Miran himself has had plenty of experience setting the traps, all to appease his watchful father, but he has no idea what the actual properties of the mage-killing haze are. That's his younger sister's expertise. "I can help with their locations, but I don't know how to counter them. Heed my words, you will set off at least a few. They're set up like a minefield. When they're triggered, blades coated in poison or capsules containing viruses will attack. It is possible to survive, but it'll likely kill you before you can counteract them." An exhale. "My sister was the one who first created the mage-killing poison." He shoots Nicandros a venomous look. "She is a child, one that's been manipulated by my father since she was born. You are not to lay a finger on her. I will speak to her personally about the traps and see if there's any antidote to it."
He looks to the map again, studying the neighboring kingdoms of Blakkast, Cobrass, Lumeire, and Irgeven. Blakkast is a mining kingdom, renowned for their ores and gems. Cobrass is set deep in the forest, in a humid environment near the rocky coast where they fish and dive for their exports. Lumeire is a valley kingdom much like Irgeven, but craft garments and weave textiles. Irgeven's inventions are leagues above any other kingdom's. Really, Miran is baffled why his father chose the agriculture kingdom of all to conquer. "You're right," Miran says with a nod. "The letters will be drafted by tonight. We'll have their status hopefully before we arrive in Blakkast."
"I wouldn't dream of harming your sister. You have all been poisoned by your father at one pint or another. I never held it against Bel, I won't help it against the others," Nicandros said. While it would be a bump in the road to convince the child of his cuase, he had faith. Bel had been easy and Miran had already turned against his father. The other two would come around sooner of later. Though he had a feeling it would be later than sooner. "I have faith that working with you and your sister, we will find away to neutralize at least some of them."
He nodded again. Good. One more thing off of his plate and onto another's. He had plenty to do as it was and all he wanted to do was enjoy what little time he had left here with Bel. Then it would be another week of being on the road with little privacy with Bel. Which meant little touching and they couldn't fall asleep in the same bedding. At least not out in the open. "Alright, sounds good. What else can you tell us that we need?"
"The mage-killer isn't a quick death," Miran says quietly. It's a painful, suffering thing. One that Miran was defenseless against, with only a thick cloth to his mouth to filter out what he could. His friends didn't make it. They were only meters from the border. Miran wants to cough. He wants to hack up whatever remains still linger in the depths of his lungs. "It's suffocating. It'll pull all the magic from your blood and through your lungs. If it doesn't collapse your windpipe, you'll certainly bleed out before you can do much else." He swallows and begins his pacing all over again, eyes never leaving the scaled marker of Araniel.
"The soldiers are all armed with a salve that's resistant to any type of burn. After my mother was killed, my father was adamant on preventing fire mages from getting anywhere near our walls. An act. My father didn't care once my mother was killed. I wouldn't put it past him to sign the decree himself." His eyes go glassy, but he's quick to blink it away. "If he found out he had a mage for a son, he would have a public execution for it. Rid the bloodline of any corruption." He shakes his head and clears his throat. "We're lucky Treya was taken on the road with us. If she stayed any longer in her basement laboratory, she could've developed inventions to make Aranian soldiers invincible to magic."
Nicandros grimaced at the description of the gas. It was not something to trifle with and should be something everyone in his army should be cautious of. Everyone would be informed and everyone would be equipped with countermeasures. Even if it was unlikely they would be able to use it, a fighting chance was better than no chance. He hoped his sister was able to make countermeasures. And perhaps there was a way to prevent it from even happening. Gass masks or something of the sort. He was sure the two women coukd design something that could be in use before they attacked the palace.
He looked away as Miran's mother was mentioned again. It was a death that never should have happened. Some rogue vigilantes thinking they were on the right path when in fact they were on the very opposite one. Fire cannot be fought with fire. It would only make the flames grow larger and spin out of control. "It's a good thing all of you got out." He noted. "You've been around your father the most. You're a warrior. Tell me about your father. I want to know every move he could possibly make. Any tricks he might try. I need to know all of it." He wasn't going to send his men into a massacre.
Miran looks to the top of the tent, then to the map, then to the floor and back up again, never meeting anybody's eyes. "King Mierlenan is… He is a cruel man. He married my mother to secure the fortified Blakkast for an ally, but he never loved her. She was nothing more than a tool to him." He can feel the anger rising as he thinks about his mother and how terribly she had been treated by the pig that was his father. "They had been together five years before the eldest was born. Her name was Kein and she died when she was nine. She was five years older than me and my mother was pregnant with Bel when she died in her sleep." He grits his teeth. "She was similar to Treya with an odd reaction to magic. Except, instead of Treya's bloody noses, Kein would have seizures."
