The capital city of the greatest empire in the world, Dardano, was named after its legendary founder Dardan. Massive walls surrounded the city, preventing attack from land, while the docks on the river Rubo ensured connection to the rest of the world. The city was the largest and grandest in the world, and, unlike most other cities, comprised almost entirely of solid stone buildings. Mansions and small palaces were everywhere, homes of powerful noble patros families. On hills in the center of the city was the massive complex of buildings that together formed the Trigon Palace, the home of the Imperial Family. It loomed over the rest of the city, always reminding them of who ruled the empire. And within the palace, in one of the grandest wings, sat one of the most powerful people in the empire, the handsome and popular Second Prince Cordelian.

Second Prince Cordelian's father, His Imperial Exaltedness the Doukar of the Dardano Empire, was dead, so he must not smile. Above all, he must not smile, no matter how much he wanted to. He found it difficult to restrain himself, given that his father was finally gone, an event he had long wished for. The night after the Great Bell had rung out, marking the death of his father, he had been so delighted he'd jumped around his chamber like a small child. But his guests today expected a somber expression, so with difficulty he plastered one onto his face.

Cordelian was, as usual at this time of day, in his audience chamber, wearing the gold circlet that marked his office as Eukrates, the person in charge of all imperial affairs that did not concern the military, a position second only to the Doukar. Unfortunately, joint second with the Milem, the supreme general of the empire, but he had designs on changing this. He made sure that his audience chamber was more luxurious and impressive than the Milem's, providing a more forceful impression on supplicants of his power and influence. Golden tripods provided heat, large windows let in ample light, and the furnishings were of the very highest quality, particularly the massive table behind which he now sat and used for his work. Sometimes, when he was alone, or as alone as someone as important as him could be, he would slip off his shoes and sink his bare feet into the luxurious carpet beneath him. The carpet was an import from far off Bithia and cost more than his slaves. Being in this chamber, with all its reminders of what he had achieved, always put him in a good mood, so he was often complimented for his graciousness towards visitors.

He was used to smiling at everyone, and it took a great deal of effort to keep his mournful face in place, due to both habit and the feelings in his own breast. The opportunities it presented! It wasn't very filial of him, but then he knew for a fact that among all eight of his living siblings there wasn't one of them feeling real grief over the Doukar's death. Even the Mekos – heir apparent – Fornulus, was feeling sorrier for himself than for his father. Fortunately, the terrible poetry Cordelian was presently obliged to listen to made it easier to keep a suitably pained expression.

The poet had a pompous expression on his face as he recited his overwrought lament. He was reading it from a wax tablet (the man hadn't even had the good taste to copy it onto parchment for this visit) and looking off into the distance as he spoke. Was he supposed to be looking at his father's spirit in the underworld? Cordelian was tempted to get up and wave his hand in the man's eyeline.

"Lament, children of Dardan, for our Emperor is dead!

Woe for the Empire of Dardan, for our Emperor is dead!

Who now shall guide us with his strong hand?"

On and on it went in that vein, line after simplistic, crushingly unsubtle line. If Cordelian had to hear any more of this mediocre tripe he really would start weeping. He raised his gloved hand to gesture to the poet to stop, for the love of Oma, and the man stumbled to an abrupt halt. The poet and his sponsor, an important member of the powerful patros class, had come to see him, seeking his approval for the man's wretched poetry. The poet, a man of some reputation, apparently unearned, was the leading contender to produce the elegy for the deceased Doukar. If the poem (and poet) met with royal approval, the poet would attend and recite his work at the funeral ceremony, and have his poem engraved on the royal tomb. This obviously brought a great deal of honor and lasting fame to the chosen poet; Cordelian knew this mediocre man had seen off many rivals to be standing before him today. Ultimately, Cordelian didn’t care about the quality of the poem, all that mattered was the quality of the sponsor, and this buffoon had somehow managed to procure an exceptionally fine one. Cordelian never missed a chance to have a patros in his debt.

