Golan sat in his study, hosting his cousin who was seated across the table from him. They were both cradling crystal goblets, two of Golan’s prized possessions. The crystal was made in the remnants of the Veti Empire by an ancient family, and it cost him a generous ransom for a small set.

Golan sipped on his wine. It was the best he could find in his cramped cellar, where he mostly kept grain stockpiled for a rainy day. He wouldn’t let his people starve if that rainy day came, or so he hoped. He could only store so much. Perhaps it was worth putting some coin into a small granary, though it wouldn’t come cheap.

Harold Zesh wasn’t a bad man in Golan’s eyes. His Lord father had been much more dismissive, and sometimes cruel. Harold at least kept their relationship cordial most of the time, though he didn’t remove all formality between them. He kept a certain distance to denote his station. Still, he made Golan feel attached to the family, even if from a distance. When Golan had first received his fief, Harold had offered to assist him in its administration. Of course, Golan had politely refused his offer, as it would have certainly come with strings.

Harold sipped his wine and nodded, offering a single word. “Good.”

Golan nodded. His curiosity, or perhaps his alarm, was nudging him to ask, though. His cousin wouldn’t come all the way from the other side of the Kingdom for nothing. “It’s a long way you’ve come here, cousin,” Goland said. “Is something the matter?”

Harold sipped again on his wine, delaying his answer and keeping Golan’s nerves taut. The Lord chuckled. “Am I and mine heavy guests, cousin?”

A deflection. Harold was attempting to bring an important matter up, but he wanted to have the initiative. Golan had to respond though. “Of course not, Harold. You are always welcome. This is your second home.” He gave his cousin a stony stare, leaving the rest unsaid. But why are you here? His cousin didn’t waste his efforts and time on pleasantries. He wouldn’t come here for a purposeless visit, not that anyone would cross such a distance for no purpose.

Harold looked into his cup, then his eyes sharpened as he raised them to meet Golan’s. “The House needs your support,” he said. “Can we rely on you?”

Golan didn’t immediately answer him. That was a trap, not a question. He wouldn’t give his support before he knew what he was supporting. That, in itself, was a responsibility that he must abide by. Though he began thinking about what he was in a position to support. It was unlikely that the main House wanted a mediation with any of the local Houses here in the southeast. That left only two things. House Zesh wanted their assistance with something on the Kingdom's borders, or they wanted Golan’s word in the King’s ear.

Finding his question unanswered, Harold continued. “To answer your question, dear cousin. We didn’t ride here from Locanda. We were in Arpague, and I thought it might be fortuitous to visit family.”

“Of course,” Golan said, his face still neutral. If his cousin wasn’t being clear with him, then he wouldn’t spare any more pleasantries. If he wanted his aid, then he at least had to be honest.

Harold nodded. “The King will be announcing his heir soon. You should expect a summons perhaps a year or two from now.”

That got Golan’s attention. By custom, the King’s heir should be his eldest son. Yet that could change if the King saw wisdom in naming another of his sons an heir. If the eldest was named heir, and there was no contention, then the matter would be a formality. Word would get to the vassals of the realm, and one by one they would visit the capital to assure the King of their fealty. Yet a summons meant something else.

“What do you know?” Golan asked.

“The King is favoring the second Prince for his throne,” Harold said. He took another sip from his goblet, observing Golan’s surprise. “It is in our House’s interest that tradition be kept. If the King’s closest allies were to remind him of the weight of said tradition, it would prevent a lot of difficulties in court.”

Golan was as surprised as he was unsurprised. The eldest Prince wasn’t the wisest man he’d met. In fact, some of the King’s two-faced courtiers called him a fool outright, only when they were out of earshot of course. However, a decision like this wouldn’t come easy. The King would have to make preparations, including summoning the nobles of the realm and entrapping them with an obligation to their future King, the second Prince.

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Golan sighed. “It’s my responsibility to serve whichever King ascends the throne. It is not my place to burden the King with my opinions.”

Harold nodded, but then gave him a serious look. “And is it not also your responsibility to bear your obligations to the family? This is a dire matter for House Zesh, cousin.”

