For a brief moment, Fredrcus pondered what he had just written. He fiddled with the rim, nevertheless proceeded to secure the paper into the envelope and fold its flap shut.

It was not supposed to be something too formal, nor too casual; his sentence was formed in a way that represented congeniality. An invitation to talk this through, as one monarch to another. He believed both of them were rational men who wanted the best for their nations, and equally eager to achieve that through peaceful means.

That was the half of it, as far as he could remember.

The letter had already been sealed, there was no point in scrutinizing it again. So he immediately handed it to his secretary, his son. Alex von Fredricus, barely sixteen years old after this winter. After the kidnapping accident arranged by some deplorable actors some time ago, the king decided it was time for the prince to be actively involved in the government, so he could immediately nurture his political savviness, and be shrewd enough to be able to spot the wolf among the sheep.

"What's the matter?"

The boy's face was resolute, as resolute as a sixteen-year-old boy could manage. But Fredricus knew what troubles him. So when the boy asked what to do with the letter, the king did not answer; he simply peered at the window, inviting the boy to do the same.

Yellings and cries were reverberating from the outside and had been like that for the last few hours. War! War! War! they cried, and this was the third day; on the first, they brought the masses, on the second day they brought those who lost their houses in the Fanghorn accident, and on the third, they brought a dead body, said to be the victim of Mechean saboteurs. Naturally, such inappropriate desacralization toward the dead was quickly ceased by the guards, and the provocateurs were detained. But the protests were barely abated and the crowd kept spewing their demands like possessed.

It was fortunate that his citizens knew their boundaries and did not resort to wholesale anarchy.

But Fredricus also knew their patience was never in abundance. Their compliance would stay as long as they still had faith in him, when they knew their king was with them, adhering to similar ideals. Uncontrollable and immature as it may. And his political opponents knew how to exploit this angle.

He has to move swiftly and tactfully.

"For now you will keep that until they arrive," he said. A moment later his door was knocked. His Knight captain, an orcish female clad in a full set of armor entered the room. Pleasantries were exchanged briefly before she reported her findings.

"Yes, she is here."

Name:

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