Anton Szertyn, Duke of Bluegrass, considered himself an old man who did not like to change his ways. He was not quite that old, in truth, especially considering that he had not shirked his leveling and had reached a high enough Tier that his lifespan would be extended slightly, or at least remain at the upper range of what his race could expect. On the other hand, quite a few noblemen had died to causes other than the vagaries of old age in recent times, and he might yet be sent to join them.

He had already been driven out of his comfortable estate and into the murky waters of factional politics along with the fields of war, and he suspected that would not be the end of it. While he might not like to change his ways, he did recognize when change was coming whether he liked it or not, and he had responsibilities to meet.

At the moment, the change he pondered concerned his daughter, Margaret. Looking at her as she stood in front of his desk, her arms crossed and her face set in preparation for a fiery defense of her actions, he was struck once again by how much he cared for her. He wanted to smooth out the wrinkle on her brow, replace the glint in her eyes with that of laughter, and send her far away from the subjects of his anxiety. He knew, unfortunately, that these things would not be possible; perhaps the last one even less than the other two.

“Margaret,” he began.

“I did not go against your orders, Father,” she interrupted him.

He gave her a pointed look, then paused for a second before he continued. “I know, sweetheart. I am not angry at you, only concerned.”

The tension in her expression eased and she slumped slightly. “My apologies,” she muttered.

“It is not your fault, Margaret. I was the one who told you that we should stand at Lady Kiara’s side, and I stand by what I said.” He sighed. “You are the heir of our house, my daughter, and while I know it does not matter for this, you are also an unmarried young woman. It is a shame that you had to anger Lord Likardon, but I suppose there is no helping what happened. Still, you do need to be careful. Lady Kiara is going to marry a foreign prince at some point —“

“If we survive long enough for that,” she muttered quietly.

“And if we are not victorious, all this will not matter in any case,” he said, allowing a small smile onto his face.

She returned it. Then Margaret ceased standing in front of his desk like a scolded child, which she certainly no longer was, and instead stepped to the side to lean against a post holding up his tent.

“I do not intend to pry into your private affairs,” he began, “but I do have to ask. Your relationship with Lady Kiara, is it simply friendly affection? Or is there something else at play?”

She turned her head to face him, her eyes widened. “What? No, Father, we are simply friends.” Then Margaret cocked her head and frowned thoughtfully. “You don’t mean …”

“That is good, then. I did have the impression you are still interested in marriage?”

“I am,” Margaret confirmed. “As soon as I find a lord who is not a boorish windbag.” She tapped her finger against her side in a gesture he knew indicated she was considering something. “Now that I think about it, Kiara is clearly less happy at the prospect of finding a husband. Perhaps that is because she will be expected to marry a foreigner who will be arranged for her, a man she does not know. But there might be more to it. She did speak rather enthusiastically of that former mage aide of hers who went off to join the Hive, for example.”

He frowned and tapped his fingers on his desk as well. “Interesting. I suppose it is not our business, however. I trust this will not darken your relationship?”

“Of course not, Father. On the topic of the Hivekind, however, have you learned anything new?”

“No, I haven’t heard of any news. The healers they sent are still working in the field hospital along with our own. Lord Lyns sent a letter to the Hive Queen, but she hasn’t replied yet. That’s hardly surprising, however, it has not been long. Is there any particular reason why you are asking about it?”

She shook her head. “No, I suppose I am just feeling a bit antsy. Well, and curious.”

He smiled slightly. “Unfortunately, the Delvers do not seem very interested in sharing any knowledge they may have about the Hivekind, and I am uncertain where else one might find any insight.”

Margaret nodded, looking mildly disappointed. He hid a smile, suddenly reminded of several instances in her childhood. She had always been curious. And prone to get into trouble. At least Elise is safe with her mother’s family, he thought. I’d have to worry myself into an early grave if she was here, too. Then he shook his head to dislodge the thought. There was no point worrying about things he could not change. And for that matter, prying into their allies was likely to be neither fruitful nor constructive, even if it hadn’t been quite rude.

“When are we going to move on, Father?” Margaret asked, changing the subject. “We have been camping here for quite a while now.”

“I do not know,” he said. “We have, indeed, but it does not seem like the king is ready to pry us away, yet. To be honest, I would have expected an attack to come around the day before yesterday, at least, but I may be overestimating their preparation. Or cohesion.” He glanced at the letter strewn across his desk. “And on that note, I must be off. I have some things to discuss with Lord Lyns.”

His daughter nodded and fell into step beside him as he left the tent. “It is a wonder any noble is willing to risk his neck, not to mention his levies, for King Nicholas at all,” she commented.

His face darkened along with her words, but he gave no reply. He knew it had not been a serious question — she understood the drive for self-preservation, and the mindset of a typical sycophant, as well.

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Their conversation ended as they stepped out of the tent into the middle of the army camp. He personally hated living among such surroundings, but he was not going to raise petty complaints in the middle of a war. Still, his nose wrinkled and he did his best to avoid looking at the mud. At least it was no longer winter.

Instead, he strode off through the narrow streets, watching soldiers and servants scurry out of his way, as he headed toward the main command tent. The marquis had refused quarters in the castle, instead choosing to show solidarity with his men and demonstrate his temperance by quartering in a tent, even if his was much larger and more comfortable than theirs. He approved in principle, although he privately wished it was not so, since he could not very well ask for better quarters than his liege lord.

He comforted himself with the thought that the king would never have done something like this. Calling His Majesty spoiled would be something of an exaggeration, but he was certainly very conscious of his lofty position and expected and required to receive the privileges of his rank. That thought was harder to keep in mind as he approached the tent to see the marquis standing by a table set up outside. It was not just his posture, which echoed his cousin’s, but especially the way Lord Lyns scowled thunderously at the nobleman in slightly worn clothing, some baron or other, who not-quite-cowered in front of him.

