Fiona glanced around the room, at her gathered friends. “You guys might want to make scarce, while I–”

“Oh no, I am so done with all the royal intrigue crap going on,” Bonnie growled, all the while the arcane relay in Fiona's hand continued to ring. “I want to give him a piece of my mind!”

“He’s a king, Bon-bon,” Greg tried in a modicum of de-escalation. “You do not want to get on his bad side on this one, regardless of whether the fault of this latest…situation…may be squarely on his shoulders.”

“Oh no, I’m gonna take a bite out of him, too,” Darla growled. It was perhaps the most dangerous thing Fiona had heard from her, and matched more with her prickly exterior. “We’ve got your back, Fiona. We’re all in this, now.”

“Well, try to be polite, then?” Greg proposed. She clicked the accept diode, and the device came to life, with beams of light projecting an image of a tall, powerful, and grey-bearded figure, standing in a rather informal long-sleeved dress shirt, tunic, and leggings. And sandals that she was quite envious of when Rikkard Greybeard’s image fully materialized.

Rikkard gazed at her with cheery green eyes and smiled. “Greetings, Miss Swiftheart–”

“You’ve avoided my calls for over two weeks!” She roared as her composure and her mood instantly snapped. Greg went pale and wide-eyed, Bonnie sighed, and Darla made a little fist pump in the background. “Rikkard, we’re friends, but you don’t ghost your friends for that long, especially when they call a situation ‘dire’ or ‘financially ruinous’ or ‘your youngest son is an utter dick!’”

“So much for ‘polite,’” Darla commented, looking ever amused.

Arcane relays weren’t supposed to project any force, per se, but Fiona’s wrath was a force to behold as Rikkard grimaced and he faltered in his answer. “Um, well, ah–”

“Oh, I haven’t even gotten started! Your son stiffed the guild–the entire guild–after we curb stomped Douglas the not-so-magnificent, and kept this kingdom burning-free! And then, he had the cojones to show up at our little celebratory bash! I probably saved your son from a bloodbath by him keeping to his lofty perch away from the crowd. So, you know, you’re welcome!” She was gnashing teeth and pointy-eared elven fury–and her ears were telling a mood that Rikkard was not going to be spared from.

“Fiona, please–”

“Don’t please me, Rikkard! I’d happily save the kingdom I call home, but your son betrayed the trust of everyone who fights for it–and Gregory, and Darla, and Bonnie, and me! He pulled a dirty on every single one of us, threatened to throw me in jail for tax evasion, tried to lock down my gold coin account–”

“Still can’t prove that one,” Greg sighed softly as Fiona continued on a long-deserved dressing down of the semi-retired king.

“--not give him enough hugs when he was a kid? He’s rotten to the core, and you know it! He wants a deal with Vale, and I’m not new enough here to not know that doing business with them is a terrible idea!” She was breathing a little heavier from the forceful exertion, and Rikkard looked about as terrified of her as Douglas had, seconds before her wrecking ball of a hammer had smashed him into, and through, the landscape.

“Okay. I get that you’re upset. Now, I can understand a good venting, Fiona. Have you got that out of your system? Do you need me to get someone to talk to you?” Rikkard asked after he immediately regained his composure. She glared at him for a good full five seconds, before letting out a calming breath.

“Yeah, I’m good. How’s Celes, is she having a good vacation?” she asked after deciding she’d cut him a break–for now. “I also miss that little rascal Mira!”

“Oh, uh, yes! The missus is having a grand time. Mira is here somewhere–likely hanging out with Dave.” Rikkard finally had a moment of reprieve, and was glad to talk about something other than his son’s screw-ups. “Dave finally went back to mage lessons, so…yay?”

“I knew he had it in him! I told him to stop being a bum, and he finally listened!” Fiona declared with a small fanfare.

“What? Girl, I was the one who put my footpad to his backside,” Bonnie protested, even as she laughed softly. “So, King Rikkard, you’ve probably heard some more positive news from back at home. I’m licensed for runes of detailed complexity, and operating out of Fiona’s new shop! Greg’s there, too–and our shared coffee girl,” she added with an air kiss and a wink at Darla. She glanced her way with smoky golden eyes, and teeth tips edging out in amusement. “We repurposed the old textile mill–”

“On Perrier way! Ah, I was wondering who was going to talk down Mister Grimore. I knew he was overcharging. But, you know, Kings try not to get in the way of commerce. Let the market sort it out, all that jazz. I hope he didn’t charge you guys too much,” Rikkard answered calmly, while grabbing a finely carved wooden mug and taking a sip of something with a fruit arrangement. Fiona wanted one of those, too–after she finished business here with Rikkard.

