Dinner was served shortly after Jarza and Basil swept into the high hall straight from the gardens, their loud, booming laughter echoing off the rafters as they made their way across the stone floor with wide, breathless smiles.

They gathered around a magnificent, long oak table draped in a heavy white linen cloth, its borders meticulously sewn with glittering threads of real gold and silver. Atop the pristine fabric, wide arrays of winter fruits and frosted berries lingered in silver bowls, practically waiting to be ravaged by the members waiting patiently in their high-backed seats.

"Have you finally had your fun, gloomy one?" Asag asked, tilting his head with a teasing smile as young Basil flopped unceremoniously into the chair beside his father.

The one who replied, however, was Jarza. "I certainly hope so. The boy kept me hostage for half the afternoon out in the yard," the heavy wood of the chair groaning in violent protest as the massive legate finally took his seat. Before digging in, however, Jarza leaned over to plant a remarkably tender kiss on his wife’s forehead, then reached across to playfully wiggle young Jarza Junior’s button nose with a calloused, oversized finger. "The servants are going to have a wonderfully fun day tomorrow picking up all the stray arrows."

"Worth it!" Basil piped up from his seat between eager breathers, his chest swelling with pride. He turned to his father "I beat Uncle Jarza!"

’’Bullshit!" Jarza spat swatting at the air. "You won two out of five, you little scamp!"

"But on the second round, you distinctly said we would reset the count back to zero!" Basil chimed back, completely undaunted as he reached out to grab a dripping slice of grapefruit from the large crystal bowl of pre-cut fruit sitting at the head of the table. "Don’t go getting cold feet just because you’re turning into an old man, uncle."

"You are a magnificent, lying little shit, just like your father!"

Smack.

A heavy silver serving spoon clapped sharply against the great legate’s bald head.

"Language!" Maraya warned him, narrowing her eyes as she brandished the spoon like a broadsword. "There are young children at this table."

"Sorry, sorry," Jarza muttered hastily, offering a sheepish grin as his eyes darted over toward Asag’s two young daughters, who were already giggling into their hands. He looked down at his own infant.

"And what about our son?"

"He doesn’t even have fully developed ears yet!" Jarza defended, pointing a thumb at the baby.

Maraya raised the silver spoon once more.

"All right, all right! Mercy! Sorry, kiddo." Jarza chuckled, reaching over to gently wreckle the boy’s mop of black hair. The infant let out a high, bubbling giggle, instantly signaling his goodwill and melting the tension in the room.

"Can we please just start eating? I am starving!" Basil pleaded, already picking over a second slice of fruit, his fingers sticky with juice.

"Did you roll down a steep hill on your way back?" Jasmine chimed in, her sharp, queenly eyes narrowing as she extended her elegant fingers to root through her son’s unruly hair. "You have half the estate’s grass tangled in your locks!"

Basil instantly tucked his head into his shoulders as if he were a turtle retreating into its shell, groaning in sheer embarrassment while his mother methodically picked off the single strands of green grass one by one, completely ignoring his protests.

’’Let the boy have his fun jasmine’’ Shahab chimed in smiling down at his grand-grandson with love.

Of all at the table he was the one the trace of time had been harsher.He may have not been in need of a cane yet, but he still had an hardtime being on the saddle. It wouldn’t be long until he would exercise his duty only at court and leave the field to the younger generation.

"You wouldn’t be so kind grandad if you sat beside him. Eek. You reek of sweat and mud, too," Jasmine teased, wrinkling her nose. "Are you no longer in use with the palace baths, young man?"

"Mother, stop!" Basil whined, his cheeks flushing a bright pink.

"You are lucky we are already late for the first course,or I’d have Rodry carry you to a bath" she said, a dramatic wave of exasperation oozing out of her. Still, a tender smile played on her lips as she gave his cheek a loving squeeze. Jasmine made a sharp, commanding gesture with her hand toward the back of the hall, and a second later, a line of silent servants emerged from the kitchens, heavy silver plates in hand.

The feast that followed was as magnificent as the wealth of the newly crowned kingdom, the rich aromas instantly filling the chilly air of the hall. The servants laid out great, steaming platters of roasted wild boar, its crackling skin glistening with a sweet, dark glaze made from reduced winter plums and wild honey. Beside the game sat deep trencher-breads overflowing with rich, thick stews of tender venison, slow-simmered for hours with root vegetables, pearl onions, and a heavy splash of spiced southern wine.

