A nervous courtier stepped forward, whispering into the Duke’s ear. Vratislav had been seen meeting with a known assassin in the tavern district. The "Loyal Brother" modifier was a lie; Vratislav was currently 95% of the way through a "Murder" scheme targeting Bořivoj.
Vratislav leaned in, his eyes gleaming with the sharp light of a man who saw opportunity in every shadow. "An alliance secures our southern border, brother. It makes us untouchable. With the Hungarians at our back, we could finally claim the Duchy of Nitra."
In the world of the Middle Ages, friends are just enemies who haven't found a good reason to betray you yet. A nervous courtier stepped forward, whispering into the
"The King of Hungary offers an alliance," Bořivoj muttered, his voice gravelly from a week of fever. "He wants my eldest daughter for his second son."
The flickering torchlight of the Great Hall in Prague cast long, dancing shadows against the stone walls. Duke Bořivoj sat at the head of the heavy oak table, staring at a small, wax-sealed parchment. To his left sat his Chancellor, a man who had served his father; to his right, his ambitious younger brother, Vratislav. Vratislav leaned in, his eyes gleaming with the
Bořivoj grunted. He looked at his icon in the corner of his mind—or rather, the bond he felt with his Chancellor. The old man shook his head. "The King of Hungary is 'Ambitious' and 'Deceitful,' my Liege. He doesn't want a partner; he wants a claim on your throne. Once your daughter is in his court, she is a hostage, not a bridge."
The Duke didn't shout. He didn't call the guards. Instead, he turned to his brother and smiled—the cold, calculated smile of a player who had just checked the . With the Hungarians at our back, we could
Suddenly, a notification seemed to chime in the air—a .