He sat in a hut, unbothered by the recent heat that swelled in the longer days. Even with a damp brow, his breaths came out measured, sat still without fidgeting, diligent in both reading and writing brief letters. With the army so spread out, he could only rely on such letters and horsemen to deliver them. Of course, he also busied himself with inspections, although on such occasions the primary target of inspection was naturally the men of the army.

What lesson his wife drilled into his head more than any other was that of discipline. Not that she did so particularly systematically or even consciously, rather that, through her actions and philosophies, he learned the importance of order.

These young men, armed and boisterous, invigorated with the confidence of victory, yearned to exert their strength to its fullest, not in acts of bravery, but in violence. The desire to be the conquering army of old which took its righteous spoils of war from the innocent. Spoils, not merely in foods and valuables, but in women too.

There was a tacit understanding among all that God turned a blind-eye to war. After all, which of the soldiers had started a war? Which general was not following orders? Which King, ruling by God's grace, found that grace tarnished after making such a declaration?

So war became a place for men to put aside those rules which God forced upon them.

However, this war needed to be different. He had no desire to see his enemies crushed beneath his feet, nor did he wish to shirk his responsibilities as leader and let his men be led astray. Whether or not God turned a blind-eye, how could He not despair? That his men were all good Christians and these enemies, even if mercenaries, were still fellow Christians.

In the end, conflict was inevitable. Just as inevitable, then, was peace, whatever form it took.

"Sir, the envoy has arrived."

The voice spoke with a noticeable thinness, a restrained politeness; he had to admit that a lack of discipline did not stem from poor-breeding alone.

"Send him in, and spare us the guards," he said, finishing a sentence he had been writing.

"But sir—"

He placed the pen down, then looked up, his expression silencing this messenger. "Think before you speak. I do so so that my orders are clear and without mistake."

Chided, the messenger could only bow his head and, in the next breath, retreat from the hut.

He let out a sigh, pressing his fist to his brow for a moment. Over time, through these little interactions, through his discussions with his wife and others, he had refined his leadership into that of a father. Someone both warm and stern, present, yet distant. While the rules of those under him could be accommodating, his needed to be firm. Or rather, needed to appear firm, that he could always set a punishment and then be lenient in its execution. The impact of the first cane's strike was naturally greater than the tenth, yet forgiving that tenth brought about a gratitude. It helped, then, that any future punishment would repay that forgiven debt back with interest.

A different kind of leadership than to his wife's, which would be better described as a mother. Someone nurturing, tolerant, who would rather make a disobedient child write a letter of apology than to have them caned.

And he understood well that, as had been the case for families for countless centuries, these kinds of leadership worked best together. One without the other, although not lacking, could not reach every child—nor every adult.

As if waiting for his thoughts to naturally conclude, the envoy arrived.

"So it is no other than the Doge himself. Please, do take a seat."

His voice carried a warmth, his smile more than polite, yet he did not stand, merely gestured at the chair on the other side of his desk.

"I apologise for the surroundings. While it is rather beautiful in these parts and the weather pleasant, I do not intend to stay longer than necessary, so I have refrained from indulging in decoration."

The envoy was not a tall man, yet the hut was small, low doorway forcing him to bow to enter. Atop his head was the typical cap of his station which poked up at the back, both that and his cloak made of a gold-coloured fabric, while his long robes beneath were a strong red. As he straightened up inside, his face was unsurprising in its look; even a wealthy man of a powerful family which did not pride itself in raising warriors still had the characteristic tan of his people. As well as he held himself, the lines on his face and the white of his large, groomed beard belied his age.

If the envoy took offence to the host's greeting, he did not show it. In small, measured steps, he brought himself to the simple, wooden chair, and sat down in a smooth motion.

"My greetings, Prince Frédéric."

A deep voice, controlled, that of an orator. A capable orator. He knew keenly that, as the monarchies built their right to rule with violence, the republics used rhetoric.

And he knew that, right now, neither was at their strongest, even if this conversation would resemble rhetoric more than violence. However, it was to his advantage that he had observed those countless little conversations his wife loved to have with others.

Those thoughts of his wife were apt; he took a sealed package out of his desk and pushed it over to the envoy's side. "Before we begin any negotiations, I am of course here on behalf of Princess Julia, Countess of Augstadt, and she instructed me that, if this war should progress without any significant twists and turns, these documents would be the peace deal she offers."