Traditionally speaking it should have been Fornulus' task as the eldest child and Mekos, the heir, to choose the poem, but Fornulus was having trouble keeping up with the preparations for his coronation, so he'd begged his younger brother, Second Prince Cordelian, to deal with this tiresome task. Nobody raised too many eyebrows at this as the Eukrates would often take over various duties for the Doukar, particularly cultural concerns. Cordelian planned to take many tasks from his brother's overworked hands, although this was one of the more tedious ones. None of royal siblings cared what kind of poem went on the old bastard's tomb.

Cordelian glanced over at Euphastolon, his younger brother. Euphastolon, the Third Prince, had shown up at his audience chamber just prior to the poet's entrance and was now standing off to the side, staring out of the window. Cordelian couldn't blame him. The Eukrates' audience chamber was in one of the Trigon palace's spires, and the wide windows captured a delightful panoramic city view and a cool breeze coming in from the river. Cordelian often spent time looking out of the windows himself, contemplating the city below that one day would be his.

Euphastolon was technically his half-brother. Their father had taken multiple spouses, which was the Doukar's right, since Doukar Ephrasmus had changed the law some two hundred and fifty years ago. Cordelian was closer to Euphastolon than his own older full sister Theodorian. Five Empresses, five branches of the imperial family, nine royal children still living, of which Cordelian was the third oldest. Euphastolon was the fifth oldest, which was one of the things Cordelian liked best about him. Theodorian, in contrast, had the poor manners to be second oldest.

Euphastolon's face was mostly hidden by the tall collar of his yellow robe, embroidered with the chrysanthemum design of his mother, which made it hard for Cordelian to judge his mood. Yellow was the color of Euphastolon's branch of the royal family, chosen by his mother, Third Empress Rigiaron. Euphastolon didn't like it, moaning often that yellow was a weak color, and that flowers weren't manly, and made boorish comparisons of the yellow color to other...things. Euphastolon didn't think much of Cordelian's olive green or olive tree sigil for that matter either, since it was still a plant. Cordelian felt the olive green suited his complexion, but then, most things suited him. He was tall, handsome, and charming, whereas Euphastolon's appearance was unremarkable in every way, and his manners were abominable. They made an odd match, but Euphastolon had his uses, and Cordelian preferred to keep a close eye on the unpredictable and volatile Third Prince.

Behind Cordelian stood his dear ward and closest attendant, Agathio, providing support simply with his presence, as always. Cordelian's dearest friend and mentor had begged Cordelian to take his son in on his deathbed. At the time Cordelian had done it only out of respect and love for the man, but it had turned out to be one of the best choices he had ever made, as Agathio developed into an extravagantly competent aide.

Cordelian looked up at the poet and the patros, to deliver his verdict on the poem. It annoyed him that poet didn't look nervous at all in the presence of the Second Prince and Eukrates, in his personal audience chamber no less (did he not notice the enormous tapestry depicting the victory over Gisean behind him? Most likely it cost more than his entire hometown), and instead appeared annoyed at being interrupted. The man's ego was greater than his talent by a large margin. Really he wasn't of a high enough rank to even meet with Cordelian. Centuries ago Mekos the Magnificent had split the subjects of the empire into two classes: those of high birth became the patros, and those of low the noumens. This man was only a lower class noumens, and had one of those one syllable noumens names that Cordelian had already banished from his memory. Pax or Poug or Pig, something like along those lines. He decided to call the man "Pig" in his head from now on.

"It is a glorious tribute to my father, His Imperial Exaltedness, and I'm sure all the empire will be moved to tears by a tribute of this quality." He said, hiding his annoyance at the man's attitude.

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"Thank you, Your Highness. If I might add, a later portion is even more impressive." Pig had a slightly superior expression.

"I have no doubt, but to be honest, I find myself quite overcome at this time." Cordelian lowered his gaze, pretending to be grief stricken.

"Of course Your Highness," this time the sponsor spoke up, a man of finer breeding than this peasant. "How insensitive of us. Please accept our apologies."

"Indeed." Pig seemed mollified by the thought that his dreck was just too moving for Cordelian to contemplate in his grief. "I am truly sorry for your – our – loss, and deeply honored to have garnered such a reaction."

Pig turned to the other member of the Imperial family present.

"Perhaps Prince Euphastolon wishes to offer some words of praise?"

Euphastolon, Third Prince of Dardanos, turned his head, but otherwise remained motionless, to state in a perfect monotone, "no, I'm too sad."

