NOVEL SIMPLE Chapter 30: Shady Old Men, Scheming Cunts and Shitty Politics in General.
Soril POV
When dawn breaks on the next morning, he leaves for Wascald a second time. The insufferable fat lord’s personal guards are extremely cautious, demanding to shackle him up on top of emptying all his pockets before they’ll even allow him to step foot into the city.
It’s quiet of civilians now, aside from the mess Wascald didn’t bother to clean up. The dynamites he ordered stuffed into the houses are still there. Just awaiting an unfortunate accident to set it off and blow the entire place to shit. Unfathomable how his family has even managed to keep this place with the little regard he gives to it. He should’ve been more persuasive with the Crown Prince about some preening to be done regarding their subjects. But he can already picture what the prince will say, something about leverages and not upsetting the delicate balance which may lead to internal strife.
It bores him to tears. He’s not suited for politics, but alas, he’s here. Across the table from the lavishly dressed smug lord in an equally lavishly decorated meeting room. Stark contrast to the rest of how the city’s build. Guess that must’ve been where their war funds are going to. Four griffin emblemed guards on each of his sides are keeping him in check as if he’s a prisoner.
“Go on, girl. Pour our guest some wine.” Wascald orders smacking the young servant on the rear to make her jolt forward. He asks,
“Are you mocking me?” showing him the cuffs between his wrists.
“Your hands are locked in front of you and not behind your back. I need to take precautions. You’re known as a loose blade for a reason.” He watches the red liquid spill into a cup,
“I’d rather not drink anything you offer after you threw me in a dungeon the last time.”
“But you’re again bold enough to helplessly stroll in this time?”
“Drop the empty threats. I know you don’t have the guts to kill me. You wouldn’t dare to anger the Crown further.”
“I can still hold you captive.”
“And? You’re going to lead your army into battle in my stead?” Wascald slams his fist against the table,
“Show some respect to your elders, you snot-nosed boy! You may have the backing of the ruling family, but you are in my city, my domain. I was already Lord of Kanra when you were still in your father’s balls.”
“If you intend to keep that title, then let us in. I don’t know Godor’s intentions. There’re no guarantees that they won’t be opportunists to attack after they get wind of our unfortunate little scuffle. I hear they like to bash men’s knees with their maces and watch them crawl around like toddlers. Especially old, chubby lords of a foreign land whom they do not find worthy of copulating. This isn’t the time to dispute over insignificant matters amongst ourselves.”
“The death of my son is not an insignificant matter!”
“You can blame him for getting captured. I had nothing to do with it.”
“But you had everything to do with what I heard from the capital. Thanks to your little note detailing my...” Wascald pauses to find an alternative word for treason,
“Solution, they are sending my blood sucking nephew here along with the six thousand men.” So, this is the Crown Prince’s response to it huh,
“Maybe your blood sucking nephew will run this place better and not willingly let thousands of innocent civilians die just because of one incompetent son.” Wascald shakingly downs a cup of wine at that. Trying to compose himself,
“No matter that. The city is still under my command, the wealth is still under my name. You need my assistance to sustain and shelter my army until yours arrive, and the troops won’t last a month without food and water. Like you said, I am an old, chubby lord and I have very little to lose right now, so I suggest you take my threats seriously.”
“Then get on with it. I won’t give you the hostage’s head. State your alternate term. Isn’t that why you offered to negotiate?”
“I want you to recall your message.”
“That’s already too late. I don’t get to order the royalties around.” he mimics his words, “Like you said, I’m just a loose blade. I have no command over my meisters and their decisions.” At that, Wascald gestures someone in.
“Then you shall wed my eldest daughter.” a mousy like girl, her curly brown hair intricately done up into a messy bun adorned by gems, dolled in a pink gown intentionally sheer to leave little to the imagination. Her voice is soft and meek, politely curtsying upon taking her father’s side,
“I don’t think we have properly introduced ourselves, Lord Blaine. I am Rheana Wascald, but please, address me as Rhea if you wish.” Wascald says,
“Bind my family to you by oath. The Crown Prince will think twice about killing me if I am father-in-law to his deadliest and most obedient dog.” he immediately scoffs,
“You’re even more disgusting than the rumors say. I thought for a moment when you pled for your family’s life it was out of love. But I guess even that’s an act to gain sympathy to save your own life. We aren’t Estelians. She isn’t a bargaining chip for you to sell.” but Wascald’s daughter interrupts, sauntering down the long table to kneel at his side, slipping her palm into his,
“Please. Do not be mistaken. My father is not forcing me into anything. I consider myself lucky to be a bargaining chip. I was smitten by you even before I laid eyes.” she simpers coyly,
“Ladies of the high court like to gossip. You’re often the topic of discussion. I hear even the princess has taken a fancy. Wedding me would get rid of the Crown Prince’s constant attempts of betrothing her to you.” before she leans over to whisper in his ear,
“I am also taught ways to please a man your current lover has never even dreamed of. I can make you forget her real soon.” he snaps his hands away from her, readying to leave but he addresses her dead in the eyes before he does,
“If you’ve heard that much about me, then you should know, I dislike being threatened, and even more than that, I loathe emptyheaded cunts like you and your father who dares to try. It’s insulting if you think you can seduce me into submitting.” but she does not falter, instead, she stands tall,
“I deeply apologize for offending you then.” and her demeanor changes to that of confidence,
“I have done some digging. Lumeria, is it? She’s the one responsible for saving Kanra from being sieged without a single civilian sacrifice. Commendable, really. My family has never been good combatants. We are traders however, and we are rich.” she stops him on the arm as he’s about to walk away,
“I’m not interested in your bribery either.”
“It's not gold I am trying to offer but what we can afford to squander on.” slipping a tall glass bottle of swirling black liquid into his grasp.
He tilts it to the label at the back. This is... Elixer of the Crying Nightshade. A flower found only in mud swamps of humid climates in the far east. But according to the records, it has long been weeded to extinction, and the concoctors of it have been ceaselessly hunted down by the Holy Citadel in the six centuries following. He’s only read about this in the history books as a child, so he can’t help but to be curious,
“You had this, and yet you still let your brother get captured and killed.”
“Unfortunately, the parcel arrived only two days ago. It wasn’t easy to get our hands on it.”
“And who is selling your unassuming family the very weapon Xerysus witches once used to conquer all Seven Kingdoms?”
“Perhaps you may like to enlighten me first how you come to know one of their few surviving descendants?”
“Lumeria isn’t one of them.” Rheana seems slightly surprised,
“I thought for sure she is. The soldiers have been calling her a witch doctor and she’s capable of otherworldly things.”
“You can go ask her about that yourself.”
“No need. I was just afraid she’d be able to somehow replicate it and thus diminish my leverage. But you have just reassured me that she couldn’t. I have nothing left to worry about.” he clicks his tongue at that. He just got outplayed. This woman is more cunning than she looks.
“How do I know it’s real? Even if it is, how do I know it still works? These things are ancient.” she returns to her father’s side, curtsying again to bid him farewell,
“Test it on the little Godorian problem we have. I suppose that much is enough. Then do consider our proposal afterwards. If we wed, we can supply you with more. I do not wish for my father’s death and my family’s removal of this post that my grandfather and great grandfather has painstakingly climbed up to. Don’t replace us yet. This union will not be detrimental to you or Astia in our upcoming battles.”