Fighting for a Crown

Chapter Two

I had wanted to ride out to Definis today to evade the incoming hens, but I was met with an even better escape when I looked at my itinerary over breakfast.

9:00 -TBC ~ Sealed council session, operations room 
18:30-19:30~ Debutante dinner

Good, I could spend the day discussing what I expected to be strategies for the war all day, with no one to disturb me. Admittedly I did have to suffer against the hens at dinner, but that wasn't for too long.

I happened to glance out of my window and saw that already a handful of carriages had started to line up in front of the gates. My white dog Ib knocked his head against my hand for attention do I stroked him absentmindedly.

"Thank you, Barley." I dismissed my valet and headed towards the door, Ib went back to his bed by the fire.

As I headed down the corridors, I heard hubbub from behind the walls; the staff were preparing the suites for the incoming debutantes - I don't think there was one person in this palace who looked forward to having them, but it was ancient custom.

Ancient custom which had pulled me from fighting.

Father came out of his room almost exactly as I passed. We didn't talk yet though, just walked in matched step. We couldn't talk about the war outside of the operations or council rooms - it was too risky.

We arrived a little before nine but it seemed that everyone who needed to be was present, so the heavy doors were locked and we took our places at the table.

Father took the head, his five advisors to the right of him, myself to his left, Pierre and Henry the strategists next to me, General Fenester next to them, David, our sketch artist, sat next to the general, paper and pencil at the ready.

Thus it began.

Father hadn't given me one word in after a whole five hours. As we breaked for a few minutes I approached him, none of his advisors within ear shot.

"Why won't you listen to me?" I snapped and his face remained placid, only angering me more.

"I had assumed that your mind would be preoccupied, or that it should be. You'll meet your wife tonight."

I scowled and ran my hands through my hair, I was tired from all of the listening.

"I don't really care, father. Anyway I strongly suggest that -" We moved back to the table to everyone else could hear my proposition, "-we don't centre all of our forces in one wave. We have enough men, and enough space on Gringle field, that we can divide." I got up to move the figures on the map table. "If the Baracosians are here, put the 47th division up against them. We're small but fight well, we face them at the bottom of the hill. Baracosians are cocky and so are their generals, they'll enjoy the fight against such a small group. If we then have another two divisions move in from behind them, we have the high ground. Then we introduce four more divisions on either side, trapping them. That should do it."

Father's eyes slanted in agreement.

David slid his sketch of it across the table and father nodded again when he inspected it.

"We'll need good fighters then. Are the 47th really good enough?"

Fenester opened his mouth to answer but I got there first.

"They are." I kept father's gaze.

"Your Highness, what you propose is extremely difficult. How can you be so sure that they can manage by themselves?"

I swallowed and grabbed the wooden figure marked 47. "I fought with them. I know them. They'll be able to do it."
I looked up to father with the rest of the members around the table.

"If this goes wrong then it falls onto your conscience forever." He warned, his voice gentle.

"It won't go wrong." I said confidently. It wouldn't. Those men are the finest warriors in Ilragorn.

Father nodded wearily then and finished up. Plans were put back into drawers and Pierre unlocked the doors.
Farall, one of father's advisors, got out a sheaf of green papers from his leather bag and passed them to me, grimacing. Black papers with gold lettering informed the death of the few nobles who fought, green ones were from the commoners. I glanced through them, they were death letters, apologising that a family had lost their son. I clutched them to my chest, grimacing myself, and left with father.

"I hate having to sign these." I muttered.

"You're the one who said that the families should know." Father pointed out and I ground my teeth together, walking faster to try and get back to my room.

As I turned a corner someone slammed into me and was knocked to the ground. Father huffed and hurried on past. It was a maid I had knocked over, and she scrambled to pick the papers up. I would've helped her but the lady behind her caught my eye.

She had dark brown hair which was thick and curled, pulled into a tail behind her head. She wore a burgundy silk day dress which wasn't the finest, but suited her beautifully. She had very long eyelashes and a pretty nose. Her mouth was pressed into a line and she was glaring at me as I absentmindedly accepted the papers from the maid.

"Which one are you?" I snapped, I'd have to interrogate Fana about her.

"Lady Bence." She snapped back. We didn't have anyone called lady Bence expected.

"She has come in place of Lady Starkey, who fell ill, your Highness." The other maid she had murmured from her low curtsey. That was when I noticed that Lady Bence didn't curtsey at all, she held my gaze defiantly, only bobbing a little when I put on the king expression.

"You had best start preparing for dinner, Lady Bence." I murmured, walking away from her.

I needed to go and talk to mother.