Ah, sarcasm usually indicated that Euphastolon was in a good mood. Putting people down was one of his favorite pastimes. One of his more harmless pastimes.

Before the visitors could react, Cordelian smoothly interjected, "I would be delighted to give my approval for this piece to be performed at the funeral ceremony and inscribed onto the tomb. I will inform the Mekos, Prince Fornulus. I'm sure you understand that he is very busy with preparations for his coronation at the moment, otherwise he would have been overjoyed to be here."

Since they'd gotten what they wanted, it wasn't hard to herd the Patros and his pet pig out with a few kind words. It would be difficult to listen to all of the poem at the funeral, but the fact that it was his father's funeral should lift his mood sufficiently to make it bearable.

Once they had left, Euphastolon slumped down into the chair across from Cordelian, where the patros has just been sitting. He was utterly unconcerned about the wrinkles he must be inducing in his robes by slouching in this manner. Cordelian tried not to let it bother him, after all, his brother's slovenliness only made him shine all the brighter in comparison. Agathio silently placed a wax tablet in front of him and laid out his stylus. Cordelian began to use them to write his recommendation on the poem, which his elder brother would use to make his official judgment. Which would be the same as his, as always.

"What a pompous ass." Euphastolon said. "And he's the leading poet of the Empire now? Hardly the next Tarcassian."

Cordelian chuckled without looking up. "Perhaps Eudoxora is right, and we are truly a nation of epigones." He liked to mention philosophers and other scholars in conversation with Euphastolon, who couldn't stand their work because he didn't understand any of it. Just a little way of making Euphastolon remember which of them was the more intelligent.

"He even left out how dear old Dad died while shitting his guts out in the latrine, which, I might add, was my favorite part!" Euphastolon was as pleased as he was to see the end of their father. "I tell you Cordy, it makes me wonder about other history we've learnt. Did Dardan actually die from the clap rather than fighting off a thousand savage barbarian warriors? Was Leandoria actually a coward and ran off with a foreign boy rather than die for her ideals?"

Euphastolon knew how much he hated "Cordy" and only used it to try to get a rise out of him, a hobby of sorts for Euphastolon, as Cordelian was one of the few who wasn't affected by his jibes. Sometimes Cordelian wondered if their odd friendship started with Euphastolon hanging around him in desperation to shake his legendary composure.

"The winners write history, as always." He simply said.

"Is that what our father was, a winner? He was a right old bastard if you ask me. Never had a kind word for me, didn't give a damn about any of us. I hope he's stuffed in some deep dark hole in the afterlife like that bit of Tarcassian says, you know the one. 'Course, it'd be hard to get that big fat gut of his in a small hole." Euphastolon laughed.

Cordelian didn't reply to his brother's rambling and instead concentrated on finishing his recommendation for the eulogy poem, focusing on the sound of the scratching of his meteoric iron and gold gilt stylus on the wax tablet. It was one of his most prized possessions and immeasurably valuable. A gift from his youngest brother Pelagius. It took some time to finish all the required salutations and various formalities, wasted time since his oafish elder brother could barely read. His sister Meronion was right though that the ceremonial forms were important. Once he had finished, he snapped the ivory and gold diptych shut, and handed it off to Agathio, who promptly left the room to deliver it to Fornulus.

After a moment of silence, Euphastolon looked over to him. Cordelian looked back expressionless, idly twirling his stylus.

"Well?" Euphastolon asked, now that he was alone with Cordelian. You didn't get away with what Euphastolon regularly got away with without being cautious.

"Something on your mind Euphastolon?" He knew perfectly well. He knew how Euphastolon's mind worked. He wasn't a man given to subtlety, just cunning and malice.

"You're not really going to let that baboon of an elder brother of ours take the Thirty Crowns for himself, are you?"

"Euphastolon, you must address the future Doukar was more respect. Of course elder brother Fornulus will become the Forty-Seventh Doukar, the Thirty Crowned Imperial Exaltedness of Dardanos, Champion of the One True Faith, Ruler of the Melancthon Sea, Who Gazes upon the Rubiborne Forest and the Cansimar Desert, and All that Lies Between. He is the Mekos, the heir to the empire, and so must ascend now."