“We’re making money. And selling Douglas stuff,” she stated calmly. The haggard look on his face, though, spoke volumes.

“Fiona, I get it. You took a path you didn’t want to take. You’re a free spirit, I’ve known you long enough that even I can tell it,” he offered quietly. It soothed her mood, just a little–but not enough to matter. “Barrimeth decided in my stead. As a father–as a king–I had to stand by that decision. Even if it followed the letter of the law, it reeks of violating the spirit of the law,” he added with a growl.

“So take the throne back! You realize your son is running the treasury dry, you know this tax is bogus, you know the guild isn’t going to take this lying down, because their loyalty is Fiefdala–and by proximity, you. Not so much for your son,” Fiona asserted. “You know how much he charged me, and is still trying to fleece me for more? One point six million gold! It’s a fortune!”

“We’re down to half that, now. Kali is working on getting the assessor, and our expenses and other business-related write-offs are far from fully tapped out,” Greg corrected. “It is still a rather substantial sum, King Rikkard. This entire debt trap was enacted to enlist Miss Swiftheart–involuntarily, I might add–to drive a trade deal with Vale.”

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Rikkard blinked. “This is the first I’m hearing of it. I beat those slavers to paste, the last time they tried to expand their borders. I should have done what I wanted to do twenty years ago, torched the entire Capitol, and hung every one of those slave traders."

Fiona sucked in her breath. “Oh, If I’d been here back then, I’d have been going to town with the torching, let me tell you. Slavery is not cool.”

“No. It’s not. And that kind of foul ownership of folk lives like they’re little more than cattle, has always sat uncomfortably close to home. Too close.” Rikkard frowned and rubbed at his magnificent beard. “I suspect my son thinks that the new management is different from the old management. I heard there was an upheaval a few months ago, it got bloody, some kind of internal dispute. But, the information was lacking on details on who ended up on the wrong end of a fireball. The best information I heard? Some new summoned took control of the Capitol, and then started redecorating the place violently. Whether they survived the reciprocal strikes by every slave house head, or if they all went up in smoke, is beyond my spy network. Now it’s all locked down, they can’t get in safely.”

“You have spies?” Fiona echoed.

“All Kings have spies, Fiona. Even within the Unified Kingdoms,” he stated with little emotion. “I don’t like saying it, but we do put people in dangerous places to get us information on unfriendly nations, or worse, actively hostile nations. Across the Aegortin Sea, there is an entire fascist nation-state that thinks it's the world's new empire. Luckily, they’re busy fighting off internal disputes. These are the things that keep me up at night. Or the mundane problems like greedy dragons,” he added with an eye roll.

“Yeah about that. How did Douglas pose such a threat? We steamrolled him!”

“I have a theory. Minus his horde you’re selling to much-needed adventurers, I think he lost the backing of his financiers. And the dragon clans back at home cut him off, too. They do not like the idea of being at war with the Unified Kingdoms, and even dragons aren’t invincible.”

Greybeard sat back and took a sip from his drink, and handed the empty mug to an attendant, who briefly appeared in the image. “Privately speaking, Fiona…the military has been scaled back in the past twenty years, after the last skirmish with Vale. It's an internal defense force. With the allied treaties with the rest of the Unified Kingdoms we signed right around then, border conflicts became nonexistent. Vale knew they’d get bruised, if they tried again.”

“So, Douglas was just a threat you were underprepared for?”

“He claimed we stole land from him. That was preposterous, which is why I didn’t pay any heed until he had his kobolds kicking people out of their homes and laying claim to the land,” he added while folding his hands together.

Fiona nodded quietly, still processing all this. “Rikkard, why didn’t you call? The truth? Why’s the treasury low?”

“I don’t know anything about the treasury being low–”

“Rikkard? We can be honest, as friends. Just say it, your son screwed up. He’s in over his head, he wasted the treasury or the tax funds the kingdom collects. And since he was in that office, he knew how to hide it, up to a certain point. But now, he can’t.”

“I concur, King Rikkard. The finance irregularities are notable even to us, at our level,” Greg chimed in while furrowing his brow. “Fiona had a contact indicating Barry was putting in custom windows in the castle–and were quite expensive. I am convinced that your son, or some other extraneous source, is–”

“Mister Lockheed, do be very careful what you say next,” Rikkard warned, in the first full rebuke he had given during the call, his gaze hardened, and all the edges of his face were accentuated. “I suggest you and Miss Swiftheart drop the subject. My son would not steal from his own Kingdom.”