“So it isn’t a dire matter for the Duke first and foremost?” Golan said. Duke Elmere was the Lord of Arpage, and he had always been at odds with the King. The borders weren’t the only reason so many landed knights had been placed in the south. The King wanted assurances that he had a grip on this end of the Kingdom.

A few years ago, the Duke had miraculously managed to secure a marriage with the heir apparent. His daughter had been wed to the first Prince, but it seemed that the King had outplayed the Duke. He had never intended for the first Prince to take his throne after him.

“There’s no shame in entwining our interest with those of the Duke’s,” Harold said. “If it serves the House, then it serves the House. If our interests align with another’s, then we unite. It’s almost a tradition in itself by now.”

Golan sighed. He eyed his cousin who was poised, even if he was beseeching. He had to admire him. The House had been better for his efforts since he’d taken the seat of Lord. “You know why such a decision weighs heavier on me than you, Harold,” Golan said, softening. “If I were to support one Prince and his rival was to ascend the throne, then I would be in an unenviable position with a King that has no trust nor love for me. I would have to pass that onto my son, who…has to contend with his own difficulties.”

“I understand your reservations, Golan,” Harold said. “Yet, I would not be here if this wasn’t an important matter for House Zesh. Even if–Ah, that reminds me, I have secured Lucan a place in the Trial, at no expense of course.”

That gave Golan pause. The Trial was mainly for mages. House Elmere had been fortunate generations ago, finding a unique device in the depths of the Labyrinth. Its purpose had been unknown for years, but eventually, it had been discovered. It cost a bounty of mythril dust mined from the dangerous Labyrinth to power it, but it would reward those who distinguished themselves in its Trial, mostly with enhancements to Spirit or with Vital Orbs. It was essential for most mages to get such an opportunity. Yet his cousin had gone and provided it for his son, who wasn’t even a caster.

There was no harm, however, as House Elmere itself had administered the Trial to their family members even if they were no mages. The benefits were undebatable, since they came without any risk. The Trial itself wouldn’t take long, just a day. He knew that Harold did this to indebt him, even if such a debt wasn’t of enough weight to change his mind, it was enough to make him rethink matters.

Unexpected small gestures of generosity like this were what made his cousin affable to him. They were often unexpected and intermittent so as not to be mistaken for an obligation.

“Thank you, Harold,” Golan said honestly. He was grateful. Anything that would assist Lucan was valuable now. His son might not be a great warrior, but Golan had faith in him. He would learn, just like he had, even if he wasn’t born with the same amount of talent.

“There are no thanks between family,” Harold said, then he leaned in, speaking softly. “I know this isn’t a simple matter, Golan. But it could change everything. Your father’s dying wish might not be so far-fetched if the first Prince ascends the throne.”

Golan’s neck stiffened. His father’s dying wish…It was one Golan could understand, even if he didn’t feel as much desire for it as his late father. To join the ranks of higher nobility, to be Lords. ‘Lord Golan Zesh’ his father had told him, saying the words with passion. Golan himself didn’t care for the title. More titles simply meant more responsibility for him. He wouldn’t neglect such responsibility of course, but the burden was already heavy. Others might only see opportunity in a higher station, but he wasn’t one to enjoy the fruit without caring for the tree.

Still, if opportunity presented itself, he wouldn’t deny his passed father his dying wish. Perhaps it would be up to Lucan to reap the rewards by then.

And as always, Golan’s cousin cornered him slowly into a decision, as if the man could read his mind. If responsibility to the family, gratitude for a favor, and opportunity to achieve a goal didn’t change his mind, what would?

And who in the Kingdom would accept the King blatantly ignoring tradition like this? The first Prince might be a fool, but not everyone knew that, and many didn’t care. It was likely that his own objection to the matter would only be one among many in the King’s camp, and that didn’t take into account the weight the Duke and his allies would bring to bear. Still, it was better to probe his cousin for assurances on that end.

“Very well, cousin,” Golan said. “I will make sure the King knows what I think of bypassing the heir apparent for the throne. However, a single knight’s opinion can only mean so much to the King...”

“That is all well, brother,” Harold said. “A hornet doesn’t build its nest alone.”