Chapter 22

THE DOZEN ORso faces surrounding the large, wooden table were all familiar to March, save for one. He'd come to know the men and women from the handful of council meetings he'd sat in on, as well as the lectures he'd attended, and some from meetings of chance. Each of them had warmed to him, though it had taken varying degrees of effort on his part. He imagined he owed his mother much on that front, as the majority of them had known her at one point or another. He also imagined Beritz singing his praises had not gone unnoticed by the group.

Though he'd known instantly who the man must be, it was confirmed when Beritz introduced him to the room at the start of the meeting. Duke Terin was a thin-lipped, sallow-skinned man whose eyes regarded his surroundings with an air of superiority. The very picture of noble snobbery. Having attended a public school for the majority of his education, March knew this was what the average commoner imagined when trying to bring the image of an aristocrat to mind. Pushing the thought away, he shifted his focus to the issues being discussed before him.

An hour or so ticked by before anything of much interest to March was brought up. Not that he hadn't been paying attention, but his education when it came to royal politics and discourse was still early in its development. Eventually, one of those sitting around the table brought up an issue happening in the outer edges of Ikronia, where the population was growing more quickly than food could be supplied.

Leaning over a large map, she gestured around it. "The obvious solution would be to plant more crops, which we've done, but even these rural areas are beginning to be built up. We may end up doing more harm than good by taking up so much space that could be used for residential purposes."

"Can I see those?" March asked suddenly, standing to pull a stack of papers from the table with harvest data from the most recent crops on them. Several pairs of eyes drifted to him as his eyes skimmed over the farm balance sheet. "These numbers are awful," he said finally, somewhat apologetically. "It's no wonder you can't keep up with demand on these yields."

Leaning back in his chair a bit, Beritz raised an eyebrow. "How would you suggest we increase the yields?"

"I wouldn't think planting anything more would be of much help," he admitted, frowning. "She's right when she says the space would be better suited to residential."

"From the mouths of babes," Duke Terin interjected smoothly. "Pointing out an issue we've already established exists, and offering no viable solution."

From beside him, March felt Neroki's head whip around to the direction of the man. Knowing what was likely coming, he laid a hand on the prince's shoulder, giving it a warning squeeze, hoping no one else noticed. He considered it a victory when he didn't hear a cutting remark in retort.

"Give me a moment, please," March said softly, eyes razing over the large map. The area in question wasn't too far off from Kesmos, closer than many of the states they imported food from. "Instead of planting more crops here, you should invest in farming in Kesmos, where I'm from."

"And why would we do that, when Kesmos is a sovereign nation that would likely tax us an extra surcharge on the goods that are grown there?" Someone asked.

Pursing his lips, March picked up a quill. "Do you mind if I write on this?" He asked, glancing over to Beritz, who waved a hand in an affirmative gesture, a slightly amused look on his face. "Kesmos is prime farmland, to start, where this area of Ikronia would be poor for it. You wouldn't need to invest in an irrigation system, as the whole town is already set up for it. Not to mention the weather there is better suited."

He scribbled a simple grid chart on the paper as he spoke, highlighting particular areas. "Even without purchasing your own designated area for exclusively Ikronian crops, the weather and the soil there would grant you a considerably higher yield on pretty much anything you were to plant there."

"And how would your Kesmosian farmers adapt to the additional workload?" The duke asked with a slight sneer in his voice. "What would be their motivation to provide service to a nation they have no loyalty or responsibilities to?"

"Local jobs would never be looked down on," March argued, though in his mind he questioned why the duke felt invested enough to comment at all. He didn't even live in Ikronia. "There are plenty of people there who travel to the next county over for work. Less of them would have to do that if there was more work to go around. As far as loyalty, it would be easy to ingratiate yourself to the people there if you were to fund the building of a school, and maybe a few homes. Again, the eventual benefits would outweigh the initial costs, though it may take time."

"And to whom would we strike up this sort of agreement, in a state with no official ruler over it?" Beritz asked, among murmurs that sounded generally positive.

"It's true there is no king or queen or centralized government, but there are members of the society there that are influential. Land owners, and pillars of the community. I'd be happy to provide you with a list of those names, Your Majesty."

Beritz agreed to it, and the meeting went on from there. He only spoke up another few times to give an opinion here and there, but it was enough. He was certain he wasn't imagining the proud look radiating from Beritz' eyes when the king's gaze happened to sweep over him.

