One of the heavy destriers nearby snorted , and reared up onto its hind legs, its shod hooves striking at the morning air as if seeking to splice it.

Laedio watched the beast with a low whistle, fascinated for a second or two by the raw fury of the animal, a faint smile lingering on his lips.

Basil, however, kept his eyes on his uncle. He could not bring himself to deny the man’s words; in a grim, practical sense, Laedio was right. Oizen was a den of brigands, and the common folk there were likely suffering for it. Yet, it unsettled him how much stomach his uncle had for the work. He had to remind himself that when he spoke of vermin, he meant the murderers, the cutthroats, and the outlaws who hid behind smallfolk skirts, not the innocent. Were it not for that distinction, Basil would have turned his back on him then and there. No matter the love he bore his uncle, cruelty for its own sake was a draft he could not and would not stomach.

He had seen what senseless harm it wrought during the campaign. And he knew he would eventually have to learn how to wield terror as a tool of statecraft. Of that he had no dreams of innocence of politics , nor the hubris to think that he would be the exception.

But there was a difference between using the executioner’s axe to cut a murder’s neck and loving the swing of it. A ruler had to be careful not to let his fingers grow too light on such a weapon, elsewhise one day it could very well be him waiting for its swing.

"I don’t think there is another man in the South who takes such pure pleasure in his labor as you, Uncle," Basil remarked, his voice tight, unsure of how else to answer.

"For a long time, I envied the others, you know?" Laedio’s smile faded slightly, a rare shadow of old bitterness crossing his features. "I wanted the high songs. I wanted to ride at the head of a proper legion, to find honor and glory in the open field where the banners wave. But a man must learn to love his own wares.

When the betrayer’s brat was stripped of his office and run out of the city, your father needed a man he could trust with his life to hold the keys. So, that was where I popped up." He shrugged, the easy humor returning to his eyes. "I resented the gutters for a time, lad. But I learned a valuable thing: if you are stuck doing a dirty job, you might as well learn to love the smell of shit"

"The world would be a quieter place if the all folks shared your philosophy, I believ—eegh." Basil choked on his own breath as Latio’s heavy, leather-gloved hand came down on his head, ruffling his hair into a tangled mess.

Basil stepped back, throwing his uncle a weary, thoroughly bothered glare as he ran his fingers through his hair to smooth it down.

"I believe your captains are calling for you, Uncle," Basil said. It was a flat lie, but he had lost his appetite for the conversation. "I’ll make sure to write to you while you’re away. I suppose I owe you my thanks, for tidying up my soon-to-be lordship of its filth before I even arrive to govern it." He gave a curt, formal nod, hoping to put an end to the matter.

But Laedio missed the cue. His laughter drew the eyes of a few passing wagoners. "Let them call! Let the bastards wait on me for once. And don’t look at me with those sour king’s eyes. I knew you when you were wetting your smallclothes." The commander leaned in, his tone dropping to a more serious, grounded pitch. "But you’re right about Oizen. It’s a rich land under all that blood. Once my blue cloaks have broken the fingers of every thief from here to the coast, you’ll inherit a province that knows how to kneel. Just make sure when you finally take the seat, you keep a heavy boot on their necks.When the cats are out , the mices tends to dance."

"I shall keep that in mind," Basil replied, his voice level, he may trust him for his skill at his work, though he certainly did not hold in high regard tending to his philosphy "Safe travels, Uncle. May the Father grant you clear roads, and may the Warrior give your men steady hands."

He turned on his heel, fully believing the business was finished, but before he had even made it half a turn, Laedio’s heavy hand clapped down on his shoulder, pulling him back.Once more.

It was becoming a bit of a fashion.

"Actually... I kinda have a favor to ask. Of you, specifically."

Basil blinked, caught off guard.

"Well... that is a first. Usually, men go to my father when they want a boon. You know, with him wearing the crown and all."

"Aye, but this is something only you can do, lad."

The words tickled something deep inside Basil’s chest. Pride. He puffed out his chest a fraction and raised his chin, trying to look every bit the prince his title claimed. "Well, since you came to me first, Uncle, I promise I shall listen. Name it."

Laedio’s usual booming confidence seemed to evaporate in an instant. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his leather boots scuffing the dirt, and reached up to scratch the back of his neck. For a man who could lead a hundred men into a dark cellar full of armed cutthroats without blinking, he looked remarkably small.

