Swordpoint Diplomacy 22

Chapter 22

Every heartbeat shook her chest hard enough that Rose felt she might sick up. She bit the side of her tongue and felt the heat of iron bloom inside her mouth where her canine broke skin.

“Princess.” Guards and soldiers stopped wherever she walked to greet her and bow. There was no place to go, there was no place that was unobserved.

‘Discipline is impeccable in Father’s camp.’

She inclined her head in a nod whenever someone greeted her. She didn’t slow her walk. Her skin was hot. She didn’t know how she crossed the camp at a walk. She didn’t know that she had that kind of self control. Every muscle was screaming at her to run.

When she stepped into their view, the two guards outside the tent with the hostages noticed her. One made a small sound and a gesture to get the other’s attention.

“Princess.” They said it in unison and bowed deeply.

“Leave!” Rose barked. It was too loud and she knew that as soon as the words hit the air, but now wasn’t a good time to be indecisive. “The King is coming,” she added, and waved them off. “Stand over there so that we might have a private conversation.”

The two startled off in a confused babble of agreement. She didn’t wait to hear it. Rose pushed the tent flaps open and blinked into the darkness. Her heartbeat was so loud. Father was going to hear it and know that she was doing something wrong. She looked over the tent, jaw set so hard that it hurt a little. There wasn’t much.

The Castellan, Prince Marcel, the Chamberlain, and Willame were seated on straw mats on the ground. Their hands were bound behind them. There were two stakes in the ground, and two sets of chains extending from each.

The tent was nearly empty. There were a few bowls stacked- empty, after the prisoners ate. There was a pile of fabric- bedding. There was bedding for the prisoners stacked up.

“So kind of you to-”

“Shut up,” Rose snapped.

The Castellen drew back, affronted. The woman tossed her hair but Rose was striding to Marcel. He swiveled to look up at her and his mouth dropped open in shock when she knelt to snap open the iron link holding his chain to the stake he shared with Marcel. The metal broke with a sad sharp protest. The force hurt her hand but she had no time to think about that.

The Chamberlain cursed in surprise. Rose ignored it and hustled Marcel to his feet. She tucked the broken chain into her shirt with her free hand.

“What’s going on?” he hissed between his teeth.

“Be quiet,” Rose said back, and shoved him against the side of the tent so that he fell over. She didn’t wait to begin moving the stack of fabric to cover him. Fuck-

“Willame, hide his chain,” Rose hissed. The damn thing was protruding from the pile of fabric. Her hands were shaking as she moved the bedding as fast as possible. She didn’t know how long she had, it could be seconds. The Prince moved under the mattress she’d shoved on him and she kicked at him while she let the next mattress fall with a whumpf. “Stop fucking moving if you want to live,” she hissed. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Willame!” The Castellan barked.

Chains rustled. The knight finally moved to tuck Marcel’s trailing chains under the pile of blankets.

“The dirt.” LaGown said, voice tight. “Willame, wipe your hand over- yes, good. Move this way.”

Rose took a step back and nearly tripped over Willame. She- at a glance, you couldn’t tell there was anything odd about the stack of fabric. She threw a wild look around and saw what Castellan LaGown had thought of. “Thank you,” she said, backtracking towards the tent entrance to survey the scene. If the three visible prisoners kept to the left, it was less likely that Father would pay attention to the breathing bedding on the right side of the tent. She used her boot to further straighten the mat that Marcel had been seated on.

In the distance, she heard the sound of steps. She straightened her back and slid on her court face. Rose saw a calculating look on LaGown’s face that she didn’t have time to pay attention to. “My Father the King will see you,” she said, deliberately loud. “Have some respect.” She injected a haughty tone. Comprehension sparked in the Chamberlain’s eyes. He glanced once toward Marcel and then fixed his gaze demurely at her feet.

“Of course,” he mumbled. “We are honored.”

“What?” Willame said.  His brows were furrowed deeply.

For the first time, she really looked at him and realized that he was not well. He was swaying in place and sweat was gathered at the sides of his face. He looked up at her with more confusion than anger.

‘...Did I bang his head on the ground when I subdued him?’

The details were foggy. She mostly remembered the panic and anger. There was no time to ruminate.

“Wait here,” came Father’s voice.

