent, now, as Prince Phillipe was expected to now speak. The only problem, was, he had no idea what to say.

"My father, was..." the young prince looked down at his father's corpse, somehow looking more alive than he had his entire last few weeks. What was there to say? He looked back to the Duchess Renangers, whose story spoke to his father's loyalty and tender heart. He found Count Manoury, whose story of the wonderful festivals that would entertain thousands throughout the kingdom spoke to the late king's generosity and love for his people. Phillipe then looked to his uncle, who hurt from this loss just as he did. Just as all Desramaux did. Then the Prince looked back to his father, and the gold rose on his lapel.

"My father, was many things, as we all have heard from these many, wonderful stories. Throughout his life he always wanted to do the best for his people, for his family, and for his vassals. While you could argue that is the goal of all monarchs, my father somehow managed to actually do it. I only hope that I can live up to his ideals, his abilities, and his visions. For that is what he was in his later life, a visionary. He spent countless hours reading over the histories of our world, of our people, and of the nations around us. He spent his last remaining hours putting in place a plan that he believed would protect our kingdom for generations to come." An air of discomfort began to fill the room as it became evident to what he was speaking of. Some vassals began to avert their eyes to the prince, including members of his own family. Meanwhile, others continued to listen attentively, Prince Mathias ignoring the movements of his cousins to listen to his nephew. Phillipe scanned the room and debated his next words.

"That is a testament to his devotion as monarch. Many only plan for what is occurring now, what troubles plague their people now, but he wanted to put forth something which would take care of his people even after his death. Whether he was right or wrong is yet to be seen. But, his ideals to help his people were never diminished, even as he faced down death. Thank you, father. For your rule, for your lessons, and for your example and ideals that I shall try to live up to every day of my rule, just as you had done in yours." Prince Phillipe walked down from the pulpit and kissed his father's forehead before returning to his seat. Priest Alix returned to the pulpit.

"Thank you all for attending this celebration of King Francois Desramaux III's life. May you all go now in health with Darion."

The chapel had all but cleared out, and Phillipe found himself at his father's side. With the funeral finished, his coronation has been scheduled for one week from now. In the interim, Phillipe would still act and preside as King, with his rule not becoming official until Priest Margot places the crown upon his head. You look so peaceful, father. Phillipe found himself staring off into nothing, his eyes on his father, with his mind fixated on the future. He would have to write to Blazing Arrow quickly to establish their relationship. If he waited, perhaps the centaur would take it was an insult, as if Phillipe were telling him he were less important to him than he was to his father. Nonsense. Just overthinking it. But then again, how much did he really know about centaur culture? It was not exactly something emphasized in his education, and he did not recall his father or any courtiers mentioning such a thing. There was an ambassador from the Mannes, but he had only been to the castle as little as ten times throughout all of Phillipe's life. With him not even in attendance today, was that a sign of the importance? Or was that centaur custom? The prince took note to look further into this once he returned to his chambers after they buried his father. It was tradition that only the new king be present for the burial. It served two purposes: symbolism as the new take rulership from the old, and to ensure no vandals know the location of the grave. It was a problem a few generations back, when others could be present for the burial, with the heir doing the initial burying to symbolize the transfer of power. Since then, the practice of secrecy has been in place.

"Nephew?" Phillipe felt himself snap back into reality as the voice of his uncle pulled him in. The young prince turned around the face an empty chapel for all except himself and the source of the voice. Uncle Thierry was also staring off into the distance, though he notably had turned briefly to grab his nephew's attention.

"Oh, yes. Has everyone else already gone?" Thierry did not turn to face Phillipe, his hands behind his back to make himself stand up straighter.

"Yes. I noticed you staring off and thought I would check in on you." Phillipe allowed his shoulders to relax as he returned his gaze to his father.

"That was good of you. Thank you."

"I understand, you know. Your head must be swimming with thoughts. Decisions to make, questions about the future, not quite sure what to do next." Thierry looked over his shoulder to his nephew, the two locking eyes.

"You would be correct, uncle." The old prince turned now to face his nephew, his stance more relaxed.

"Might I speak plainly with you, nephew?"

"I believe we have already been doing so. So, yes, continue." His uncle took in a deep breath and let out an even deeper sigh before letting out his thought.

"We had a brief conversation about this subject a couple of weeks back, but I wanted to bring it up again now that - well. Now that you are to be king in just a few short hours." Phillipe found himself now sighing as he stood up straighter to meet his uncle's aura.

