CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  Resources and Alliances

  “Bloody hell…”

  Another bump on the road caused Bram to grumble.

  “It’s like the driver’s intentionally aiming for potholes…”

  Bram’s butt was already sore from their auto-carriage hitting too many of the damned obstructions. It didn’t help his mood which was already terrible after the earlier ordeal of having to sentence a noble house to its doom. Such an act had earned him some infamy among his fellow nobles, a fact that the Loom was apparently taking note of.

  This notification greeted him as soon as he and Rowan entered their auto-carriage hours earlier. This first message led to many others, signaling the birth of a new system feature; Kingdom Resource Tool.

  Bram had thought it strange that such an important function of his growth only arrived for him today even though he’d been Governor of Lotharin for more than two months now. He suspected it had taken time for the Loom to calculate the kingdom’s resources. Rather, the lack of it. Either that or Bram had achieved something of note that allowed the Loom to reward him with a new tool. If it was the latter, then he was either being rewarded for ending House von Galen’s line, or, more likely, for thoroughly disrupting the North’s actions in his territory of Bastille Shire, such as his victory over Vicomte Kleist, proving he was at least competent enough to govern his shire.

  Indeed, Bram recalled that he’d earned fifty fame points after his life-and-death duel with the vicomte. However, it seemed he’d squandered his gains a bit and diminished the ‘Prestige’ that had been designated as the resource grown through earning fame.

  According to the Kingdom Resource Tool, Bram’s current Prestige score was [-70/100], which the Loom categorized as [Severely Unpopular]. To be fair, the system also informed him that he’d been at a [-100] until just recently and being unpopular was far better than his previous status of [Disgraced].

  As for his ‘Prestige,’ the higher it was, the more social influence and goodwill the prince could have, and even he knew such things were always good to have in high quantities, especially if he could eventually leverage them to get what he wanted in his dealings with other nobles.

  Prestige was just one of the resources the Kingdom Resource Tool quantified too.

  Obviously, there was wealth—his and the kingdom’s—which, according to the Loom was a kingdom severely in debt after seventeen years of decline. This led to several penalties that Bram had already seen hints of in Ser Anthony’s reports. Penalties such as low levies size and reinforcement during wartime, a huge problem considering a rebellion was looming. There were also stunted development growth, low vassal opinion—a fact he couldn’t help but laugh at—and even a heightened state of civil unrest, something Bram had experienced himself during his visits to the taverns of Lowtown.

  Surprisingly, of the three basic resources he needed to effectively run the kingdom, ‘Piety’ was the only one that didn’t possess an abysmal score.

  This didn’t sound so impossible because Bram had kept up appearances when it came to being a devoted servant of the gods. At least in the case of the clerics and the faithful, Atlan’s seventh prince who never missed sermon in the capital and was often giving alms to the poor in the capital slums was a dutiful follower. Apparently, it was their view of him was what mattered, not the gods, who, based on a recent encounter with the Goddess of Fire, probably didn’t think too highly of him.

  More troubling was the Loom’s thoughts on the kingdom’s status.

  Thanks to the continuous decline of the state, the people readily turned to religion to give them hope. This wasn’t such a bad thing on paper, though it also meant a rise in zealotry. Bram had seen clear examples of the Phoebus temple’s zealotry even in Reise, which was now secretly under the prince’s control.

  In any case, the low scores he’d received had turned Bram’s mood sour, and now his ire was turned beyond the window of his auto-carriage, toward the poorly managed road that would take him back to Reise.

  “It’s supposed to be the Sovereign’s Road… Why’s it so bloody rough?”

  Here was another sign of Lotharin’s decline…the road—even one supposedly managed by the Imperium’s capital engineers—was so bad that traveling by hart was preferable to the ingenious auto-carriage which had been advertised by merchants as a smooth ride from points A to B. Clearly, this was a truth only in wealthier kingdoms such as the Lakeside Kingdom of Thesalia or the Plains Kingdom of Navarra. Indeed, the closer one got to the center of the Imperium, the smoother the roads were. Many of them were even paved with expensive white stone. But here in faraway Lotharin, the Sovereign’s Road might as well be a dirt road unsuitable for travel by carriage, which it mostly was.

  “I hope we’ve got one of their engineers among our alphas,” Bram said, sighing. “This bloody road will be the first thing we fix. I swear it.”