There were massive silver bowls piled high with buttered parsnips and roasted chestnuts, alongside delicate, golden-brown pastries stuffed with minced pheasant and wild herbs that melted on the tongue. For the center of the table, the cooks had prepared a mountain of river-trout, baked whole with sliced lemons and sprigs of rosemary, its white meat flaking beautifully under the serving knives. Pitchers of deep red Romelian wine and sweet, spiced ale and local apple cider were poured continuously, the rich, savory banquet instantly drawing every hungry eye at the table.

They all dug in with a ravenous, single-minded intensity. As the heavy silver platters began to clear, the sharp clatter of cutlery against porcelain filled the air, and inevitably, the gossip of the realm rolled on and on.

"I’ve heard rumors of a bit of a ruckus brewing down at the low court," Asag muttered, leaning his sturdy frame toward the King, his voice dropping below the ambient roar of the family’s laughter. "Does that r fire have any actual wood behind it?"

"Aye. Layer your meat with sweet honey, and the flies will always hover around the plate," Alpheo replied dryly, gesturing with his knife before stabbing a hearty wedge of meatpie for himself. He took a massive forkful, chewing thoughtfully for a moment before nodding. "What is the meat in this? It’s remarkably tender."

"Haven’t the faintest clue," Asag shrugged, already reaching for a second roasted pheasant wing. "Could be sheep, could be pig. Still, the meat is damn good, so why question the butcher?"

"What did you mean by that, Father?"

Alpheo turned to his right, where Basil was looking up from his plate with keen, sharp-eyed interest, a stray crumb of trench-bread clinging to his chin. ’’The thing about the flies and the meat’’ he clarified.

"When men know a grand reward is close at hand, they inevitably grow restless and demanding," the King explained softly, his gaze leveling with his son’s. "Half of the principality of Oizen now bows its knee to our banners. All the vast lands that were once toiled in the prince’s name are now doing so for a newly minted king." He swallowed a mouthful of the flaky crust, letting the weight of his words settle.

"Four new administrative zones have sprouted up across the conquered territory. Four empty regions that will desperately need a small army of Documentarii, Justiciars, Bailiffs, and Taxarii to keep the machinery of state running. For the current hour, our vanguard in ink have enough hands on the matter, but those borders are still locked in a rigid martial state.

The land is far too dangerous right now for any normal bureaucracy. Before a single clerk can pen a ledger, we first have to settle the displaced smallfolk, resolve the catastrophic question of food production, and, alongside all of that, purge the countryside of its bandits." A nasty, dangerous expression settled onto the King’s face. "The treacherous bastards have sprouted like mushrooms after a heavy rain."

"In due time, they will all be systematically hunted down of course, and peace will be hammered into the soil once again," Asag reassured his sovereign, washing down his venison with a heavy swallow of spiced ale.

"Aye, the peace will come. It always does when you hang enough of them," Alpheo murmured. He trailed off for a moment, his dark eyes staring blankly into the flickering candlelight of the grand chandelier as his mind moved three steps ahead. Then, a slow, calculated thought took root, and his gaze snapped back to settle firmly on his eldest son. "How about you take care of that, Basil?"

Basil blinked, entirely startled, his fork freezing halfway to his mouth. "Father?"

"How about you take the supreme lead on the matter? You shall be the one to choose which administrators get to settle and govern in the crown’s new southern lands?’’

The young prince seemed thoroughly unsettled by the sudden offer at first, his jaw tightening as he measured the task. But the hesitation lasted only a moment; a fierce, ambitious spark ignited in his blue eyes, and he quickly nodded with a broad, eager smile.

The king was pleased of that.

It would be a good trial for the boy. There is no better way to forge a future ruler than to force him to look a man in the eyes and measure his worth. It ill give him a well-needed hands-on education in the brutal art of reading a person’s true character. It’s time someone taught him to weigh a man not just by his smooth actions, but by the unvarnished opinions his peers whispered in the dark.

If the boy was to inherit a kingdom of wolves, he needed to learn how to spot a sheep in a wolf’s skin.

As the dinner rolled on into the later hours, the heavy platters were cleared away for rich tarts and sweeter wines, and the collective volume of the hall rose. Yet, amidst the raucous laughter of Jarza and the continuous clinking of cups, Alpheo’s sharp eyes wandered down to the far, shadowed end of the long table.

It was there that Ratto sat, looking remarkably stiff in his finest velvet tunic, his ears still sporting a trace of that mortified crimson from the garden business. Beside him, Lysandra was deliberately picking at a pastry, but the space between them was electric. Alpheo caught the exact moment the two shared a lingering, intensely private look, a silent exchange packed with a desperate, nervous courage.

The King allowed himself a small, knowing smirk as he reached for his chalice. It was about time, Alpheo thought, his fingers tapping against the silver stem as the two finally rose from their seat.

Indeed it was.