“The mantle will look splendid on you, prince Levin,” the male tailor complimented, both of them admiring his figure in the mirror.

Indeed, Levin agreed with the assessment. Rather than traditional Vasquer colors, he had elected to don new colors—a rich burgundy, accented by gray and golden buttons. Three days from now, he would form the Kingdom of Atrus, and take the name Levin of Atrus—his new house bore gray and burgundy as its colors. It signified his intention to abandon his claim on Vasquer.

The colors didn’t go quite as well with his physical features as black and gold, but it was more than sufficient. He wore a heavy ceremonial garb, overtop it all a thick royal mantle. Somehow, the tailor had managed to make a gradient on the fabric, from a dark maroon to light on the lower portions. It had cost a fortune… but then, the king’s treasury had ample coin to pay any and all.

“This will do nicely,” Levin adjusted the mantle. He would, ostensibly, only wear this once… perhaps it was a waste. Even still, he did like the way it looked.

A commotion broke out in the hallway, and Levin’s head jerked to the side. The tailor stepped away from Levin, alarmed, and set his scissors down on the nearby table. He stepped to the door, yet before he could open it burst open.

“Bernard! Wait for the soldiers!” a voice called out from deep down the hall, but a fully armored knight burst past. His sword rushed out at the tailor, piercing the unarmored man’s throat easily.

Levin braced himself for combat, staring upon this new assailant. He was a knight of Duke Rizzart, the man whom he’d collaborated with in forming the kingdom of Atrus. Levin was betrothed to his daughter. Either he’d been betrayed, or there was an infiltrator amongst the Duke’s man. He mentioned soldiers, so Levin thought it might be the former.

“I won’t wait,” the man called back to his friend in the hall, pulling his blade free of the tailor. “He’s seeing the tailor, got no weapons... if I get his head, I’ll be moving up in the world. So, little rebel… die nice and easy.”

The other knight joined up with them. Levin eyed them both, eerily calm despite the situation. He grabbed at his royal mantle, unclasping it from his shoulder. One of the knights rushed, preparing to cast a spell. Levin pulled off the mantle and threw it at him, his other hand casting a flame spell to set it alight.

The fiery cloak wreathed the man, and Levin darted towards the table, grabbing the tailor’s scissors. He split them in two, now bearing in hand two improvised knives. The other knight took a cautious stance, ready for Levin, yet the prince ran towards a window. With a spell of wind, he broke the glass. Managing the scissor blade awkwardly, he pinched his fingers together and whistled through them—loud and shrill, it echoed out the window.

“Jump,” the knight suggested to Levin. “Do a flip, even. Might be you live, little wayward prince.”

With his signal sent, Levin faced his two opponents neatly. He placed one finger in the hole on each scissor handle and spun them about, silently taunting his opponents. One of them seemed capable of casting spells, and Levin watched this man warily.

Hide your hand. Wait for an opportunity, he judged even as the man prepared a spell.

Lightning struck his chest in a moment too fast to process, and the distance was narrowed. Levin returned the spell then cast a simple ward—a quick barrage from the opposing knight broke it. Emboldened, they both pressed forth. Just then, Argrave used the ring on his finger to cast a B-rank ward, splitting them in two.

Levin dropped one scissor blade and caught the wrist of the right-side knight as he swung his sword, then jammed the other blade into the knight’s helmet socket. The blade wasn’t long enough to penetrate deep, but the man roared in pain, half-blinded. Keeping his grip on the blade, Levin kicked the man away.

Changing targets, Levin tackled the other knight, using his superior size to his advantage. The cold metal of his foe’s steel plate made the tackle hurt dreadfully. Landing atop the knight, he pushed past his pain, grabbed the man’s helmet to expose his neck. Levin knifed the man in the neck half a dozen a times, only turning when he saw movement in the corner of his eyes—the other knight swung his sword.

Levin flinched away, yet the tip of the sword cut deep into and out of his shoulder. He hissed in pain yet grabbed the blade of the man he’d killed and rose to his feet. His shoulder felt as though it was aflame, yet the prince could give no time to the pain. Steel met steel second by second as they clashed, each parrying and attacking with all the ferocity of men who felt they might die. What few breaks each gave the other were soon filled by magical assaults.

Eventually, the half-blinded man, lacking depth perception, made a fatal miscalculation of the length of his blade, coming just short of slicing Levin’s face off. The prince stabbed his sword into the man’s knee where the joint of the armor offered entrance. The man was forced to kneel. Levin seized the opportunity, stabbing the man in the neck with the blade of the tailor’s scissors. He pushed on it hard, then pulled it free. The man gurgled, then collapsed to the floor.

Levin stood there for a moment, eyes jumping between the two of them. He gazed down the long hallway, his breathing heavy and his heartbeat erratic. Remembering his place, he healed the wound on his shoulder with his magic and stepped to the window.

The prince’s personal guard—not the royal guard, but those he’d picked personally—were locked in combat with some of the castle garrison. And beyond the castle, beyond the town… a steady stream of soldiers made their way to the gate. They did not prepare for siege… but rather walked towards the wide-open entrance. Everything was executed perfectly. If not for these overeager knights, he would not have known the threat came.