"Yes. You wish to discuss the wedding."

"Not just the wedding, nephew. The union itself. Merging two kingdoms into one, merging to houses into one." Phillipe walked down the isle away from his uncle and father, chewing on his thoughts before pivoting on his hind foot to meet his uncle's gaze.

"What of it?" There was a pause, both princes attempting to gauge the other's sentiments before continuing.

"Do you intend to still go through with it?"

"Do I intend to still go through with it?"

"Yes, nephew, that is what I asked."

"Yes, uncle, I do." Thierry winced and let out a groan.

"I had feared you would say that." He slowly descended down the step to reach the young prince in the isle.

"Why? Why do you intent to go through with it? You are king now, you do not have to marry this - this Biljvankian. You can marry whomever you please."

"Might I remind you, uncle, that I am not king yet, for I must see my father be buried properly."

"Yes, yes. But by the end of today you shall be king."

"Uncle, you know that I will not be officially king until my coronation." Thierry sighed in frustration, his eyes closing tightly as he inhaled slowly before responding.

"Nephew. You and I both know that the coronation is just ceremony. You will be king by the end of today. The 23rd of Geshan, 346 PR will forever mark the beginning of your reign. I simply wish to implore you to consider alternative actions."

"Alternative actions to what?"

"To the wedding."

"I understand how you are feeling, uncle. I understand how you all are feeling. But this was my father's last act. Forever in the histories of our Dynasty, King Francois Desramaux III's last act as king was to unify our House and Kingdom with that of the Biljvanks."

"That was his last plan. Yes. But you can stop it from happening."

"I see no reason to do so."

"What?"

"I see no reason to do so, uncle. And I do not have to explain myself to you." Thierry clenched his fists again, his lungs filling with air ever so slowly as they are then deflated with equal speed.

"You. You owe your family, your House, your Dynasty, an explanation."

"If my father saw merit in this act, in this marriage and union, then I see merit in it as well. Separate we are just two weaker kingdoms surrounded by enemies. But, together, we would the strongest nation in the region."

"But what about your legacy? Your families legacy? You would let that all go to ruin?"

"Nothing is going to ruin, uncle. House Desramaux will live on."

"For now. But what if one of your descendants does not like their ancestral House being a daily challenge to their rule? It would not take long before we are snuffed out. I foresee us surviving another two, three generations maximum." Prince Phillipe stared his uncle in the eyes. Fear was all he could see. Fear and desperation from an aging prince who hated living in the shadow of a great king.

"The issue is settled, uncle. Princess Jolijn and I shall be wed on the 1st of Darsu, and henceforth our nations will be an empire." Phillipe went to leave but was halted by his uncle's words.

"What if - " Phillipe turned around to face Thierry.

"What if, the union went through, but there was no need to merge houses." Interested, the young prince slowly approached with curious eyes.

"Go on."

"The entirety of Biljvankian nobility will be here, within our halls, for the wedding. We could. We could turn things around on them and force them to seed territory to us."

"You would have me turn a blade on guests within our home?" Prince Phillipe's tone threw his uncle by surprise, causing the old prince to recoil a bit.

"Nephew, it was simply - "

"Be mindful, uncle." The two princes fell silent and locked eyes.

"Do not forget who you are speaking to." The silence continued for a moment. Prince Thierry stood up straight and fixed his jacket.

"Of course, your majesty, I have forgotten myself. A fit of passion."

"Let this be the last time that happens, uncle. And let this be the last time we have this discussion." Prince Phillipe waited for a nod from his uncle, who gave a very slight one, one that would have been imperceptible to anyone further than three feet away. After one more terse moment of locked gazes, the king walked passed his uncle and returned to his station beside his father to await the priests to have the burial. Prince Thierry turned and bowed and made his leave from the chapel. Phillipe could just faintly hear his uncle mutter something as he left the room.

"Of course, your majesty."

Thierry burst into room above the tower, the first rays of spring sun pouring in over the seating arrangement which had become occupied by Guillaume, Claude, Louis, and Jean-Claude. Guillaume's son, Renault, was wheelchair bound and, despite Francois' efforts, most of the castle remained inaccessible to the young prince. He has doomed us! Thierry felt anger boiling through his veins, each on his forehead ready to burst forth in a crimson wave of hot rage. Slamming the door behind him, the old prince made his way passed his kin and directly to the northern most side of the circular balcony. The cool air rushed against his face, the feeling of steam as the crisp breeze attempted to simmer his emotions. A brother dead, a brother dead and soon the rest with him. A child for a king is what Phillipe shall be, nothing more, nothing less, ignoring the advise of the wise for his own impudent ideals. A legacy, a legacy lost. Thierry pulled out his pipe and with shaking hands sprinkled his coffee grinds into it. Barely able to keep his match alight, the old prince finally felt his nerves steady themselves as he took his first few puffs. It was at this point that he felt the eyes staring through his back. With a large sigh, the old prince turned to face his kin.

