Lord Marsai's eyes narrowed, his gaze fixed on Kaelen, a mixture of apprehension and curiosity flickering within their depths.
He leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking beneath his weight.
"Well, what business could the prince have in Silverstream at this ti of year?" he asked, his voice carefully neutral. He knew the prince's reputation, the stories of his drunken escapades and reckless behavior, and he couldn't quite reconcile that image with the cold, calculating gaze that now t his own.
Kaelen began to pace the small study, his boots drawing groans from the worn floorboards.
He stopped before a small, cluttered drawer, atop which sat a thick, leather-bound book titled Flourishing Grains. He gazed at the book for a mont, a flicker of sothing unreadable in his eyes, before turning back to Marsai.
"I heard there are a crew of... uh, individuals who have been parading as heroes in these parts," he said, his voice smooth and even. "Such theatrics should be left to the crown, don't you think, Lord Marsai?"
Lord Marsai scoffed.
"Heroes? Let's call them what they are... band-"
"Oh, careful, Lord Marsai," Kaelen said, raising a hand, a predatory smile playing on his lips. "We call them what they are, and I might have to... punish them."
The lord chuckled, a dry, humorless sound.
"Well, of course, you can't do that, prince. So, what is it you plan to do, then?"
"To give them a choice," Kaelen replied, his voice low and thoughtful. "A chance."
"A chance to do what, exactly?" Marsai asked, his gaze sharpening.
"To live," Kaelen said, his voice grim.
Silence settled in the small study, the only sound the crackling of the fire in the hearth. Then, Lord Marsai burst into laughter, a loud, boisterous sound that echoed through the room. He clutched his belly, tears streaming down his face, struggling to contain his amusent.
Finally, he raised a hand, still chuckling. "My apologies, Your Highness," he said, wiping his eyes.
"You've gotten... really bold, prince. First, you plunge us into a war, and now you co here talking about giving the Crimson Hand a chance to live? Have you gone mad? Do you not know your father lets them be for a reason?"
Kaelen sighed, walking towards the window and gazing out at the darkening landscape, his expression unreadable. The fading light of sunset seed to follow him, his movents as fluid and deliberate as the whispers that plaged his mind.
"I didn't co to you for your opinions, Lord Marsai," he said, his voice cold.
"Oh?" Marsai asked, his tone laced with a hint of challenge. "Then what did you co to for, Your Highness?"
Kaelen turned back to face the lord, his gaze piercing. "To know where you stand," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "My intel suggests that the Crimson Hand's operations are most active in your province. Which, can't help but make ...suspect, that you have so sort of... involvent with them."
Lord Marsai scoffed, his face flushing with indignation. "Don't insult , prince," he snapped. "I hate those bastards as much as any rchant they've robbed. Since their arrival, I've lost what little control I had over this province. Now, the people don't just see the crown as weak... they call weak as well. And perhaps... perhaps it's the truth. Throughout their reign of terror I've been...unable to effectively oppose them."
"Oh?" Kaelen asked, his tone carefully neutral. "So, you wouldn't mind if their hold on this province was... destroyed? If your power were restored?"
"Mind it?" Marsai practically spat. "I'd give an eye for it."
Kaelen smiled, a slow, predatory smile that sent a shiver down Lord Marsai's spine. "Then listen closely, Lord Marsai," he said, his voice low and conspiratorial. "I have... a rather interesting plan."
———
The prince needed the Crimson Hand, not as allies, but as a weapon, a blade to be wielded against his enemies.
He had initially requested the briefing from Commander Lyra to maintain the facade of ignorance, to play the part of the newly reford prince seeking to understand his kingdom's vulnerabilities.
But the truth was, Kaelen knew far more about the Crimson Hand than he had let on.
He rembered them from his past life, a small band of bandits who had risen through the ranks of the criminal underworld, evolving into a formidable cri syndicate that terrorized not only Caldris but also neighboring kingdoms.
They had beco so powerful, so brazen in their defiance of authority, that even the Imperial forces had been forced to intervene.
But in his previous tiline, at the height of their reign of terror, when they burned and looted villages across multiple kingdoms, Caldris had been... spared. A curious omission that had always puzzled Kaelen.
Perhaps it stemd from a twisted sense of patriotism, a lingering loyalty to their holand, even amidst their descent into criminality. Perhaps the bandits saw sothing of themselves in Caldris, a kingdom already reduced to ashes.
Or maybe they simply saw no profit in destroying sothing which had already been plundered and taken by a higher power, the emperor himself. Whatever the reason, the Crimson Hand had not ravaged Caldris the way it had torn through other kingdoms.
Kaelen was not entirely sure why this had been the case. But it was, all the sa, what he had co to know as his truth.
The Crimson Hand, he knew, was the very wild card he needed, if he managed to bring them under his control. They were a disruptive force, capable of wreaking havoc and sowing chaos.
He would offer them a choice: loyalty, or destruction.
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