  It wasn’t just for Bram’s comfort either. There was justification for smoothing out the Sovereign’s Road, the main thoroughfare that cut through all three of Lotharin’s regions while also being the only road that led to the Imperium’s other kingdoms—tourism and commerce.

  “We’ll encourage the capital’s merchant caravans, trading companies, and even tourists to come to Lotharin if we can ensure safe and easy travel of goods between us and them,” he reasoned.

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  “It helps that you’ve managed to convince one of the larger robber gangs to take on other pursuits,” Rowan added.

  “They’ll be even less robbers once the road’s been remade,” Bram insisted, adding, “Remind me to ask Chris or Bridget to see to getting those engineers.”

  “You can ask her right now,” Rowan suggested.

  Bram turned his gaze away from the window.

  “You’re wearing your glasses again,” he realized.

  Rowan’s appearance was back to the bookish scholar that made Bram’s cheeks turn the color of fresh apples. He wouldn’t normally be so obvious, but she’d caught him off-guard this time. He’d been so preoccupied with plans for rebuilding the Sovereign’s Road that he’d forgotten how she liked to don her glasses during times meant for the building of the Loom. In this case, the final dev meeting before the Feast of Travelers began.

  Seeing the prince gawk at her made the trickster smile.

  “Ser Severin prefers them as well.”

  With supreme effort, Bram managed not to roll his eyes.

  “D-Does he…?”

  Rowan nodded.

  “Though he’s not as obvious about it as you are, My Prince.”

  Bram coughed.

  He looked away embarrassedly, though not before he caught her impish smile.

  So,” Bram cleared his throat, “I suppose he offered you something similar to what his sister hinted at with me…”

  “He did.”

  Bram’s gaze snapped back to Rowan.

  “He did?”

  Yesterday’s tea had been their first time in each other’s company, and Bram honestly didn’t expect Ser Severin to be so bold. To be fair, Lady Petra had been as bold as her twin. Even now, Bram could easily recall their time together in his mind…

  “Thank you for the tea and the company, Your Highness,” Lady Petra said.

  She stood from the comfy couch she shared with her brother.

  “I’ll make sure to relay everything we’ve discussed with my father,” she promised.

  In the hopes of establishing an alliance between Bastille and Lorraine, Bram proposed a deal of trade and security. If accepted, Lorraine Shire would become an official ally, Bram’s first, and a strong ally that could help the prince bring order to Central Lotharin.

  Ser Severin stood up next.

  “Though I’m not as eloquent with trade and commerce as my sister, I think an alliance between our two shires is a splendid idea.” After saying this, he turned his head toward the redhead seated on the opposite side of the table and added, “The knights of Lorraine will do well to learn from you in future joint training, Ser Rowan.”

  “You flatter me, Ser,” Rowan replied.

  Yes, you do, a little thickly too, Bram sighed, though he didn’t say this aloud.

  The prince stood from his seat and thanked his guests for joining them for morning tea, though it was four days later than the Adlers hoped. Bram delayed their meeting intentionally, of course, to see if the twins would stay and wait for his call. They did, and that impressed Bram because it meant they were serious about wanting to discuss an alliance with him, though he wouldn’t say this aloud either.

  “Lady Rowan,” Ser Severin again glanced her way, “might I have a private word.”

  Bram, who’d just been about to shake Ser Severin’s hand, quickly withdrew his hand. He frowned, but seeing all gazes sliding toward him, he could do nothing but offer Rowan a curt nod.

  “I’ll return shortly,” she promised.

  The prince watched with barely veiled annoyance as the handsome knight led the red-haired trickster out the doors on the other side of Bram’s study. Silence filled the space, with only the crackling of the fireplace disturbing it.

  Then, with a sigh of her own, Lady Petra broke the silence with, “My brother is a brave and just man, but his talents lie far from recognizing the subtleties shared among others.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Bram replied flatly.

  “I saw the many sidelong glances you and Lady”—Lady Petra stopped herself, adjusting to—“Ser Rowan shared during teatime.”

  Bram turned toward Lady Petra, “What do you—”

  He noticed her sly grin and closed his mouth.

  “She’s a beautiful young woman,” Lady Petra added, “a true rose among a garden of weeds.”

  Not forgetting his manners, Bram replied, “So are you.”