Sometimes, he wondered what the princess had been thinking to name her son after her father, incidentally giving him the same first name as the new heir to the throne. Nicholas Lyns was cut from a different cloth, perhaps, but it could not have helped their burgeoning rivalry at all. Even if old King Nicholas, their grandfather, had been one of Cernlia’s more effective and fortunate monarchs.

“Milord?”

Lord Lyns looked up, appearing slightly startled, and smiled at him. “My lord duke. As always, you come at precisely the right moment. I was just thinking of you.”

He crossed the remaining distance and glanced down at the papers laid out on the table. Maps of the region and estimated troop movements, unsurprisingly. “Is there some way I may be of help?” He glanced at the other man, a Lord Wobingten if he recalled correctly, and raised an eyebrow. “News from the front, perhaps?”

The marquis sighed and shook his head slightly. “Unfortunately, no. Not that I am complaining, mind you. I am perfectly content to have our enemy sit there and give us more days to prepare. Especially with our wounded joining our ranks again at such greater speed.”

“So the Hive’s healers truly are as helpful as we hoped, then?”

“They are.” He lowered his voice. “I will admit I cherished some small doubt, but they have certainly proved their value.”

“Another thing to be thankful to the Hive Queen for, I suppose,” the duke commented, watching him.

“Quite so.” There was a slight tightening around his eyes, but Lord Lyns’ words were not begrudging or resentful.

His vassal — not that they had sworn formal oaths — hid a smile. He supposed it was foolish to expect anyone in Lord Lyns’ position to be quite happy about their newfound allies, and, all things considered, his lord handled things about as well as could be expected. Although I do have to wonder a little about his foresight, he mused. The Hivekind came from nothing — quite literally, if you believed some rumors — and already fielded an army thousands strong. Granted, from what he could tell, it was a substantial part of their total strength. Although the hints he had picked up regarding their logistical capabilities should only make this more of a concern for prospective enemies.

Well, Lady Kiara had clearly seen the writing on the wall, much earlier than anyone else. Some of it doubtlessly came down to luck, but he wasn’t about to look a gift wyvern in the mouth. As far as he was concerned, all the qualities he worried Lord Lyns might lack, she had. Duke Bluegrass was self-aware enough to know that he would have followed many a female royal for the sake of his daughter’s future, and overlooked many a problem on the way, but he was relieved that it was not necessary.

As if summoned by his thought, he heard footsteps and looked up to see the young lady approaching. Margaret must have found her in the short time since they had parted, and had taken position at her shoulder, like a loyal knight. He was certain the gesture would not be lost on any observers.

"Father.” Lady Kiara dipped her head, a smile on her face. It even reached her eyes. “Duke Bluegrass.”

“Kiara.” Lord Lyns nodded at her. His brows drew together to form a small line, and he did not quite manage a sincere smile.

Yes, there was certainly some trouble. As the duke smiled and returned the lady’s greetings, he considered how deep this apparent rift might reach, and how much it might grow.

“Is there any news from the enemy encampment?” he asked to distract from it.

“Yes, in fact. I was just about to call for you to discuss them.” Lord Lyns’ gaze shifted to the side for a moment, before he refocused on the maps in front of him. “We have received word that they are still sitting in their current position, rearming and preparing to resume the offensive.”

“Still?” Lady Kiara frowned at the map.

“Yes.” Lord Lyns’ tone was just this side of curt. “That is not what I meant by news, however. I have received a spy report that Nicholas, that snake, has received an important visitor. Our informant was not able to tell why in particular this visitor was of such importance; apparently, they have not spread any information regarding her background.”

“That is odd,” he commented, carefully keeping his tone even. “What do we know about her?”

“According to our spy, she has quite the ‘aura of power’.” Lord Lyns sent a disgruntled look at the poor baron, who had presumably brought this news. “She must be high-leveled. Perhaps even at level 80 or higher, it appears.”

There was a small silence as everyone considered this assessment. “How come we haven’t heard of someone like that being in the area before?” Lady Kiara finally asked.

Her father sighed. “She must be a newcomer. A visitor from far abroad. I am not certain why she chose to visit now, of all times, but I suspect it may have something to do with our Hivekind friends. In either case, that is not the only thing — apparently, she looks like an elf, but with dark skin. And white hair, though she does not appear to be quite that old.”

“A dark elf?” Lady Kiara raised an eyebrow. “I have to admit, I was never sure if they actually existed.”

Lord Lyns gave her a dark look, then shook his head. “Neither was I, to be perfectly honest. And yet, here we are now.”

“How did the king or his lords react to her? Was she an honored guest, a potential source of help, or someone they didn’t want to be near but couldn’t offend?”

Lord Lyns looked at the messenger and raised an eyebrow, but the fellow simply shrugged eloquently.

“There was one other thing,” he added after a moment, frowning in obvious thought. “She was escorted by a party of what looked like Delvers, although that is not certain. They had the same sort of equipment and weapons, but they might simply be prosperous mercenaries or adventurers. Or perhaps soldiers of wherever she came from.”

He shared a look with Lady Kiara and could see she was thinking the same thing as he was. Things might just have gotten more complicated.

“Interesting,” Lord Lyns mused. “I wonder — It does seem like the Hivekind are a little distracted and on edge lately, doesn’t it? Kiara?”

Lady Kiara frowned. “It does, I suppose, Father,” she said hesitantly.

Lord Lyns sighed again and kneaded the bridge of his nose. “Find out what they know, if anything,” he ordered her. “Lean on your contact, if necessary.”

There was a glint in Lady Kiara’s eyes, but she simply bowed her head. “Yes, Father.”