"You'd think hearing that whole mouthful of titles would have gotten less boring by now, but you'd be wrong."

Cordelian smiled before providing the actual answer. "Fornulus's ascension doesn't concern me. What interests me is the question of who shall be the Forty-Eighth Doukar."

Euphastolon was one of the very few people he would be this honest with. His younger brother, while a violent and selfish sadist, had the useful traits of being utterly without scruple, secretive, and of being aware that he was not able to outmaneuver Cordelian. As long as that last fact did not change, Cordelian could find many uses for Euphastolon. Crucially, Euphastolon had a number of friendships with certain unsavory elements in the military, who shared some of his more despicable lusts and appreciated being allowed to indulge in them with the prince. He could call on these soldiers to do unspeakable deeds if Cordelian had use of them. Euphastolon's popularity with the military was nothing compared to Meronion's, the beloved Milem who inspired all that was most admirable in the soldiers, of course, but he had always had a talent for sniffing out the rotten members in any given organization.

Euphastolon sighed dramatically, although Cordelian could tell he was pleased with the prospect of any kind of upheaval, being a man who thrived on chaos. Euphastolon put on an imitation of Cordelian himself, adopting a pious expression and Cordelian's more circuitous manner of speaking. "It pains me to bring to your attention, most virile second brother Eukrates Cordelian, two salient pieces of information."

"Indeed?"

"First," Euphastolon began to raise his fingers, "Fornulus already has children. Therefore, once they crown the old baboon, there's already a new Mekos, and a couple of spares at that for good measure. Secondly, even if some painful accident were to befall our beloved elder brother and his horrible spawn, our sister Theodorian is also older than you and therefore would be the Forty-Eighth Doukar."

Euhpastolon sunk further into the chair with his hands behind his head. "It would thus seem that your chances of claiming the crowns are slim, most hirsute and masculine brother of mine. Look at the bright side though: the Stone of Doukar is a legendarily uncomfortable chair."

Cordelian's smile broadened. Euphastolon wanted him to say it. "I've found that with patience, all sorts of opportunities can present themselves. And if not, well, I've always had a knack for creating them."

Euphastolon smiled. "And Meronion?"

Cordelian sat back comfortably. Meronion, Euphastolon's older full-sister and fourth oldest child of their father, was his most formidable obstacle. Her position as Milem, commander of all the military, equaled his own as Eukrates, and her popularity with the military equaled his own popularity with the patros. She was a hero who had led the empire to victory many times. He would have to be careful with her. He had, however, a vital advantage over her in that he was older than her, and thus higher in the line of succession.

"Meronion is a traditionalist, and that makes her predictable and limited. She only ever sees half the picture," he said.

Euphastolon chuckled in appreciation of his mockery of their one-eyed sister.

Cordelian continued in a more serious way. "She would hate to move against the blood of the Doukar, which means as long as we don't move too openly, she won't act directly against us. Furthermore, she will be loath to usurp the line of succession."

"I couldn't help but notice that "I" has since become "us". Since when am I going to help you? What do I get out of it?" Euphastolon asked.

Cordelian smiled, unconcerned. There was no real chance of Euphastolon helping Fornulus or Meronion instead of him, not those "killjoys" as he liked to put it. He just wanted assurances that he would get some reward for assisting Cordelian in his plotting.

"But of course, I'm relying on your faithful help Euphastolon – "two in unity can surpass one in might", as Tarcassian said. I would be lost without your expert prudential reasoning. Something I'll be sure to remember once the crowns are mine."

"Yeah, yeah, just make sure it's worth my while." Euphastolon said, seemingly satisfied, for now, by Cordelian reiterating his value.

"Hasn't following me always been worth your while?"

"I wonder how the rest of our siblings will act. I suppose Ophelion and the youngest pair won't be a problem, but Nikolonium hates both of us you know. Perhaps he'll get in the way." Nikolonium had made clear his moralizing dislike of them both. Euphastolon returned that dislike heartily. Still, Nikolonium was only sixth oldest.

Cordelian made a wry smile. "That boy isn't even worth thinking about. You can just step on him if he gets too many ideas."

Euphastolon smiled. "Promise?"