King Claymore and his detachment met up with the rest of their army, which had successfully made a clean retreat. A fair number of soldiers died during the melee clash on the hill, but those deaths were not in vain, since they had made an opening for their king to capture an enemy prince. The men were obviously disappointed that they wouldn’t be eating tonight, but they felt like they could foresee a victorious end to this war, which more than lifted their spirits.

The Andorin army, by all rights and reason, should have pursued them, but they did not. Firstly, there was no telling whether some kind of trap had been laid for them, such as another mud flat or an ambush. Secondly, they didn’t receive any orders to do so.

But that was because Prince Verde had been taken hostage, and the rest of his detachment was dead. Vyra was waiting in Andorin’s command tent, oblivious to that fact, at exactly the time when it would have been optimal to order a pursuit. That was how Claymore’s forces managed to return to their base camp with their hostage in tow, while the Orc Lord drummed her fingers in ignorant boredom.

Prince Verde was brought to the King’s personal tent, of all places, tied up like a dog. It was humiliating, but at least he would be safe from being beaten by hungry enemy soldiers here. He might even get to eavesdrop on the opposition’s leadership if he was lucky.

It was the small hours of morning now. King Claymore deposited his sword next to his bed and stripped his leather armor off.

Prince Verde recalled his soldiers wearing scavenged enchanted metals and blurted out a question. “Why are you still wearing leather armor? You salvaged plenty of better sets from us.”

Claudius laughed and strolled closer to the prince, who didn’t have any leeway in his bindings to move away. The enemy king set a hand on his head like he was a child and rustled his hair.

Sure, the man was a rank above him, a head taller, and old enough to be his father, but they weren’t close, so it was just degrading.

“That could’ve been nice,” the king shrugged. “Your set was especially well-made. I’m honestly jealous of you for getting your hands on such good materials.”

“It’s yours now, isn’t it?” Verde scowled.

King Claymore kept his hand on the Prince’s head and leaned forward so their faces were even. “Right, if only a kid’s armor would fit me,” he said with a wry smirk.

“Who’s a kid?! I’m nineteen!”

Come to think of it though, Claymore’s king was noticeably taller and bulkier than any of the soldiers on either side. Armor straps could only account for so much adjustment, and they didn’t have access to the right facilities out here on the frontline for more tailored fitting.

Standing back upright, the enemy king shrugged with both hands and spun around on his heel. “Well in that case, who told you to grow up so scrawny? Your country grows plenty of food.” Claudius winked, “And fully grown or what have you, real adults don’t react to their age like they have something to prove.”

While the prince fumed in silence so as not to dig himself into a deeper hole, King Claymore doffed his armor and began preparing to sleep. Verde’s eyes widened as the man boldly stripped right in front of him and took out a ridiculous-looking set of nighties.

Having been raised to lead his country’s military from a young age, Verde had been put through an intense training regimen growing up. He could appreciate the effort that went into building up a body, and King Claymore must have put in a lot of effort. Maybe helped by his country’s persistent food shortages over the years, there wasn’t an ounce of fat on the man. He must’ve been in his mid-to-late-fifties, but his muscles would put a warhorse to shame. The muscles in his back, used for drawing that absurd metal bow of his, were especially impressive, but his whole body was well-developed. You needed a balanced physique to be an effective swordsman, after all.

What seemed foreign to the young prince, however, were the sparse scars on the king’s body. Were they from battles against harpies, perhaps? He knew his own retainers went out of their way never to leave a mark on his body when he trained.

While Verde examined the enemy, impressed despite himself, Claudius glanced over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. “Do you like men?” he asked.

Verde flinched and jerked his gaze away. “What?! No!”

The king shrugged and redressed himself in his silly but effective pale blue footie pajamas, taking a seat on his bed. “Then maybe don’t stare at me like my wife used to?” he said, flopping back on the mattress. “Nothing’s wrong with people like that, though, you know. The old man’s never wanted a woman, and I still respect him more than I ever did my father.”

That’s really none of my business, Verde thought uncomfortably.

King Claudius sighed and continued happily chatting with the air. “Well, maybe you just look hungry because you are. I know I’m famished. Can’t seem to remember whose fault that is…”

Prince Verde scowled. “Yours? You started this war.”

“I started this war because we were starving.”

“Then why did you build your food storehouses next to a river famous for flooding and changing course?”

“Did you notice the swamp outside?” Claudius asked.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“I’m not blind,” Verde snapped, irritated at the change in topic he didn’t understand and the stupid question.

“Most of our land is swampy or full of clay or gravel. It doesn’t make for good farmland. We import a lot of our food from your country. But we can’t build a road through a place like this, so we sail it down the river. From there, it gathers in the capital and is dispensed to the rest of the country as needed, again, via the river. Where else would we store it?”

“How would I know? It’s your responsibility to figure it out, not mine.”

“Yeah,” Claudius sighed. “I don’t know what to do either, though.” He shrugged, “Honestly, royal to royal? I have no idea how to run a kingdom.”

