Lord Cadacus sat on his uncomfortable chair and wished deeply to be anywhere else. The throne room was a beautiful place furnished with the grandest artworks and masterly crafted goods, how quickly he had come to despise it. The empty throne loomed behind him, as hard to ignore as ever. He could be home with his lute in front of a warm fire with a drop of spiced wine but instead, he was here listening to supplicants pleas for assistance. Almost without exception, he had to tell them no. The position of regent had been deliberately crippled in its authority. Any rules or measures he enacted could be stopped dead if enough titled lords protested and those that did make it through would only last as long as he did. If someone took the throne or another regent took his place every ruling he made would be instantly rendered void. These were the rules of the position. Everything he did was meant to be temporary and that was only if it didn't offend too many lords. This was especially troublesome since most of the lords were a touchy lot that reacted poorly to anything that came close to affecting them. Thus instead of spending his time at home, he spent his time answering earnest pleas for aid with explanations that he could not do anything. There was a subtle pain in trying to explain to people how ineffectual you were. But by constant repetition that pain stopped being subtle and became torturous. He would rather be anywhere else, even in the nightmarish Broken North, anywhere but in this chair sitting next to the throne.

When it came to his turn the next petitioner stepped up and bowed to the vacant throne as was tradition before turning to address Cadacus. It was Lord Bulocos, one of many claimants to the throne. He wasn't a complete fool but he wasn't anywhere close to as smart as he believed himself to be. Every word he spoke had a condescending tone to it, clearly indicating how much he looked down on the 'less intelligent' people around him. He was draped in finery, jewellery and excessive displays of wealth. Yet of the claimants, he was Cadacus's favourite. He tended to be predictable and easily manipulated which made him one of the few claimants Cadacus could actually use. It was a difficult task to stop Relaic sliding into civil war and Cadacus had few tools and scant real authority available to him. Bulocos was one of the wealthier lords still in Relaic and he made a great check on the influence of the other claimants. All it took was a little encouragement and he'd race to butt heads with the other lords.

"My lord regent, I have a proposal in regards to the problem of the growing slums outside our gates. As you know the ongoing 'problems' in Vouran are flooding us with refugees many of whom are magically impotent with short lines and limited understanding of the arcane. The capable stayed in Vouran and we get the helpless rejects fleeing the violence. This is causing the slums to explode in size. It's a breeding ground for disaffection and disease. But even worse since line length is hereditary by allowing these rejects in we weaken the future citizens of Relaic! We've lost too many of our most powerful to Jeklein treachery. We were once a nation famed for our powerful magic users but we've been robbed of that honour and that power. We'll never rise to those heights again if we let weakness fester now. I have a number of troops under my house's employ. Simply say the word and we shall help clean these slums from the city and force these rejects out of Raliec. What say you, lord regent?"

Cadacus couldn't help but scowl. Bulocos's opinions on the lower classes and people with short lines were well known. Cadacus himself didn't hold the slum dwellers in high regard. But he had to understand how terrible the consequences of what he was suggesting was, didn't he? Looking into the plump lord's eyes Cadacus saw only eagerness. He truly believed in everything he was saying and somehow thought what he was suggesting was a good idea. Cadacus was going to have to burn one of the few remaining bridges left to him to keep the peace. How long till there was no one left who didn't think of him merely as an obstacle to the throne.

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"Lord Bulocos, I can not sanction your proposition. The answer is no. Do not send your men into the slums,"

The lords couldn't protest him not doing something. The veto was one of the few effective things he could actually do. But using it shut down lords activities made him few friends. Bulocos's expression darkened and his fists clenched.

"There is the new festival to be held soon and a visit from the Narellian prince. You can't seriously think to-"

"Do not send your men into the slums," Cadacus repeated, his tone sharp.

Bulocos gritted his teeth but realised arguing would get him nowhere.

"You're a failure of a caretaker," he hissed "You're going to let Relaic weaken and fall,"

Cadacus watched with a heavy heart as Bulocos stormed out. A card had been removed from his already weak hand. Bulocos would not listen to him after this, he would not be as easy to manipulate, he held onto his grudges. Had some else grabbed his strings or had he decided to take this course of action on his own? For Cadacus it felt like he was a punching bag being pummeled by every minor lord and lady in Relaic. He was the target of every scheme by everyone with a single mote of ambition and had to face them with his hands tied behind his back. He asked his assistant to dismiss the other petitioners as he sank into melancholy. He couldn't stop it, the slide into chaos that had broken Vouran was going to happen in Relaic and he didn't have the tools to stop it. Though looking at it, it hadn't been thanks to his efforts that Relaic had stayed peaceful these five years following the Undying Empress's defeat. It was the spectre of the Obsidian Witch that had kept the claimants in line. The fear of her wrath had kept them from trying anything destructive. But as time dragged on with no sign of her that fear was melting away and the claimants to the throne edged closer to resolving their disagreements with spells and violence. From there, things would progress much the same as they had in Vouran. There were too many claimants and the most legitimate among would have been laughed out of the palace had they voiced their claim before the Jeklein assassins had struck. The ties that bound them to the royal line were thin and little more than empty excuses for their ambitions. None of them had pulled ahead in support either and they all squabbled with and hated each other. With all the real viable heirs dead and countless powerful mages slain the Jeklein assassins had done their work well. Relaic had been dealt a blow that could well destroy it, even with the fall of the empress.

Cadacus could do nothing. He truly was a failure as a caretaker of the Relaic nation. He could do nothing but sit and watch as its violent demise grew closer. He had the best seat to view it all happen which was why he hated it. He hated sitting there, he hated his impotence, he hated the gorgeous tapestries adorning the throne room depicting the glorious past of Relaic, a past he could never do justice. He needed the Obsidian Witch. At the very least he needed to know what had happened to her. She had become a folk hero and saviour to the populace and far outstripped many of the most potent historical Relaician magic users in magical power. Whoever earned her loyalty would be unassailable. Her support would practically guarantee someone the throne while ensuring that the other claimants would accept the result, they'd have to. She could stabilise Relaic.

But that was assuming she was still alive.