For a moment longer, the envoy met his host's gaze, then looked down at the package. It was thick, sealed with a wax blob imprinted with a clear mark. After another moment, he broke the seal and, from inside, took out a pile of fine vellum.

Meanwhile, the host further observed the envoy. It became clear to him this meeting was to his advantage. If one forsook etiquette, to take the Doge hostage would offer no benefit beyond a monetary ransom. The leader of a republic was still a citizen, easily replaced.

Rather, he considered that, for the Doge himself to be here, he must have been forced. Perhaps the Republic even wished him captured and executed so that he could be replaced. For one who rules by rhetoric, what could be said of the last two years? For a people ruled by the wealthy, had these two years been profitable?

His wife had thought hard of how best to slide the knife into this republic and all he had to do was twist it. Even a small wound, if made ugly, could bleed the strength from a man. There was no need to take any further risks, merely wait until he has no choice but to concede.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

"What nonsense is this?"

He smiled, prepared to handle whatever surprise his wife had left him. Sure enough, as the envoy put down the pages, spread across the desk, they were all blank—blank but for two things. On the top page, there was a single line which specified that this was an accompaniment for any peace signed between the Republic of Venice and Grand Duke Charles of Austria or his rightful heir. The other writing was on the bottom of the last page, merely her signature.

Although the envoy may have had the advantage in rhetoric, he had the advantage when it came to his wife.

"Is it not clear, my good sir?" he said, bringing his fingertips together, smile unchanged.

The envoy looked up at him, brow furrowed. "It is clear she gave you the wrong package."

In a flash, his hand struck the table with a bang. "Do not doubt my wife," he whispered, almost a growl, then cleared his throat as he clasped his hands together. "It is clear to me that this is precisely the package she meant for this precise moment."

The envoy gave no reaction, either to the action or the words. "I will have to ask Sir to explain this meaning."

He gave a chuckle and, in a lazy gesture, rolled his earlier pen onto one of the pages. "She intends for us to negotiate as we wish—so long as Duke Charles has his demands met."

Of course, this all meant nothing about their situation had changed from opening this package, yet it felt like it did. Her signature intruded upon this negotiation, as if making it the pair of them against the envoy.

Except that was not how she negotiated.

"Allow me to be frank, I have no particular desire to linger in these parts. We owed Duke Charles our help as his ally and we have fulfilled that obligation. Those blank pages, if you so wish, take them back now. The day I hear Duke Charles has signed peace, my men and I shall march back and, as I have done so far, I shall keep them disciplined that we do not leave behind devastation in our wake."

With all that said, he drew in a deep breath, then leant forwards in his seat with his elbows on the desk, fingers together.

"However…."

That word of his lingered in the air, enticing, and if only because it did no harm to listen, the envoy leaned in.

"There is no need for Venice and for my wife and I to be enemies. There is much to be gained from being allies," he whispered. Not a quiet whisper, nor gentle, merely right for the shortened distance between them. Loud enough to be heard—and no louder.

Having heard, the envoy straightened up once more, his neutral expression gaining a touch of darkness. "It is certainly something to be offered friendship from those who have invaded our land and slain our people."

The host stared for a moment and, over that moment, his gaze grew ever more intense, what had been a polite smile now seeming almost manic. "Slain your men? What nonsense you speak with righteousness," he said, his tone not merely suppressed, but empty. "When we left Augstadt, we recorded every single man who left with us. I have personally visited every grave we have since dug. I know not only every man of ours who has died, but those he left behind. What of your losses? Mercenaries"—he practically spat out that word—"and I fear your only disappointment is hearing that we did not slaughter more of them."

The envoy gave no reaction, as if he neither blinked nor did his heart beat. "Yet you have invaded our land. Your allies, in their efforts, have brought not just the death of our citizens who took up arms, but also the death of innocents. To stand before me and play the victim is not just insulting, it is despicable."

A calm speech, his voice measured, which both contrasted with his words and gave an air of validity to them, as if it was not emotional hyperbole but a recitation of facts.

The host wished to smile. He always found these moments where, in subtle ways, his wife was as if praised. However, that merely reinforced that now was not the time to smile. So he kept his blank expression, kept his tone level, his voice neither too soft nor too loud.

"Is the contrast between this army and my ally's army not the greatest proof of my sincerity?" he asked, and now it was time to smile, a slight one as if he had made a clever joke he did not wish to bring attention to.