  This wasn’t just empty flattery either. Lady Petra was a flower adored by many of Lotharin’s high nobles. From Ser Anthony’s reports of the region’s nobility, Bram knew she was being courted by many of Central Lotharin’s young heirs. It’s also been said that the beautiful daughter of Eorl Adler was often seen going to promenade with Lorraine’s most eligible bachelors. Indeed, if it weren’t for Rowan’s presence in his life, Bram might have been tempted to be among those who called on Lady Petra for tea.

  No, that was a lie.

  Without Rowan, the Bram who lacked his bard’s disguise wouldn’t have even had the courage to approach Lady Petra or talk to her with the confidence he had now. Such was the stigma given to him by his ill-fated moniker. Indeed, though he’d shrugged of his insecurities somewhat after his successful campaign in the Red Forest, Bram had yet to reach out to Phecda of House Asher, the young Stargazer who’d wanted to apologize to the prince for how she’d treated him during their days in the capital.

  “You’re too kind, Your Highness,” Lady Petra smiled. “Ser Rowan is lucky to be so close to you. With her skill, I’m certain she’s an excellent guard.”

  Lady Petra began walking toward the door, and it was only proper for Bram to join her.

  “Though not, I think”—she cast him a sidelong glance—“a partner worthy of the blood of Atlan.”

  Bram’s steps faltered.

  “What do you mean…?”

  “Ser Rowan is a descendant of a fallen house.”

  There was no look of contempt on Lady Petra’s face. Nor did her words carry any sting on them. She was merely speaking a fact about Rowan’s lacking status, at least to her knowledge.

  Her origins are far grander than you might think, was what Bram wanted to say, but instead, he said, “She’s the kingdom’s youngest swordmaster.”

  “Which makes her a worthy partner for many high nobles, like my brother for example,” Lady Petra’s hand brushed Bram’s arm, “but not the prince and governor of our fair kingdom.”

  She cast a soft touch on the back of his palm, her fingers brushing against his flesh.

  “Your Highness needs a partner with the right pedigree, wealth, and influence that the high nobles of your court can be satisfied with,” she explained, adding, “My brother’s not entirely wrong either… Rather than a deal of trade and security between our two shires, a joining of houses would make for a much stronger alliance.”

  Her words almost sounded like a proposal to his ears, and he didn’t know how to reply. Fortunately for Bram, Lady Petra didn’t press him for an answer. At least not yet.

  “It’s food for thought,” she said, smiling at him.

  “I-I see…” Not wanting to feel any more awkward, Bram opened the door for her. “Lady Petra—”

  “Petra,” she interrupted, “if you please, Your Highness.”

  “Right.” Bram cleared his throat. “Thank you for hearing me out…Petra.”

  “It’s a plan favorable to both shires. I think my father will like it too.”

  “I hope so.”

  Petra moved past the open door but stopped to ask Bram one last question. “The event planned for tomorrow…is it necessary?”

  Bram’s face stiffened.

  “It is,” he insisted. “I need to make it clear… Lotharin will not tolerate rebellion.”

  “The other nobles won’t like it, but my brother and I will attend to show our support,” she promised.

  Petra bowed. Then she turned and walked away, nodding to Rowan as they passed each other in the hall.

  Ser Severin, who idled at the other end of the hall, looked like he was grinning from ear to ear. Seeing that grin made Bram shut the door more forcefully than he normally would have as soon as Rowan was through it.

  “Had a nice chat?” he asked.

  “He wanted to invite me to visit him in his bastion,” she glanced over her shoulder, offering Bram an impish smile, “and he even said I could bring you if I wanted.”

  “It’s his father’s bastion. Not his,” Bram answered flatly.

  Rowan laughed.

  Not the mocking kind she usually employed against her foes, but one that was genuinely delighted.

  “I’ve told you this before,” she hooked her arm around his, “but there’s no need for envy.”

  “I-I’m not jealous,” Bram protested.

  This was obviously a lie. Anyone could tell that.

  Leading him toward the couch by the fireplace, Rowan whispered, “Remember, I told the fool who invaded your dreams that you are sworn to me…and I to you.”

  Bram blushed—and Rowan shoved him onto the couch.

  “Now,” she smiled, revealing the twin fangs protruding from her upper lip, “all this politicking has me famished… ‘Tis time to feed.”

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