Rose’s back straightened even more. She lifted her chin. She felt a little smile creep across her face, although she felt no amusement. She looked down at the prisoners as if nothing made her happier than to see them at her feet.

A familiar hatred washed over the Castellan’s face. That was the first time that Rose noticed it hadn’t been directed at her. Were they more friendly now? Had Marcel said something to her?

Fresh air rushed into the tent for a moment when Father entered. It was quickly smothered by the incense on his robes. Heavily embroidered purple fabric swished around his feet as he came to a stop at Rose’s left shoulder.

“Who have we here,” he said.  Rose knew that cruel tone. He would be smiling now. “You… You are Castellan LaGown. We won’t be ransoming you. Do you think your cousins would come to your funeral if it’s out of the country?” The mockery in his tone was plain.

Rose stiffened and resisted the urge to look at him. He’d said… said that she was worth her weight in gold. This was just a threat to frighten her. Perhaps Father wanted information. If Rose was right, LaGown would die before sharing military information, but it would be a waste not to try at all.

‘It would make some sense to kill her rather than return her,’ Rose realized. She squirmed a little. ‘People like her are national figureheads. Losing her would hurt their morale.’

Rose… Rose just didn’t like it, that was all. It was one thing to kill someone with a sword in their hands. It was different when you’d already won. She repressed the shiver that wanted to wash over her.

The Castellan looked between the two of them slowly. Her lip curled in disgust. “My cousin the King knows that the truth in your letters is limited. He would not come.”

It was true. That was worse than if it wasn’t.

Rose felt her heart sink to the bottom of her stomach. The potential for violence rose in the room, heady. She felt very small. She felt like she was a child again and someone was about to be banished, to be maimed, to be fed to a fire.

Remarkably, nothing happened. Father snorted and turned to the other two. “You… you are a servant,” he said dismissively. The Chamberlain ducked his head in a series of little bows. “Some minor noble’s uncle, no doubt.” Then he turned to Willame. He paused when he didn’t recognize the face. “Daughter?”

“Willame of Highcleff,” she supplied obediently. “Eldest son of one Elizabet.”

The name meant nothing to her, but her brother had supplied it, so she was probably somewhat important. Father nodded as if of course, everyone knows of the Lady Elizabet. He swayed over Willame and nudged the knight with his boot. Willame swayed violently and caught himself with a palm.

The Castellan’s face went white in anger. Her lips pressed together so hard that she was certainly repressing words that would hurry her execution. “He seems to have hit his head,” she said, tight and diplomatic.

Father cast her a dismissive glance. Then he laughed. “Rose?”

“Yes, Father,” she said. It was both a response and a confession. It was me, I think I did that.

“If he isn’t going to survive, there is no need to keep him,” Father mused. He followed the line of Willame’s shackles and chain back to the stake in the ground. The amusement on his face slid off in favor of irritation. “He must be strong, or else we have metal to waste.”

“He’s strong,” Rose said blandly, hoping to cut off whatever cost saving measures Father might have in mind. “A favored companion of Prince Marcel. They will pay for him.”

There was a pause, and then Father inclined his head. “I see.  Very good.” He cast a look around the tent.

Rose froze up. Her heart stopped. The slight lump was visible, if you really looked. If one was attentive, they’d see that there were four bowls stacked. The evidence was here. If Father saw- if Father realized-

He left.

She let out a silent prayer before daring to glance at the Castellan. The cold anger fell off the older woman’s face. LaGown nodded stiffly.

Rose nodded back, held a finger up to her lips, and then followed her Father out of the tent.

He hadn’t gone far. She caught up with him and fell into an obedient step at his left side, one pace behind. It was a familiar position.

“Why did you injure the knight?”

Rose felt a muscle jump in her neck. “He attempted to escape,” she answered smoothly. Vague. Don’t admit that you were trying to save a soldier, he won’t like that.

Father grunted. “It’s not like you to injure by accident,” he said wryly. “Were you in a temper?”

…In a way. “Yes,” Rose said. She kept her tone flat. “He was an annoying opponent.”

Father stopped walking for a moment to cast an incredulous look down at her. “That boy?” he said. “That boy was trouble for you?”

“Not trouble,” Rose said, letting her face show some irritation. He’d think it was for Willame. “He’s mouthy.”