“And you know this, how?” Greg asked.

“Because I caught him doing it once, a small amount. I made him work it off and told him if he ever did it again, he would never have a spot at my table, to betray the trust of the people of Fiefdala.” The way he clenched his hands as he stated it, was telling to Fiona. “I am not proud to have to say that. A father tries to teach his son the right way to do things. I either did not impart this lesson properly, or…”

“Or, what? That you're too prideful to realize Barry was led astray?” Bonnie inputted after Rikkard trailed off. “I'm not a parent, but my parents went through a rough time with my younger brother. He got into trouble a lot.”

“Miss Revere, different situations. A father should love his children, flaws and high points all included,” Rikkard said after a moment. “Misguided as my son is, he is performing somewhat competently. But he has to learn through trial and error.”

“So you're okay with him utterly screwing us?” Fiona demanded. “That's low, Rikkard.”

“It's not that simple, Fiona. Now, I'm under no illusion this looks and feels anything but awful. My question is this: can you do it?”

“Do what?” She narrowed her eyes. “Pull off the impossible? You know I almost bounced your son like a ping pong ball in his business room when he dumped this on me. I'm lucky to have friends who know when I need a guardrail back to what's proper.”

“I can guess who that would be,” Rikkard mused, gazing at Greg but saying nothing more. “Fiona, can you get the coin required to satisfy this?”

She pondered it for a good, long minute. The implication was unsettling. “I can do it. Get Barry off my back, and keep him clear of me. It won't be easy, and I'm going to be eating cheap noodles for a while. My partners still need a livable income, too. And tell him to lay off with a deadline! If your kid is thieving and using me as a shakedown to fix his screw-up, I'll put Greg on the throne when I'm done dunking Barry in the lake.”

“Please don't. Ruling is even more work than you,” Greg groaned. Rikkard regarded him with a scowl–and Fiona.

“Given the Lockheed family history, that would be exceedingly off-putting. Please don't do anything to Barry that will endanger his health, or sanity, or drive him to do something ill-advised?” Rikkard requested politely.

Fiona let out a sigh. “Fine, I promise not to use my hammer on him like a croquet mallet. Okay, Dad?” she added with a drawl.

Rikkard winced and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You remind me too much of Lucy, Fiona. And I adore her to pieces, even though she hates everything about the palace. I'll have a chat with my son about some of his policies, and I hope he will entertain other avenues, than Vale.”

“Better go carpet roll Glados Hennaway and throw her in the Aerris River, while you're at it. She's got Barry wrapped around her finger, and whispering in his ear,” Bonnie interjected, and Rikkard rolled his eyes.

“Oh, that viper? This is why I can't have a nice retirement, isn't it? I'll see what she's up to,” Rikkard assured her. “Keep the palace from burning down, at a minimum? Oh, and Darla? Can I ask one huge favor?”

All eyes turned to her, and she let out a low purring sound. “Oh, now you want me?”

“Haha, funny, dear. Just the coffee and the advice,” Rikkard laughed softly. “Can you ship your elderberry blend up north, to Dargai Springs? I'll have my assistant compensate you for your trouble, plus the expedition fees. I feel like I might need the extra dose of mellowing right about now.”

“I can arrange that. Do be kind to Fiona. She goes under, I'll be back to my tiny shop,” she added with a light whip of her tail.

“I don't doubt Miss Swiftheart’s tenacity to solve problems. Even if certain sweets do tend to disappear shortly after visits to the palace,” he added with a light smile. She felt a little called out by that, as Rikkard waved farewell. “And Fiona?”

“Yes, your Highness?”

“Don't let anyone ever tell you how to live your life. You have a firm handle on what you want…and maybe, what you need, as well. I'll see you all soon, once I'm done soaking out twenty years of stress.”

The relay went dim, and the room got quiet. Rikkard’s parting words were ones she wished she could have heard from her father. She felt a pang of heartache that tightened at her throat, before she pocketed the relay. Bonnie noticed her slowness, and tapped her shoulder. “Hey, you okay?”

She was slow to respond, and fought back that clawing, choking feeling. “Yeah. I'll be fine. Let's call it a day, guys. We've got more work to do.”

“At least we have the festival in a few days,” Darla reminded them. “Sheesh. Caught up in a family royalty drama session? The dragon was the easier problem to solve.”

Fiona nodded quietly, and regarded her friends. “Yes, he was.”