Enlightened Empire

After the awkward opening, Prince Pacha began to introduce the companions to his side with a grand wave of his arm.

"Brother, you should still remember our uncle: Lord Divitius Ichilia." Lord Ichilia, Governor of the West, Spuria’s brother and not actually Corco’s uncle, was much smaller and a lot less showy than his nephew. After his introduction, the unremarkable figure stepped out of Prince Pacha’s shadow and in front of today’s guest of honor.

"It is this governor’s great pleasure to finally meet Prince Corco again. To his great misfortune, this lord only arrived in Arguna a short while ago. Thus, it was impossible to prepare a suitable gift for Prince’s banquet." His words were as smooth as his wide smile was open. At once, Corco could tell that this one was a much better actor than Pacha.

"Lord Ichilia, you could have just taken some stuff from the silver palace. Now that House Ichilia has moved into Pluritac Castle, it would have been easy to just take whatever you need, right?" Unlike with his brother, there was no reason for Corco to be polite with the Ichilia brood. Now was the time to get rid of his frustrations.

"Prince Corco jests. The empress mother stopped being a member of House Ichilia the moment she was wed to the late Emperor Titu." With pinpoint precision, Divitius poked at Corco’s wounds and seemed to gear up for a well-plannedprovocation, but any of his potential ploys were dismantled by an inconvenient outcry for justice.

"How dare you talk to uncle like that! Even if you are my brother, this hero will not stand for it!" Prince Pacha barged into the conversation. Even when he supported the most powerful Lord of Medala against a powerless prince’s bullying, the self-proclaimed hero somehow managed to sound righteous. The fact that Corco was his own brother or that he was much weaker than the governor didn’t seem to matter much for the hero’s justice. Under a menacing stare, Corco saw his brother step closer. Rather than be intimidated, the first prince rolled his eyes and made half a step back. Hoping beyond hope, he was still trying to deescalate the conflict.

"Yeah, okay. Let’s just get this over with. Tell me about your other lackey." Despite his best efforts, Corco was just about done with his younger brother. This could not possibly be the same man his grandfather had called a ’good child’. Before the good child was about to further could puff up spread his feathers even more, Divitius grabbed the boy’s arm and motioned towards the back. Meanwhile, the fat, pale man to Pacha’s left stepped forward to introduce himself, a businesslike smile on his face.

"Prince Corco, it is my honor to make your acquaintance. My name is Borgarson. Steen Borgarson. I am a representative of the great empire of Cahlia."

Right away Corco hated the man. As someone who had worked with the Cahlians before, he knew that Cahlia wasn’t actually an empire, but a small kingdom instead. Even so, there was no way the Cahlian nobility would allow a common merchant to represent them. Even so, Corco overlooked the merchant’s obvious lies. Any time spent with the slick trader was nothing but wasted effort. Plus, there was a far more fun issue for Corco to address.

"Cahlia, is it? You might not have heard, but I spent quite some time over in Arcavia. Cahlia was a place famous for its unique, red haired people, wasn’t it?" Corco smiled as he pretended to make small talk.

"Prince is correct." With faked enthusiasm, the merchant nodded, no doubt sure in the knowledge that he had his marked hooked.

"So, I was wondering," the mark asked with a smile. "Has Lord Kallas recently misplaced one of his guards? Red hair, pale skin, black cloak. He would be around my brother’s height, I think. I remember seeing someone like that two nights ago," Corco said, the harmless smile still plastered on his face. Meanwhile, he observed his own mark, to look for signs of recognition.

"That would not be possible. All my men are still with me." Only for a moment, the merchant’s eyes shook, before he returned to his business smile and calm attitude. Still, for Corco, it was enough. Now he knew who had supplied his would-be killer.

*I wonder what Margrave Hakon would think about this,* Corco wondered, with a thought back to his former accomplice from Cahlia.

"That’s good then. Wouldn’t wanna start our relationship on the wrong foot, would we?" he said instead.

Perhaps eager to change the topic, Steen brought out his own present.

"As a show of goodwill, our great empire of Cahlia will present Prince Corco with this quality wine. It is the best in our guild’s selection," the merchant said as he handed the prince more of his own brandy.

For a moment Corco was left speechless, so he passed the bottle back to Primus without a word. Although his actions were rude, the prince was too busy to care about the merchant’s feelings. Rather, he tried to guess which Arcavian noble had stocked up on his brandy and then made a killing with resale. While Borgarson still waited on the first prince’s reply,the third prince wasall gathered up again at last. Filled with confidence, the hero would not wait on anyone.

"Ah yes, brother. This hero will also present you with a gift to commemorate this meeting." Pacha’s attendant handed Corco his gift. Without any warning, the small object lay heavy in his hand. What Corco found sparkling in the evening light was a small, beautiful silver turtle. Corco’s eyes grew large as a weight seemed to settle in his stomach and brain all at the same time. How could a single person have so little sense?

"What in the actual fuck are you doing?" he asked his brother in disbelief, his voice barely a whisper.

In Yaku culture, the giant turtle was considered a benevolent guide through the underworld. Thus, a turtle would only ever be gifted during a funeral. Receiving one at any other time was considered bad luck, even a curse. It implied that the one to give the gift wished the recipient a quick death.

