[center] [h3]Duke Laurent Rhinecliff & Duchess Altina Freya Bastille[/h3] At an undisclosed location in the township of Dinbevin, date unknown [/center] [hr] [center]Collaborator: [@ERode][/center] [justify][b]“How long has it been, since we’ve shared a carriage?”[/b] Blue smoke escaped the lips of Duke Rhinecliff. To call it a carriage was accurate, but it was certainly a modest thing compared to the ornate, gold-gilded things that usually carried nobility so prestigious as the duchal lords of two of Arrowfell’s city-states. Odonfield and Agrovia. One, a bastion of the mind, both in fostering and in altering. The other, a bastion of the body, in the strengthening of flesh and the armament of people. They have [i]never[/i] shared a carriage before. At least, not this generation. He looked at the lady sitting opposite beside him, the carriage occasionally bumping as the wheels struck a rock or traversed a dip in the road. Duchess Altina Bastille was lethal in any range, but here, in particular? Both seated, neither with their guards at hand? He was not so arrogant as to presume that he held any advantages if it came to blows. But it won’t. [b]“It is a shame, what happened to Duke Willowsteel.”[/b] The embers burned. [b]“But I hope you’d agree, Duchess Bastille, that it is an [i]insult[/i], what happened to House Corrin.”[/b] A look of curiosity befell Altina at Duke Rhinecliff's mention of Nordorian duke. Not much time had elapsed since the man was sentenced to death, and here she sat, seemingly without a care in the world despite being partly to blame for his impending doom. She let Duke Rhinecliff's comments linger before airing out her opinions. "You are certainly free to think that way," she would state matter-of-factly. "But I prefer to reserve the phrase for those who truly deserve it." Her hand tensed momentarily, as if remembering her duel with Duke Willowsteel. "A gifted swordsman he is, yet a novice in all other respects of rulership. Your pity is better spent elsewhere." The words themselves may have been severe, but Altina did not punctuate them with her usual mocking demeanor. Perhaps deep down, she felt otherwise. Regardless, she would not sit on this feeling. Not with more pressing matters at hand. "Ah, yes, an [i]insult[/i] indeed," she would respond, echoing Duke Rhinecliff's sentiment. "Imagine... An entire ducal family, all mysteriously killed, just like that," she added with a snap of a finger. "And not a second too long after good ol' Sev Willowsteel's verdict. How [i]coincidental[/i]." Her lips practically dripped with sarcasm. "Was it brigands? Thieves seeking the fortunes of a Duke? Mayhaps... A heist gone wrong?" She was beginning to tire of the act. "I will dispense with any pretense here. I believe the fault lies with the tyrant." After all, the Corrins too opposed the Wizard Queen, and they were not quiet about it. Their sudden assassination was akin to firing off the first shot: an instigation of conflict, and one Altina would answer with her own loaded barrel. "But what say you, wise Duke Rhinecliff? Do you believe there's more to this than meets the eye? Or is it [i]exactly[/i] what it purports?" [b]“I spoke of shame, not pity,”[/b] the Duke replied, tapping the smouldering ash into a clay tray. [b]“Though I do believe that the loss of Corrin [i]was[/i] a coincidence. Orders travel slowly, after all. And promises are hard to rein in.”[/b] He paused, then drew out a folded piece of paper from the inner pocket of his suit, handing it over to the woman before him. It was a map of Hathforth’s territories, one of the outermost regions marked in ink. [b]“The Wizard-Queen’s preference for mercenaries is certainly well-documented. In this case, considering how few true [i]conflicts[/i] there have been over the last two years, it’s curious for one such band, one such leader of a band, to be gifted a fiefdom within her sphere of influence.”[/b] Laurent chuckled lightly. [b]“I’m no warlord myself, but have you heard of the Hands of Iron?”[/b] The chuckle transitioned into a smile. [b]“A mercenary company capable of overthrowing a duchal household would certainly be a powerful one, no? Especially when Knight Roland Corrin, a Royal Knight, stands against them.”[/b] Altina unfurled the parchment now in her hands as she listened to the duke's insights. "The Hands of Iron..." She shook her head. "I'm afraid not; I cannot say I have heard of them." A pensive expression would color her face. [i]To already be privy to such intelligence... The duke's connections must run deep[/i], she mused. Experience was a powerful thing, and Duke Rhinecliff possessed much of it, having been the long-standing leader of Odonfield. Perhaps the duke had been through this particular song and dance before, thus allowing him to make informed inferences. It wouldn't have surprised Altina if such a thing was true. The duke had been at the helm of his duchy even before she was born. From those years of leadership and servitude, Altina could only imagine the wealth of knowledge he would have amassed. Knowledge that would ultimately sharpen his intuition. The duke was cunning, if nothing else — a quality that the duchess found both admirable [i]and[/i] fearsome. She stared at the parchment again, scanning its contents. "Do you mean to suggest an agreement had taken place? Between the Wizard Queen and this mercenary group?" A slight narrowing of the eyes. "That bodes ill, if true." The duke was right: this mercenary group would have to be powerful indeed to topple the Corrin household. But with the Hathforth monarch's resources and backing, one could very well call the scales even. A mischievous smile. "Though, I've half a mind to think you've prepared something [i]precisely[/i] for this scenario." [b]“There’s certainly space to make moves while the Queen’s off on her adventure, but please,”[/b] Duke Rhinecliff laughed. [b]“Just because I’m old doesn’t mean I’m a wizard. It would be arrogant [i]and[/i] exhausting to have preparations for every possible scenario.”[/b] The carriage slowed, though the paper windows obscured yet where they were. [b]“Though I suppose I [i]am[/i] lucky on occasion. If I shared my fortune, Duchess Bastille, would you be willing to look into this for me?”[/b] Altina would fold her hands on her lap. "Oh?" Her eyes would widen a bit after hearing the duke's proposition. A fruit of the brightest sheen was being dangled in front of her, and who was she to refuse it? Her hands now cupped the sides of her face. "Consider it done. I will hold you to your word, Duke Rhinecliff." [b]“You don’t need to trust my word.”[/b] The carriage rolled to a stop. He extinguished his cigar, a line of ash against the crystal. [b]“There was a survivor. I’ll let you have them, Duchess Bastille.”[/b] [/justify]