"Lovely ceremony, was it not?" Claude spat out in an attempt to ease the tension in the room without walls.

"Yes, father, I quite liked your story of how you and the king would go hunting together." Jean-Claude chimed in almost as quickly as his father asked the question, as if the answer were already at the tip of his tongue before the question was posed.

"Yes, thank you, son. It was a shame we never had the chance to go out in recent years, both of us aging and all of that." Claude trailed off as he turned to the table between them all and poured himself a glass of emerald brandy.

"And how did you like it, uncle?" Jean-Claude feeling the awkwardness of the room rise as Thierry now turns back to face them all, remaining resolute at the balcony.

"It was lovely, as your father said. Renault enjoyed it as well, though he could not give a story himself." Guillaume glanced over to Thierry briefly before turning his gaze back to the table.

"Yes. Erm - I suspect he would have talked about the renovations done to accommodate my son's - eh - disa - err - wheelchair."

"Yes, uncle, that was a wonderful thing done by the king, if only he had been able to create more ramps and such throughout the castle. I think this balcony is one of the most beautiful spots in the entire castle." Jean-Claude nodded to his father, who was now pouring a second drink and offering one to his son. The three princes looked about at one another for a moment before Guillaume turned back to face Thierry.

"And what did you think, dear cousin?" His voice wobbling as he attached the familial connection at the end.

Thierry took a long drag from his pipe, his eyes fixated on the door to the balcony, allowing him to stare directly at all three of them without making direct eye contact with any one of them. After a deep sigh, the old prince walked over and stood behind his chair.

"It was - excellent. To hear such wonderful stories of my brother's life from the lives he touched. Francois will be remembered as a good king, if not a great one." Claude and Jean-Claude raised their glasses to toast and then took large gulps.

"Time will tell how his son fairs, however." Thierry let his voice drop down low, almost to a whisper as he said this. He watched as it slowly registered with his kin, who, with even slower speed, turned their heads to face him, eyes filled with questions and concerns.

"I - eh - I presume he will attempt to follow in his father's footsteps, do you not?" Guillaume struggling to get words out as he poured himself a glass of the emerald drink as well. He motioned to Thierry to offer a glass, the old prince simply stared.

"I spoke with the young king, just before I came to join you all here."

"Excellent, cousin! How did it go?" Guillaume and Claude both turned to look at Jean-Claude, the naïve prince asking with genuine excitement. Thierry simply glared at him, iron grips attempting to clamp his smile shut.

"Not well." Jean-Claude sunk back into his chair, keeping his glass close to his chest for the regular tiny sip.

"I take it he was not convinced of your plan?" Claude asked.

"No. In fact he was quite offended that I would even suggest such a thing."

"Well, that is no surprise." Guillaume said before taking a large sip.

"The boy takes after his father. You knew your brother just as well as we knew our cousin. Francois would never have anything to do with such underhanded tactics." Thierry raised an eyebrow to this, turning his gaze to his cousin now.

"Underhanded?"

"Well - eh - I - err. I meant no offense, cousin. But you must admit your idea was not - "

"I will admit nothing, dear cousin. I owe that to no one, especially you. You would give up? Roll over and allow our name to fall into ruin? Our house to become nothing more than a distant memory to our people?" Guillaume rolled his eyes and took another sip.

"You always were the dramatic one, cousin. I listened to your initial idea because I thought your fears had merit, but did you not hear the young king speak today? He gave a message of a bright future, one that is to continue his father's legacy of prosperity." Thierry scoffed.

"Is that all it took to convince you, cousin? Some pretty words from a boy not even coronated? Well then, Louis, son, you have been quiet this whole time, speak. Give your cousin some pretty words that he might be reconvinced to our side." Louis, who had been slinked into his chair in an attempt to make himself smaller, a successful attempt to go unnoticed up until now. Always staying low to the ground, always hiding away. There is no time for that now, the family needs us all to be at our strongest. Thierry thought back briefly to when he first posed the idea of capturing the Biljvank party to his son. He was so nervous, so afraid it would backfire. How he became so skittish the old prince would never quite understand. Thierry had prided himself on always pushing his son in every way he thought he could. If he did not want to be forgotten, he would need to make himself indispensable to the crown. Thierry looked to his son and motioned for him to speak.