When it was over, and everyone was milling out, March and Nero left quickly, knowing the council members often ended the meetings with cigars and brandy.

"That wasn't so bad, right?" March asked, unsurprised to hear Nero's groan.

"Torture of the worst sort."

"Well, you should get used to it. You'll have to be the one to lead them one of these days."

Clucking his tongue, Nero considered. "After seeing how you handled yourself in there, I might just leave that part to you."

"Well, that wouldn't be very proper," March frowned. "Though I suppose I…" Trailing off, he felt his face heat up as the meaning of the words became clear. When he forced himself to drag his eyes up to Nero's, he saw the prince staring at him with a light smirk and a raised eyebrow. "We'll figure it out eventually," he mumbled, looking away.

"No, no," Nero chuckled, bringing a hand up to cup March's chin, moving it back to face him. "You can't look that cute without being kissed."

"I can't look any particular way without being kissed, as far as you're concerned," March groused a bit, but let out a low purr of approval when his face was tilted back. As Neroki's mouth parted his a bit, teeth lightly nipping into his full lower lip, March started to ease back, remembering they were hardly in a place where they could devour each other by way of mouth. Before he could, someone cleared their throat behind him.

Even before he could whirl around at the sound, March watched Nero's gaze flick up to somewhere over his shoulder, his honey eyes narrowing in unmistakable annoyance.

"I can see why you are so enamored with your current paramour, Prince Nero. Is it customary here to indulge in intimacy no matter where one happens to be?"

"Duke Terin." With an aloof tone March had rarely heard from the prince, Nero greeted the unpleasant man. "I can only offer an apology to your spouse, if you deem a simple kiss to be an inappropriate display of affection."

"Clearly things are done differently," he acknowledged coolly. "You have certainly broadened my perception in the way of Ikronian manners."

"I would broaden your perception to something else as well, if you insult my nationality again."

Feeling terribly awkward, March could only clear his throat and give Neroki a light nudge on the chest. Beritz had been clear about avoiding the duke and not being affected by his rude tendencies.

"My sincerest apologies, Your Highness. I was under the impression that we were simply a pair of gentlemen comparing the differences in our homelands."

"Ah," Nero buffed his knuckles on his coat, before flicking a speck of dust off it. "If you are so inclined, I would be more than willing to show you another difference in my homeland and yours." On cue, the roar of a dragon sounded from the enclosure. March wondered if it was Perrin, nearly blinking in shock at the ferocious sound, unnerved by how the sweetly mild-mannered dragon could sound so terrifying.

Though the duke's eyes darted over to the direction of the stone wall before resting back on Nero's, he didn't flinch. "I was not aware the majestic race of dragons were now saddled so intently on your whim. I suppose beasts are beasts, at their core."

"I'm sure you would find them to be so as they tore you to shreds with their claws and fangs."

"Undoubtedly," he said, rubbing at his chin. "Though they are quite a sight to behold, I've come to know in life that a pretty exterior often hides an ugly, wretched truth within."

"Then surely you must hold all the world's piety and virtue within yourself. Congratulations."

"Excuse us, Duke Terin," March said hurriedly, eyes wide at the vitriol between them. Beritz had warned him, but Neroki should have known better than to be baited into a verbal pissing match with a man who held no power or influence over his life to begin with. "I'm sorry you found our display to be inappropriate."

"I'm not," Nero deadpanned, though he knew March was right. There was little point in exchanging jabs with the duke. However, there was something particularly distasteful about a man who would become so obviously bitter over an understandable rejection. Could he not see that Nero's refusal wasn't personal, or based in malice?

Equally unimpressed, the duke only gave a nod, looking Nero directly in the eyes. "Perhaps you wouldn't be suited to my son after all. I'm afraid you may find his manners and social graces tedious after romping about with a country bumpkin who can only muse over poverty-stricken farmlands."

March, so struck by being called a country bumpkin of all things, could hardly absorb and process the series of events that followed. Later, when he tried replaying the events in his mind, he would vaguely remember Neroki's fist flying out from his side and striking a punishing blow to the duke's midsection. The middle-aged man folded in half like a napkin, then collapsed to the ground with the force of the prince's second punch to the side of his face.

"Neroki!" He heard his name called out in shock. He'd expected that, but he'd expected it in March's perpetually soft lilt, not in his father's booming baritone. He felt the anger pumping through him immediately fade into distress. Preparing to hang his head in guilt, he could hardly do that before the king's hand clapped onto the back of his neck and squeezed a yelp out of him. "What in god's name do you think you're doing, idiot boy?"