"My father was the cause of that. He thought with a human magic-detector at his side, he would be impossible to kill. When Kein was an infant my father began experimenting on her, altering her blood and mind until any sort of abnormal, magical presence would cause it to shut down." Miran pivots on the ball of his foot, finally meeting Nicandros's eyes. "My father's the type of man to kill his own children for his own gain." Kein was nine and Miran was the only sibling to ever know her. Bel has her eyes. "His throne room makes all of us sick to stand in. His power is suffocating. He's no mage, but he's killed enough to absorb their presence."
Nicandros watched the prince as he spoke of his eldest sister. His body tensed more with every word, his hatred solidifying of the king. A child. He had caused the murder of his own child on pure selfishness. These children had been through so much in so little time. They deserved happiness. When thus was all over and Nicandros sat on the throne, he was going to purchase a nice cottage for them to go and rest. Someplace for them to vacation and relax, to work through all of this trauma. Bel was more than welcome to join them if he pleased, ever if Nico didn't like the thought of being away from each other for long periods of time.
"I'm sorry for you loss. Your father is a monster and your sister should still be with us today." He knew no words could ever consol him. There was nothing truly to be said when someone lost family or a friend. There was nothing to do but be there for them when they needed it. "What are your father's military tactics?" He knew of the king's cruelty and now he knew the extent. He didn't want to touch anymore on it and bring up any agonizing memories for the prince.
"A lot of people should still be with me today," Miran says quietly, but he shakes off any sentiment and looks to Nicandros with a stone face. He pushes his mother, his sister, his friends and comrades out of mind. He doesn't need to think about them. Not now. They will be avenged; they will be at Miran's side when he finally ascends to the throne and makes things right.
"There's soldiers infesting the palace." They're like ants, swarming in the corners and marching through doorways and holding their large pikes. "They like standing guard in every damn hallway. However, only the ones closer to the throne room are exceptionally trained. The rest are just boys in helmets trying to protect their families." He almost feels bad for them. "That doesn't mean they're not dangerous. They're weak but abundant."
"And for his military tactics, my father enjoys choking out the enemy and watching them suffer before swooping in to steal the entire town. It's submit or be killed." And too many have been killed. "He hasn't stolen any kingdoms yet–only the independent towns near the border. He's growing gutsy. I wouldn't put it past him to seize one of his neighboring kingdoms soon."
Nicandros nodded his head. A couple of generals were writing things down or discussing things quietly to themselves. Inexperienced soldiers might be easier to subdue without having to kill them versus well trained soldiers. They were still a threat, he knew that. Especially when threatened. But they would be easier to subdue. He would make that clear to his people and his army. Subdue if possible, kill only when necessary. He didn't want to turn the palace into a a massacre despite that the king had done that to Nicandros' kin.
Seizing a neighboring kingdom would be problematic. "Let's hope we can stop him before that happens. Bit perhaps we can use that as well to gain allies. The king is not above taking over another kingdom. He already got one, what's to stop him from taking another? It might help our cause as well."
"I was hoping he would die before things got violent," Miran muses with a shake of his head. It was a terrible waiting game. Every day Miran would wake up, praying for the news of his old man's demise. It never came. It's time to get a little proactive. "I would get the throne without the word of treason getting out. There would be no blood, but I'm growing to believe the damned hypocrite is using other forces to keep himself alive." He grits his teeth and paces again and again.
The King's liver should've gone out years ago as his alcoholism ran rampant. The King's heart should've stopped when a heart attack took hold. The King's brain should've long been taken by dementia. And yet, the King still lives. He still sits upon his throne and signs the decrees for massacres and genocides.
"I will not allow my father's tyranny to extend past our borders. We will stop him before he even thinks about an attack." Miran's voice grows cold.
Nicandros refrained from mentioning that it was he that would be sitting on the throne, not Miran. Nicandros had ever right to si ton the throne. It was his family's throne, his mother's kingdom. He would avenge her death and the death of everyone else. But saying that would spark another argument and he really wasn't in the mood for that. That argument coukd cone at a much later date. Perfably after the king was dead so Nicandros wasn't fighting two enemies instead of one.
"We will stop your father before he has a chance to go after anyone else. He will die." Nicandros leaned forward. He glanced at the clock. Eleven in the morning. He was getting closer to seeing Bel. He drummed his fingers on the table. "Contact any mages you might still have contact or sway with. We'll need all of them we can get."
"Oh, I know he'll die." By Miran's hand. He'll be damned if he ever lets anyone else get the finishing blow. Nicandros has also suffered, but thousands of others have as well. Miran's lived it. He's had to wake up every day for the past twenty-five years knowing that his father's blood courses through his veins. He has to breathe in the suffocating power of a stolen throne. He's had to sit and watch as the king caused the deaths of hundreds. It's Miran's right to patricide. He's been counting the days since he was a boy.