"I... father I - um." Thierry's gaze now fixated on his son, a smaller build in comparison to his father.

"I do not have much to add to the matter. The new king wants to continue with the union, then it seems that is what will happen." Thierry sighed, his eyes softening to his son and then hardening again as they become once again directed at Guillaume.

"While my son is correct. That does not mean we are out of options."

"What ever do you mean, cousin?" Guillaume forcing himself to sit up straight as if it will allow him to listen better.

"Until Phillipe has a child, I stand to inherit the throne. That gives us a good window to - well. No, I could not suggest such a thing." After a moment of awkward silence, Claude and Guillaume's eyes lit up and met before both turned to focus on Thierry. Guillaume huffed and stood firmly.

"I will listen to your schemes. I will help you try and convince our king. But I will never. Never. Sully our family name by discussing such a thing. You want to preserve our house? I call your idea the exact opposite of that." Thierry put his hand to Guillaume's chest as he began to walk away, stopping him in his tracks.

"I am not suggesting anything so nefarious as you seem to have concluded on your own. The young king is my nephew. A spitting image of his father, I would never desire harm done to him. But, if his rule were to be called into question..." Thierry turned to look at his kin, gaging immediate reactions. Louis' eyes lit up for a brief moment of thought before sulking back into their usual position, averting any other pair and gazing at the ground. Jean-Claude seemed none the wiser, while his father simply leaned back and sipped his drink, a knowing look consuming his face. Guillaume's look of disgust did not change, as the old prince had hoped it would.

"Harmed, dethroned, forced to abdicate, these words make no difference to me. You mean to supplant your nephew, our king - "

"He is not king yet." Claude interrupted. Guillaume looked to his brother briefly before scoffing and returning attention to Thierry.

"Regardless. In one week's time he will have been coronated, and once a child is in his arms his reign will be entirely secured. I do not care what place in line you hold, Thierry. However close you feel yourself getting to the throne, that feeling will only ever be temporary." Thierry let his hand down from his cousin's chest slowly, contemplating his response.

"Very well, Guillaume. You are correct. It would seem there is little to be done now." Guillaume took a moment of surprise before nodding his head.

"Yes, well. Good."

"Why do not go and check in on your son, dear cousin. I imagine he is feeling quite lonely, what with the rest of his family members scattered throughout the castle." Guillaume looked around to the rest of the room.

"Ah, yes. Renault I am sure would like some company right now." Guillaume finished his drink and went to leave, but not before stopping at the door.

"Cousin. The union will happen. I want us all to know this, and I want us all to come to terms with it. No matter how closely related we are to the king, our positions of power are tenuous at best. Any word of such discussions as we have had now or in the past could prove - eh - disadvantageous for us all."

"Well said, dear cousin, well said." Thierry raised his pipe to toast as the rest of his kin nodded and smiled, seeing Guillaume finally close the door behind him as he began his descent from the tower. The princes all remained in silence for a moment before Thierry turned to face his kin.

"Send a falcon to Pelaresse, it seems our list of allies is thinning." Thierry looked to Claude, then Jean-Claude, and finally Louis. "Now!" The three princes all jumped to their feet, one after other exiting the balcony. Louis stayed behind and sheepishly approached his father, who was now once again facing to the east, pipe smoking in his hand.

"Father?" the shy prince stood to the left of his father, his hands resting against the railing.

"Yes, son?" Thierry did not turn to face his child. His eyes, and mind, fixated on those from the East.

"What exactly do you mean to do?" The old prince took in a large puff and exhaled slowly. He glanced over at his son. The shy prince was a good foot shorter than his father, though he still had his father's broad shoulders, you would not know by the way he kept them slouched. He had his mother's emerald eyes and dirty blonde hair. Despite receiving the finest education in all things from alchemy to swordsmanship, Louis never did take on much of a hobby, nothing in particular interested him enough to purse further. This was not for lack of trying, however. Thierry thought back to the many attempts to master an activity over the past few years. First it was swordsmanship, always being beaten by his old man; second came the studying of history, though Thierry always found his sons research and arguments lacking any real substance, especially when they debated; third was racing, a brief fancy of Louis', he only raced his father once before leaving it behind. Yes, most of them went the same route, he would try them for a few months, but when he pitted himself against Thierry he would leave it behind soon thereafter. If only you were just lazy, then I could blame it on that. But the old prince did not know why his son had such fleeting fancies for activities.