"It’s... well, it’s about Mesea," Latio started, his voice dropping so low it was nearly swallowed by the rattle of a passing supply cart. He looked away, his jaw working as if he were trying to swallow a piece of gristle. "You see... she’s... I don’t quite know how to put it."

Basil knew little and less of the girl. He knew she was Laedio’s adopted daughter, a quiet shadow who clung to his uncle’s cloak whenever she was permitted. She was a fiercely taciturn creature; Basil had never heard her speak a single full sentence, let alone speak in court. In truth, he couldn’t remember ever seeing her in the great hall unless she was tucked safely behind Laedio’s broad shoulders.

"What about her?" Basil asked, his pride giving way to curiosity.

"She’s a kind little thing, but she is... shy," Laedio said, his hand returning to Basil’s shoulder, though the grip was remarkably soft this time. "Extremely shy, Basil. She saw things, lived through things, in years when a girl should only know sweets and songs. She speaks very little. When she does, it’s only a whisper in my ear.No father should watch such thing and do nothing."

The commander looked down at his own heavy, calloused hands, his expression darkening. "The other highborn maids in the court... well, it’s better I don’t speak of them. They aren’t kind to a girl who doesn’t play their games. I think... I think she would go a long way if there was someone with her. Someone who isn’t an old, bloody soldier like me. She’s my daughter, you know?By king’s degree’’ He chuckled, thoughi it was a sad one ’’ The only one I’ll ever have, I think."

Basil looked at him, thoroughly confused by the sudden melancholy. "You are still young enough, Uncle. You could marry a lord’s daughter and get yourself a dozen—"

"She is the only child I’ll ever have, Basil. Trust me on that. I’ve made my peace with the gods on it already," Latio interrupted, a fleeting, sorrowful smile twisting his lips before it vanished. He cleared his throat, trying to shake off the gloom. "So... about my girl. If you could... I don’t know, extend a hand to her? Try to befriend her, maybe drag her into your sister’s playtime? And... perhaps you could explain things to Rosalind first, so the princess is prepared for Mesea’s... peculiarities? If you did that... well, you’d be doing me a great kindness, lad. A truly great one."

Basil didn’t even need to weigh the choice. The image of his fierce, fearsome uncle begging for a little girl’s happiness was more than enough to melt any lingering irritation.

"Of course, " Basil said, his voice softening.Really it was no big trouble, he was already sitting his own sister after all. "I shall look after her while you ride north. You have the word of a prince."

Besides, he thought with a wry inward smile, introducing Rosalind to a new playmate might finally lighten the burden on his own aching back. Coupled with that it was his uncle asking that of him.

How could he refuse?

In thanks, the commander swept the prince into another bruising bear hug. When he finally released him, he grabbed Basil by the temples and planted a rough, loud kiss right upon his forehead.

"You are a good and sweet boy, my prince. Your father and mother were blessed by the gods the day you squealed into the world." Latio’s eyes shone with a fierce, sudden heat. "The Five bless you, lad. And may they bless me as I lay waste to your father’s enemies."

With that, Latio Rat-catcher straightened his spine. His matted brown beard, still holding a few damp traces of the morning’s spiced wine, bristled outward like a cluster of sharp thorns as he turned his face back to the yard.

Suddenly, the great iron bells of the temple began to ring, their heavy peals turning the morning air to thunder. War-horns brayed from the gates, a long, low, snarling sound, and the loose rabble of men answered the call. Soldiers stopped their japing and scrambled into line. The blue cloaks formed their ranks, still chuckling and throwing insults at one another as they locked their shields. They were a spectacular force when it came to urban butchery and breaking the knees of smugglers, but they possessed none of the grim, silent discipline of a proper legion, even a slack-line mounted outfit like the Hounds.

The last thing Basil saw as his uncle turned to rejoin his warriors was the man looking back over his armored shoulder , with a demented little smile. Laedio’s lips moved, muttering a few final words. The heavy ruckus of stomping hooves and rattling pikes swallowed the sound, but the movement of his mouth was clear enough for Basil to read.

It was the start of the little rhyme the smallfolk of the capital muttered in the taverns whenever a flash of blue wool passed by the windows.

Rats for the Rat-catcher,

woe to the thief,

A baton for breakfast,

a lifetime of grief.