Father hummed and started walking again. “Control yourself,” he lectured.

She wanted to let her shoulders crawl up defensively. She couldn’t let the weakness show.

“Displays of emotion are unseemly for you.” The condescension was thick enough to choke on. “Public anger is nearly as bad as being a soft touch. It makes you manipulable.”

“Of course, Father,” Rose said, docile. She flexed her tongue inside her mouth. The cut had already scabbed over but the motion broke it open and sent new blood into her mouth. Normally she’d worry that Father would smell it and have something else to lecture her about, but the herbs would have ruined his nose for the night.

“Your Aunt is going to the Capital,” he said, an abrupt change of topic.

Rose inclined her head. She didn’t know what to say.

Father cast an impatient look at her. “It should be you,” he said begrudgingly. “You need to build some international renown. I don’t like my heir to look weak.”

“Aunt Aime’s competency reflects on you,” Rose said cautiously.

He snorted.

The sound put her hackles up, a hint of an unknown danger. What did that mean? He- he usually got on well with Aime. Why did he sound that way?

“You should not be so trusting of your Aunt,” he said after a long pause. He scowled down at her. “She’s the cause of this mess.”

Rose blinked. “Sorry?” she tried. Aunt Aime had started the war? That didn’t make sense.

“Yes, your aunt,” Father snapped. They reached his tent and he went in with an impatient gesture at his guards. Rose followed because she hadn’t been dismissed. “Don’t trust a damn thing she says,” he warmed to the subject. His face was contorted in a dark scowl. “She wants your weakling brother to have your place.”

It took a moment to understand those words. Her heart twisted painfully.

“Aunt Aime-”

“Was the one who wanted to sell you to the South,” Father sneered. He shook his head. “She’s lost her damn mind, Rosetta. If she hadn’t pushed for that insulting engagement, I wouldn’t have had to answer with war.” He frowned at her. “Do you understand, Rosetta?”

“Yes, Father,” she said hollowly. She bowed. “May I be excused?” She desperately needed to be alone. She needed to be alone and scream.

“A minute,” Father said. He rubbed at his face with one hand. “I need you to do better than this.” His tone was hard and cold. “The court doesn’t understand.” He started to pace. “She had them convinced that one twin was as good as the other, when she knows damn well you’ve been prepared for the throne since you were 4.”

It… It was true. As far back as they could remember, it was just known that Rose was the real heir. She felt sick with betrayal. She swallowed, hard. Aunt Aime wouldn’t do that to her, would she? Why? Was Father just trying to turn them against each other? It didn’t seem like him, he wasn’t a liar.

“She can’t give a reason,” Father added, tone bitterly amused. “I suppose that she thinks there’s something wrong with you. Can’t be that she thinks Etienne is worth a damn. She wouldn’t put him in charge of a picnic if there was another choice.” He laughed, low and not at all amused. “If Esperance was a little older, she’d probably have her bet there. Or perhaps she would like the youngest to be heir. If I end up dead-”

“Father!” Rose cut him off, too shocked to be quiet.

“If I’m dead, Esperance might be even easier to manipulate than your soft-headed brother,” Father continued mercilessly. He clapped a hand on Rose’s shoulder. “I’m keeping your cousin away from Aime. I don’t know if he’s infected with her shit or not. Etienne- send Etienne with Celestin as his babysitter, off to keep Valentinian from being flanked. You’ll do the same for your Aunt, and sweep in to take the Capital if you can clear the old fortresses in time to manage it.”

A four pronged strategy. Rose saw it for a moment as it would be laid out on the map- Cousin Val near the Eastern Coast clearing the rich but relatively undefended trade cities, Etienne on the next stretch keeping any reinforcements off of Val, Rose clearing out the two castles that had once served as royal residences while Aunt Aime went to the Capital directly. It would be hard for the Southerners to mount an organized defense on so many fronts, especially with their famous border city fallen for only the second time in history.

‘...Father is hoping for Aunt Aime to die,’ Rose realized. She bowed and gave her necessary goodbyes, but her focus was all inside. ‘He wants her to fail and me to sweep in and pick up the pieces after she’s weakened them.’

Rose didn’t even know if Aunt Aime really had tried to sell her off to the South. She didn’t want her to die.