"I do not know, son." Louis looked down at his hands, which were now fidgeting with his cuffs.

"Why write the Pelaresse? I thought House Pelariaux was our enemy?"

"They are, son. However, in times of desperation, even enemies begin to look friendly. Especially when they stand to be affected by the same enemy you will be affected by."

"King Phillipe is our enemy?"

"Of course not, son. But this union is. This union is perhaps the greatest threat we have ever faced."

Thierry took his place in the family balcony, high above the rest of the pews within the Cathedral to Dekinhold. The balcony sat on the right side of the stage on which all ceremonies took place within the religious building; it was just close enough to not be on the stage but not quite be included with the general public and all others who were relegated to the rest of the church. Beside the old prince was his son, Louis, who, like the rest of the Desramaux family, was adorned in his ceremonial black doublet, black stockings, and gold ruffled shirt underneath. It must be a strange sight to any distant onlookers - a sea of black with tufts of gold poking through. Like roses. One of the few things he remembered from his time with his father, Francois II, was the importance of the golden rose to the family. A symbol of wealth, a symbol of power, and a symbol of grace. A rose is like all other flowers, beautiful, majestic. Gold, of course, symbolizes wealth, and in some instances justice. And the field of black - what is lost without the rose, the ever swallowing shadows that fill our world which the thorns of the rose must guard against. His late father's words echoing in his head, as if he were hearing them again for the first time, a small princeling with dreams of grandeur. That was long ago. The old prince stroked the stubble on his chin, stubble which had grown greyer with each passing day it seems. Looking down at his hands he saw the ware and tare of age, not of a life of hardship, but prospect, diligence, and strength. His hands were not calloused, this was true, but hours of training daily since he was young, whether it be swordsmanship or riding, has given him strong hands none the less. Hands that have seen hardships of their own. Hands that held dying loved ones more times than they would care to count. Hands that will hold on for dear life should they have to.

The old prince let out a short sigh, placing his hands clasped in his lap as he turned his attention to the spectacle before him. There, seated at the center of the stage, adorned in furs dyed black and capes embroidered heavily with golden lace, sat the soon to be coronated king of the Desramaux Dynasty. His nephew, his brother's son, his king. His destroyer. What king would willingly sacrifice his own kingdom through plans that were not of his own device? For legacy? And what was legacy if all your kind are gone? What becomes of legacy if the name attached no longer exists? A trivial king. A pompous king. A false king.

It should have come as no surprise. For all the love he had for his brother, Francois was weak. A cold brought down a mighty king? No. A cold brought down a simple king. A king who favored the easy way out. In all aspects of his reign, his brother searched for the simplest solutions, never willing to fight for what he knew to be right - always willing to give in. It was as if he never actually wanted to rule. And now that weakness continues, brother. Your weakness. The old prince grit his teeth together, the muscles in his jaw being pushed to breaking.

The Priest of Dekinhold has finished their speech. Asking the gods for just rulership, for an honest reign, and a prosperous tenure. The gods do not care. If the gods cared they would not allow such an atrocity to happen in such a sacred place. The gods have left the Desramaux Dynasty, and they must be brought back. I will bring them back. Thierry released his jaw, running his tongue along the back right set of teeth and running it along to his front before letting it settle. His eyes remained fixated at the boy before him. Phillipe was a child still, his age having nothing to do with it. He was inexperienced, ill-advised, and unskilled in the ways of statecraft. It will be for the betterment of our House, our people. 

Now, the black and gold crown was being presented. Such a strange piece of metal. Half gold and half blackened iron, interchanging throughout. A large golden rose sat at the center with vines of black streaming off of it and attaching to the rest. This was the only time the crown would ever be seen by the public. With their historical rise to power being through popular vote by the people, the Desramaux Dynasty has never worn their crowns proudly, only utilizing them for ceremonial occasions. Perhaps it was the source of their weakness, never fully grasping their role as monarch. Perhaps it was their source of strength, still allowing themselves to be beholden to the people despite having ruled as kings for almost ten generations.

The people now cheered, the crown resting gently on the boy king's head. The 29th of Geshan, 346 PR will forever be known in history as the start of King Phillipe Desramaux's reign. And downfall.