The negotiations didn't go as planned.
First, they wouldn't start; now they won't end.
Konrad's illusion map became a battlefield of greedy nobles to argue over. He tried his best to mediate between his subjects, but they turned on him and each other in no time flat.
"If your cousin didn't invade my fiefs two decades ago, we wouldn't be talking about this."
"Those're lands your grandfather stole. We won't reach an agreement until you give them back."
"And who'll pay the reparations for what the Church had done? For the countless lives lost, the missed harvests, and whatever they stole. These aren't things we'd forget anytime soon."
And he thought the peddlers were a tough crowd. At least they listened to reason.
Surviving the Inquisitor should've taught his vassals to band together.
He expected a celebration. How the hell did his father unite this rabble under one banner?
Including the tribes that the locals seemed to hate more than he expected.
They didn't care about fairness or efficiency.
What they knew about organizing lands was that they wanted the largest share of them. But only if it was at the expense of their neighbors.
The temple echoed with generational rivalries and family feuds.
Things he could do nothing about—nor was he willing to.
But to become a duke, he had to deal with them somehow.
Which—considering he wasn't a duke yet—was all the more difficult.
"What an obnoxious bunch," Konrad groaned once retreating out of their earshot. "Here I was offering them extra land and a better system, and they want a bite out of each other instead."
"The struggles of a ruler," Helena smirked. "At least you only have a few vassals to manage."
That few meant two dozen families and retainers locked in a shouting match inside the temple.
Their echoes made his head ache—and he wasn't the only one.
Stella's steel-blue eyes looked more troubling with every passing minute.
Konrad waved Father Alastair closer before she could turn people into ice statues.
"Go find the remaining silver bracelets, because I'll need them soon." That was a blatant lie, but it was good enough to get them out of the way. "Take her with you and be careful."
The corrupt ol' priest bowed, happy with the request, even if he suspected something.
It was hard to miss the hostile glances the nobles shot at them. Who knew how many the blonde tomboy tortured before—and now she was losing her mind hearing them argue.
"Any advice from a royalty?" Konrad turned to Helena once they left, but she shook her head.
"I only observe," the princess said, but couldn't help a smirk. "Take good care of your subjects."
Well, of course, because everything had to be a damned test with her around.
"I take it, imprisoning them all is not the right solution?" he asked, rolling his eyes.
It was obvious that it would not work—most of them had been in the catacombs until recently.
But, well, this was a grave he dug for himself by his obsession with neat borders.
"Ugly reminder that our kingdom is not a democracy—and for a reason," Helena pointed out.
Fair. He tried to improve everyone's standing and give them more or less a free hand at how they dealt with things. But they were more interested in petty rivalries than their own good.
"Do I even have the right to force a deal onto them?" Konrad was grasping at straws.
And he wanted to live his life fighting tyrants—now he considered becoming one.
That absolute control he craved? Nowhere in damn sight.
"Most of them are below you in the hierarchy, whether you're a duke or not," the princess explained. "The right to order them is yours—but so will be the fallout if they're dissatisfied."
"They'd overthrow me, or what?"
"It happens once or twice every generation," Helena shrugged. "And it is tradition that the king doesn't intervene in local squabbles. Your father's case was uglier than most, though."
"His case? But he wasn't—"
Konrad wanted to say, but realized halfway through that he was—by the Church.
"Why?" was all he could ask. "I never got to the bottom of that story."
"For most of the lords that you see here today, Lord Erwin was an evil, godless man who slept with the tribes. He stopped their righteous genocide, and they called in the Church to help."
"What?!" Konrad yelled way louder than he meant to.
If not for the bickering on the other side of the column, the nobles might've noticed it, too.
He had to take a few steps, pacing up and down to process those words.
"Oh boy, you don't know much about your family, do you?" Helena said, shaking her head.
"Nothing at all," he admitted, keeping his voice low. "Until twelve, I was an orphan in a small village, to that old priest you saw leaving. Then he said these birthmarks had a meaning."
He held up his left arm, the triangle of moles that kicked off his adventures still visible.
"Well, he served the Church after all," the princess pondered. "He must've thought keeping you in the dark about your heritage was the safest bet."
"It was—until I met Captain Vargas in Aset," Konrad reminisced.
Right. It wasn't that mundane triangle on his hand.
It was the old schemer who got him into this mess.
"All I wanted was to learn magic from the Green Mage. And then boom, I was a noble, facing trials and quests to prove myself." Which he did in flying colors, and still—
"That part still bugs me, Konrad von Halstadt," Helena interjected.
She studied his face from up close, and he couldn't help but avert her gaze.
"How exactly did you learn magic, when—as far as my spies reported—you never actually met the Green Mage?" the princess asked, and dealing with bickering nobles seemed trivial now.
"From, uh—books?" he mumbled.
He didn't want to oust Zoltan—and wondered how he was doing these days. After that fallout—
"In a month, you went from never seeing magic to clearing a greater dungeon," Helena pointed out. "And most geniuses take years to master a simple spell under real tutelage."
Was this an interrogation? Again?
"Master is the Prodigy of Haiten," Eyna rushed to the rescue.
He wanted to kiss her—then, remembering that he actually did, not so long ago, started blushing instead. The princess only spared her a glance, waving her off with a shrug.
"If so, then why does he struggle reining in a few mouthy minor nobles?" she asked.
Why indeed.
"As I said, I never met my parents. Never received a noble's tutelage. And wasn't brought up with dealing with this kind of shit in mind—but do excuse my rudeness," he said.
Was he upset? Sure. Did it warrant swearing at a royalty?
It felt great at the moment, but, as opposed to his earlier yell, this drew the attention of the entire hall. Damned echoes. He didn't notice how the acoustics changed as he paced around.
Before he could shrink into the ground in shame, a surge of determination washed over him.
Why would he feel ashamed? If anything, it was time to double down.
"That's right," he said, facing the crowd. "The king needed someone to rule in his name and protect his people from grave danger. I was not prepared for this petty squabble before me."
Once the echoes of his words died down, the temple fell more silent than ever.