#####

“Levin made a few fatal mistakes,” Elenore explained dispassionately. “To begin with, he didn’t tell Felipe that I was the Bat. I assume he wanted to retain the possibility of an alliance between Atrus and us. His second mistake… was assuming I would not work with Felipe.”

Argrave looked at Elenore sitting opposite him. “Fatal,” he repeated. “You’ve killed Levin.”

“It may have happened, yes. But that wasn’t my target,” Elenore explained. “Felipe had royal knights defect to Levin deliberately. The prince didn’t trust them, of course—they weren’t his people. But he didn’t reject them or execute them. He let them ‘maintain the peace’ in Atrus—a minor task, but it gave them purpose and action in the kingdom and kept them far away from himself. Another of his mistakes,” Elenore shook her head.

Durran sat down beside Argrave. “Just tell us what you did,” he insisted.

Elenore took a moment to collect her thoughts. Before she could, however, Anneliese said, “That time we stopped in the outskirts of Dirracha—you got in contact with Felipe. That was the day we didn’t see you,” she claimed.

“Yes,” Elenore nodded. “The king may have guessed who I was, but he didn’t know. So, Felipe was amenable to working with me,” she explained. “I approached as the aggrieved Bat, insisting the incident had been a misunderstanding. And I offered my help against Levin. This was done through agents, naturally.”

“But what did you do?” insisted Argrave through clenched teeth. “Why the secrecy?”

“I helped Felipe establish contact with certain traitorous elements within Atrus. He promised pardons to them, a large share of the riches plundered from the royal treasury, and increases in territory. Mostly lies. I doubt he has the capacity to enforce those promises,” Elenore stated, crossing her arms. “And I helped his ‘defected’ royal knights get in position to assassinate certain key figures.”

Argrave took a deep breath. “Who?” he pressed.

“Most of them,” she said simply. “Most of the leading nobles of Atrus. Any figures that were key to the kingdom’s cohesion. People were raised to take their place—Duke Rizzart’s brother, for instance, will assume control of the Dukedom of Upper Siluz. Levin may die—I think it likely he’s captured, honestly—but regardless, there will be no King of Atrus. That realm has shattered. Balkanized… I think you called it,” she finished, sinking back into the couch with a joyless look about her.

Argrave turned his gaze to the silver bracer he’d examined earlier today, thinking of what to say.

“You deliberately spent more time with me to convince Argrave you hid nothing from him,” Anneliese suggested.

“I had to play around your talents, yes,” Elenore nodded. “I felt I had a decent grasp on them. I never lied, not really. And this wasn’t an emotional decision.”

Argrave’s gaze jumped back to her. “Why did you do this? Why didn’t you bring it up? Do you distrust me, distrust us?”

“Because I knew you would not sanction it,” she said at once. “And because I knew it would be the most beneficial resolution to Atrus’ problem. And… I did tell you… that I wouldn’t forget what Levin had done.”

“How does this benefit us?” Argrave demanded of her.

“Do you think all of those nobles in Atrus will simply fall in line with Felipe? Some were offered pardons, sure. These ones are inconsequential to our future—I made sure of that. Even more will join our side once you are coronated, seeking vengeance for the foul crimes perpetrated by Felipe. The king’s hands are dirty, not yours,” Elenore shook her head, bronze jewelry ringing. “It’s on his plate. His royal knights did it. His rule is further undermined.” She tilted her head at him. “As I recall… you had intended to win the allegiance of some northern nobles before Atrus was formed. Levin’s actions disrupted those plans. Now the course is corrected.”

Argrave stared at her for a long, long while. She offered no apology. Indeed, all she said belied an insistence that she was right. Everyone in the room looked uncomfortable with the situation, save perhaps the ever-stoic Galamon.

“So, you decided to kill hundreds of people… because you thought I wouldn’t like that,” Argrave summarized.

Elenore remained silent for a few moments, then nodded. “Yes.”

Argrave nodded. It was a slow, bitter nod that repeated time and time again, like he was shaking his brain to move his thoughts about.

“I recall seeing something… something Vasquer showed me, about your psyche. Your memories,” Argrave began. “And I know enough about you, personally. Induen said that he was comfortable abandoning you if it suited him,” Argrave said, letting the words hang. “I remember that hurt you. And now… despite everything you’ve seen… you push me away. Push us away,” he said quietly.

Elenore didn’t respond.

“I don’t get it,” Argrave said with a sigh. “I feel… sad.”

“You didn’t kill them, Argrave. Felipe did. I did,” she said quietly, almost in comfort.

Argrave looked Elenore in her eyeless sockets. “And that’s why,” he returned. “You made yourself lesser… for me,” he finished, his voice a quiet whisper that still filled the room.

Argrave rose to his feet and dispelled the ward. Blinking quickly, he wiped at his eyes. He stepped towards the door, saying nothing, and left. He stepped down the hallway of Leopold’s estate, thinking about nothing at all. He turned a corner, passing by Ansgar. Startled, the man stopped and chased after Argrave.

“Argrave! Argrave,” Ansgar said, coming to stand before Argrave. “I was just coming with the news. The council decided to elect Leopold as leader!” the Dandalan said excitedly.