"This hero is not quite sure what brother means?" Despite his feigned ignorance, the wide grin on Pacha’s face showed Corco the extent of his brother’s callous nature. What no combination of rude gifts, hidden insults or wine had managed, Pacha achieved with a single tactless gesture.

"Whose fucking funeral is that fucking turtle for exactly!? Mine or your father’s!?"

All conversation around the court stopped to the boom of Corco’s shout. Lords turned their heads and pricked up their ears, eager to listen in on the confrontation between the princes. As if he had expected Corco’s outburst, Pacha replied with a calm, clear voice, eager to make all lords hear their conflict.

"How presumptuous of you, brother! Do you imply that all the houses who have given gifts today have insulted you? Even if you are my brother, this hero will not stand for this slight on the great nobles of Medala!"

With a slack face Corco stared at the idiot hero, unable to believe his ears. If this was Pacha’s grand plan, Corco hoped he hadn’t spent too much time on it.

"Everyone else sent grapes and raindrops!" he shouted as his arms waved around the venue. "Those are perfectly fine to celebrate a rebirth. You didn’t! You just gave me a turtle, you dumb fuck! If you can’t understand what that means there must be something wrong with your head! Is that your fucking problem maybe!?"

At his older brother’s sharp reprimand, Pacha became defiant. Once again he stepped forward, and looked down his nose, into his brother’s eyes.

*Another provocation.*

"This hero has been educated by the greatest teachers of the empire! How could anyone dispute this hero’s intellect?"

Despite his brother’s imposing size, Corco wouldn’t back down this time. At this point, he was far too angry to consider his promise to Caelestis.

"Then if there’s nothing wrong with you, you’ll understand perfectly well what that turtle symbolizes. So I ask again, what the fuck is that fucking turtle for? Your brother’s funeral; or your father’s? And don’t try to hide behind the other houses... or that snake-like uncle of yours. You brought the fucking thing, you fucking answer!"

At last the hero had realized that something was wrong. As if in slow motion, he looked around and saw the various nobles glued to his lips. Drops of sweat began to bloom on Prince Pacha’s face. No wonder, as he had not only broken every rule of etiquette, he had even tried to drag the other houses into his mess. After he had maneuvered himself into a corner, he looked around in search for an answer, but his older brother beat him to the punch.

"Now that I think about it, you haven’t visited father even once since the funeral. In that case, wouldn’t it make sense for you to celebrate your father’s death? You get to strut around and play great hero after all. All you need to do is squander your father’s legacy and give it away to whoever plays pretend with you! This might sound harsh, but as the elder brother, I should be the one to teach you when you screw up, so here’s the deal:

"When your father dies, you visit his grave! Preferably more than once in two seasons! You don’t take pleasure in his death either! When your eldest brother comes back after seven years of disappearance, you shouldn’t be the last one to greet him, you should be the fucking first! And greet him by yourself! Don’t bring along your new owner and some fat fucking trader who shouldn’t even be anywhere near this place! And most importantly: Don’t give him a Mother! Fucking! Turtle!" Corco paced around the room as he got himself more and more worked up. By the end of his speech, his screams could be heard all over the inner city. He didn’t care. Halfway through his last sentence, he remembered his brother’s gift, still sat in his hand, and fired it onto a table, where it crashed through pots and pans, under a loud bang and clatter.

For a moment, serenity returned to the court. No one moved, as if frozen in time. By now, Corco no longer cared what his brother or his grandfather or anyone else in the courtyard might think. He simply let out all of his accumulated frustration on his shocked younger brother.

"And what the fuck is with the getup? Your father still lies bared up and you run around like a peacock who fell into a fucking vat of gold, calling yourself hero... all proud of yourself. What sort of mythical beast do you intend to slay in that impractical bullshit armor? No matter how many famous teachers you pile up, you’ll still be an idiot. Why else would you act like this and ruin your own reputation even more than that of your own family? As for your supporters?" Corco focused in on Lord Ichilia. "Do you know why they follow you? They do it because they know. They know if they want to undermine the order of the empire, the one our ancestors have so painstakingly created over generations, all they have to do is keep you trapped in your little heroic fairy tale. You are not welcome at my banquet or anywhere near me! Not until you go and apologize to your father, you spoilt fucking brat!"

At last Corco’s barage awoke Pacha from his stupor. With a puffed-up chest and clenched fists, he marched towards his brother, his intentions clear. Even when Divitius tried to hold the youngster back by the shoulder, he brushed off the hand and closed the distance with purpose.

I will show my older brother just who is in charge, his entire posture seemed to scream. Dwarfed by his brother’s massive size, Corco turned his torso to the side and grabbed his injured arm to protect his shoulder. Even though everyone around had looked forward to the fight, to the lords, Corco seemed to back down from the confrontation already.

Then, out of nowhere, a streak of light shot in between the brothers to separate them, and both obedient boys jumped back. As their eyes followed the object, they found a heavy axe embedded in the wooden wall of the alcove. With calm strides, Sonco stepped between the two brothers and retrieved his weapon with a single, firm grasp.

"So that was where I left my axe," the governor said into the silence, "Corco, my boy. You don’t look too healthy. How about you go get some fresh air while I take care of our good guests."

Corco couldn’t even see his uncle’s provocative look towards the third prince’s party. In disbelief over what had almost happened, he looked down towards his injured arm before he turned and left the stunned crowd behind.

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