And the envoy remained unmoved. "Is to die from an infected cut not worse than to die by the executioner's axe?" he asked.

The host held out his hands and gave gesture as if he didn't know. "An infected cut may be treated; however, I have not heard of any miracle whereby a head has been sewn back on," he said, then brought a hand to his chin. "Of course, when you return, perhaps you might have a chance to be the first. A man of your wealth could surely have a most capable sewer at hand."

For almost a minute, the envoy simply met his host's gaze. Neither flinched nor bowed and, although they blinked, there was no hesitation in opening their eyes whenever it so happened.

In the end, the envoy broke away to gather the pages. "If you wish to leave, then leave, and we will give Duke Charles whatever it is he so wishes. You and I both know he has taken what he needs to hold and even begun building defences to reinforce his position. Whatever price he demands, in the end, it will be cheaper than prolonging this war."

Just as the envoy slotted the last page at the bottom of the pile, the host reached out and rested his hand atop the pile.

"Indeed, whatever price he gives must be paid," he said, then softened his voice. "So why not barter with us to pay less?"

At last, the envoy gave a reaction, his hands holding the pile tensing up; the host felt the slight pull under his fingertips, yet he did not press down. No, if the envoy wished to leave with this alone, then leave.

"Why would Duke Charles agree to such a thing?"

The host took back his hand, leaned back in his seat until upright again, while the envoy kept his grip on the pages. "Of course, I am not suggesting that we would be paid instead of him. What I am suggesting is that, if I present to him a certain deal that is less favourable to him, he would be more willing to accept."

After a few seconds, the envoy's hands relaxed and left the pages on the table. "Let us not speak purely in hypotheticals. However rough, present such a deal."

At that, the host smiled, almost a smirk. "The Duke pays to purchase the corridor to the sea with a guarantee that Venetian traders would pay no tariffs or tolls to move through this land. On your side, greater autonomy would be granted, particularly to the northern towns. We would establish a mutual agreement to eliminate tariffs on certain goods and agree on certain standards regarding trade, which would also include arranging the regular shipments of certain goods at a fair and reasonable price."

The envoy listened without moving a muscle, only at its conclusion that he breathed in a deep breath and let it out lightly. "So we would save our coin for the loss of our holdings," he said with a hint of humour, a small smile lingering after.

"Holdings you have already lost. While I have been here, Princess Julia has been there. If we offered them military support, do you think you could bring them to heel?" he asked, matching the slight humour.

With a thin breath, the envoy gave a shake of his head. "Whatever you say, in the end, how could you be our ally when allied with our enemies?"

"Let us be frank and acknowledge that, even without our help, Duke Charles would have still succeeded, albeit a more costly campaign for him. At the same time, the Greeks are already dominant on the sea. Your good fortune is that King Sigismund demands their focus. Speaking of, rather than in support of the Greeks, our position is to oppose King Sigismund."

After saying all that, he sighed and tapped the table before continuing.

"Duke Charles now has his port. We have already made it clear to him that we will not support any further conquest in Italy. If we hear of either King Mattias or Duke John raising an army, we intend to object—with arms if necessary. With regards to the Greeks, then, we know Venice has the talent to build ships. What she lacks is cannons, for which Augstadt has such talent."

For a moment, the envoy gave no reaction, then he simply sighed. "Sir speaks a lot and says little. These lofty ideas are purely that: ideas. If one merely heard your words, they would think you represented King Reginald himself, but you are only here on behalf of a countess who borrows your title. If I spoke to her herself, I could at least be assured that any deal we reach is binding, but you treat these blank pages as if they could possibly make such promises, both on behalf of her and of Duke Charles."

The host listened well, even nodded along, but, at the end, he wore a small smile, relaxing back in his seat. Indeed, this was all talk.

However—

"My wife, despite her relationship with the Nelli family, did not build a road to Genoa, did she? I, on her behalf, did not pillage these lands, did I?" he said, a loud whisper meant to be heard in this hut and no further. "If you cannot bring yourself to trust these actions, then I suppose there is nothing else to be said."

His hands came together in a clap, then opened, wider and wider until it was if he was greeting an old friend.

"However, if you could trust us, we may negotiate something which brings us all prosperity—before those watching neighbours decide to take advantage of your weakness in a less forgiving way."

Those words lingered in the air, painfully slow to disappear. Once they did, the envoy remained.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.