I know, Verde thought, you're famous for running yours into the ground. Instead of voicing that, he quipped, “Why the hell are you telling me that?”

“Because you’re my captive listener?” the king chuckled. “I’ve never been very good at politics or measuring my words. Never had much sense for business and economy either. The only thing I ever excelled at was combat and military strategy, but I grew up in an era where peace was eternally enforced by stifling national alliances.”

Verde did quiet down a bit to listen. He couldn’t help but picture… that King Claymore’s past was his future if anything happened to his two brothers and he lost their support. Prince Verde… didn’t know how to run a country on his own either.

“So you started a war, what, to feel better about yourself?”

Claudius sat up and frowned at him, “Wow, what kind of bastard do you think I am? No, like I said, I did it because my people were starving. I had two options: keep trying to do things the “right” way and keep failing, or take what I need by force.” He shrugged, “That’s the kind of bastard I am. The kind that bites the hand that feeds him because my pups are hungry and I’m just a stupid mutt who doesn’t know what else to do about it.”

Prince Verde’s mouth hung open slightly, and he stared at King Claymore with a healthy measure of shock. Should… he be saying any of this?

Verde had never seen a member of royalty beat themselves up this much—even his meek little brother was kinder to himself.

“So…” Verde’s mouth worked as slowly as his head was, “if we gave your country enough food to get past this flood season, would you stop the war?”

King Claymore blinked, tilted his head back, and folded his arms, humming as he thought about it. “Yeah, sure I would.”

Verde’s eyes widened into perfect circles. Is this how Ryle feels? Did I just win a negotiation?!

“Th-then that!” he shouted. “Let’s do that!”

“Ah,” Claudius said, “but can you make that decision on your own? Do you know how much money your country would lose by feeding us for free? Can you afford to look weak in front of your former allies? I’d be happy to accept that deal, but it isn’t official yet. You need to get the rest of your country to agree first.”

Verde felt like he’d been doused with a bucket of cold water. Right, I don’t know anything about diplomacy or finances. But I know the military. If I can convince the others that there’s no way we can win, maybe…

But then, Prince Verde remembered a crucial element that he had nearly forgotten. The Orc Lord might not want this war to end so soon. The way she talked about blood and carnage on their first meeting… there was no way she would be satisfied by this little of it.

“I can convince them,” the prince asserted. Even if he wasn’t certain, it wouldn’t do him any favors to say so. “But I don’t think I can do anything about the Orcs.”

King Claymore shrugged. “Fine by me. I can’t do much about the Harpies either. The monsters can keep fighting it out if they want to.” He yawned and crawled under his blanket. “I’ll assign someone to watch you in the morning. So don’t do anything stupid tonight. Let your men ransome you back, and then we can negotiate you a nice, gentle surrender. On my honor.”

“Do you really need a ransome and a surrender?” Verde asked incredulously.

“I suppose not,” Claymore murmured, smirking. “But our deal isn’t set in stone, negotiations will take time, and I’d like to eat tomorrow. Most importantly, I’m winning… so quit whining. I don’t have to be such a nice guy.”

***

After what felt like far too much time—something must have gone wrong—Vyra heard shouting from outside the command tent.

“Your highness~?”

“Prince Verde, where are you?”

“The prince is missing and the rest of his detachment is dead!”

She sucked in a breath. Shit.

Vyra put the prince with the detachment because it was supposed to be safer there. Not to mention, she needed someone she could trust to carry out her plan, which meant destroying their own food reserves. Most people would hesitate, but if the prince ordered it directly, it would be done, and no one would hide away extras for themselves. She heard people complaining that the food was gone, so at least that much had gone to plan.

But apparently the plan had backfired. If the prince couldn’t be found, he was almost certainly a prisoner of war. Which meant Vyra had lost her only point of contact with which to control the Andorin army.

Is it game over already?

… No. Vyra was too invested to give up just yet. This sort of strategic fencing was precisely what she’d been hoping King Claymore would offer her. She may have lost this exchange, but she was having fun, and it was too soon to quit.

Finding a way to lead her puppet army indirectly was simply the latest challenge her opponent had dealt her.

Since the prince has been captured and not killed, they’re probably planning to ransome him.

She needed to find out what the asking price was and whether there was a deadline. Because as much as she liked this game, she had made a promise to Prince Corinth to keep his brother safe. Breaking that promise was akin to losing the war to Vyra—it wasn’t permissible in the slightest.

Vyra hid and waited and listened. With her superior hearing, she managed to suss out that the current leader of Andorin’s forces was a captain named Orvas. Apparently, everyone higher in rank than him was dead or gone, and he had shown great valor leading the troops in their uphill charge. She dug a tunnel under his tent with earth magic and laid in waiting. When the ransome notice came, it ought to come here.

In the morning, when she was beginning to doze heavily, a note finally came. As expected, the enemy wanted food, and they were willing to return the prince for a considerable amount of it.

Vyra smiled and retreated to her own camp to plan her next move.