"He insulted-" Grimacing, Nero struggled to break free of his father's punishing grasp, but found the man's fingers to be as impenetrable as iron. "He insulted March, to his face."

"I had ears to hear that for myself, boneheaded dolt." With his face looking harder than steel, his voice rough as granite, the king let his eyes sweep over the crumpled heap of aristocrat before them. "I'll apologize for the behavior of this spoiled brat, Duke Terin. He'll be dealt with, I assure you."

Shame and fury were a bitter dance inside the duke, but he only spat, hoping to relieve the taste of blood in his mouth. "You raise hellions here in Ikronia, Beritz."

"I'm afraid your unnecessary insult to our guest was more than his youthful temper could handle, Terin."

"An admirable trait for a future king, to be sure." Humiliation throbbed in him, a sharp aching desire to thrash the impetuous crown prince.

"Since it appears you are unable to maintain a polite demeanor with March Cesari, as well as my son, I will have to insist on removing you from my castle. I'll make arrangements for your trip to Galasite before the night's end." Finally loosening his clenched fingers on Nero's neck, he shoved him forward a few inches so he stumbled to regain his balance.

"You, in my chambers. Now," he added, with a voice so domineering March nearly squeaked. Nero looked less intimidated, but the scowl on his face was dark. "And, you." The king turned to March, who felt the blood drain from his face. "Some tea, or some whiskey, I think. You're looking very pale, boy. Paler than usual, in any case."

Only then realizing that his legs were like jelly, March nodded. "Y-yes, Your Majesty." Sweet relief crashed over him as Beritz' arm circled his shoulders, supporting him a little. "Let's get you to the dining hall so they can fix you something hot."

Though it seemed like the scene couldn't become any more strange, everyone turned at the sound of frantic footsteps. A servant that March recognized from around the castle rushed toward them, panting as she skidded to a halt, eyes wild with terror.

"Y-Your Majesty! There's a fire in the west wing of the castle!"

SURVEYING THE DAMAGE, Beritz gave a heavyhearted sigh. He'd been king for many years now, more than half his life, but hadn't yet dealt with a fire in his beloved castle. It had taken nearly an hour to fully extinguish, but no one had been trapped in the blaze. That was not to say that there had been no casualties, Beritz thought bitterly, detesting the sound of a soft sniffle at his side.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart," Nero murmured into March's hair, holding the noble to his chest. "I'll have a dozen bows made for you. No, a hundred. Each more perfect than the last."

"There's nothing more to be done here tonight," the king said finally, sagging under the weight of his sadness. Laying a large hand on March's back, he gave it a few pats. "I can't apologize enough for what's happened, March."

"It isn't your fault, Your Majesty. You don't owe me an apology." Sniffling again, March tried to compose himself. It wasn't particularly befitting of a future leader to whine and cry over material objects. Even if his bow had been something crafted specially for him, a beloved gift he was afraid could never be truly replaced.

"For a guest under my roof to have their belongings destroyed is a great insult to me, boy. I can tell you that I'll have all your clothing, and anything else you've brought replaced with as much haste as I can muster."

"Thank you."

"You'll see that he gets to bed, won't you?" Beritz asked Nero, who nodded, a fierce expression in his eyes.

"Of course." Drawing the noble's face back from his shoulder, Nero gave him a questioning look. "You'll come to bed now, won't you, March?"

Though his heart was heavy at the dejection of the destruction around him, so did it feel a bit lighter as Beritz watched his one and only son gently comfort the person he was certain the little devil had come to love. And he himself had come to love the delicate young noble as well, which only furthered the sympathy and unhappiness that he felt.

He'd ordered a servant to fetch a physician for Duke Terin, though he was certain the brunt of the damage had been to his ego, and wouldn't be helped by a few pain pills. Despite knowing he was likely to laugh at some point in his life at the memory of Nero plowing a pair of straight-forward punches into the obnoxious aristocrat, Beritz was forced to admit his son rather deserved a good few smacks about the head for it. But he also knew he'd never had the heart to bring down a strap or paddle to the impulsive boy, and was likely one of the reasons he could be unmanageable at times.

Now that impulsive boy was an impulsive man. He could only be thankful that his son had chosen a spouse that would, with time, learn the best way to calm his more radical impulses. He watched the pair of them disappear behind a corner before heading off to find the duke and prepare to send him off.