"If you have nothing else for me, I'm going to begin drafting the letters to my allies. I wrote to Sella last night. I'm sure she'll get back to me tonight or tomorrow." Miran doesn't bother with a nod or goodbye–he exits the tent and breathes in the early afternoon air. He finds the cafeteria tent with his siblings. He bumps past Bel, who is carrying a plate of food. Slightly confused but deciding it's not his problem, Miran looks to Treya and Val. "I need you two." He jabs his thumb in the direction of their temporary tent.
Nicandros nodded his head. The king would die. For years he had envisioned the way he would kill that king. Now, he wasn't so sure. Not that the king would die just that it wouldn't be by his hand anymore. Miran had been victimized maybe even more than Nicandros had by the man. If Miran asked, he wouldn't say no. The final blow would be his but the crown belonged to Nicandros. He nodded his head. "Of course," he dismissed Miran. "I'll have Ambrose catch you up on the rest of our meeting later." Nico could tell Mabrose liked the prince. At least liked him more than Nico did.
After the prince had left, the rest of them had begun to talk about preparations once more. They were assigning who would guard what, people or supplies. Nothing that Miran would be needed for. They chose the exact passage they would take. He would run it by Miran later to make sure it was possible.
The Crown Prince takes his sisters to their tent, where he immediately begins to debrief them on the situation. Treya is hesitant, claiming that she never signed up for patricide. Val, per usual, is silent. Miran doesn't blame any of them. Their situation is rough, but the death of their tyrant father will be the best for everybody. All he needs is his sisters' cooperation to get their secondary kingdoms to back Araniel in the coup.
Bel, left alone in the mess hall, finishes up his cooking. He's a fairly neat chef, but there are still dirtied dishes. He'll clean them up later; he doesn't want the meal he made to go bad. With a small covered tray in hand, Bel ducks out of the tent and avoids as many people as possible. He gets lost somewhere along the way, but a little kid kindly gives him directions to the war tent. There are voices coming from within and a sudden wave of anxiety washes over Bel. How is he supposed to do this? Just waltz in with food? Gods–Well. No better time than now.
Swallowing his anxiety, Bel pokes his head into the tent, immediately finding Nico on a fancy chair at the head of the table. He looks tired. Bel prays that he can get Treya to make a tonic. He locks eyes with Nico and offers a small smile.
Nicandros was in a conversation when Bek poked his head through the tent. As soon as he noticed the prince he paused in his sentence, staring at Bel. There was a small smile and he cleared his throat. "Let's pause for lunch. We'll reconvene in an hour." That would give Nico the time to go through some of his paper work and write down a more detailed plan. And it would give him some time with Bel. As the men and women got uo from the take, Nico waved Bel over to him. His stomach was grumbling in answer.
As soon as Bel was close enough, he grabbed his hips and pulled him into his lap. He placed the food on the table and loosely wrapped his arms around Bel. "I missed you," he said before leaning in to kiss him.
Bel only enters when everybody had exited. He considers himself a people-person but its very hard when people are scary and they could possibly hate him. He waits for a moment and only after ensuring the tent is empty, save for Nico, Bel enters. They have an hour together.
He quickly finds himself seated atop of Nico's lap. "It's been four hours," Bel says with a smile as he readily accepts Nico's kiss. "And I made wraps." All of the ingredients are perishable and Bek doesn't want to take away any food from the journey ahead of them. "Oh yes. And brownies."
"And that was much too long," Nico said. He leaned back in the chair, his hands rubbing up and down Bel's outer thigh. He had a soft expression as he looked up at Bel. He looked tired yes, but something had changed. He felt a little bit more laid back and relaxed now that they were working on a solid plan. It put his mind to ease, even if he still needed to do some work during his lunch break. He wasn't letting Bel go until he absolutely had to. "Thank you, my love. Will you eat with me?"
They were alone in the tent and neither of them had eaten breakfast. He expected for Bel to eat more than he usually did to make up for the missed meal. Despite his stomach rumbling, he didn't reach for his food. Not yet. He was too content to sit like this.
"Mm, I'd love to eat with you," Bel answers, even though he's fully aware that he'll hardly eat more than a few bites. Despite the question and agreement, none of them make a move for the food. Bel stares into Nico's eyes with a content smile before looking to where his hand is softly caressing his thigh. If they had more time, this would without a doubt escalate into something much more heated.
"Are we actually going to eat?" Bel teases in a quiet voice before uncovering the trey of food. There two and a half wraps, vegetables and seared chicken poking out from where the lettuce had been diagonally sliced. There's a side of brownies, stacked in a neat pyramid. The rest had gone with his sister. Bel notes that he didn't bring any drink, but it was hard to find anything that wasn't alcohol or in low supply.
Nico chuckled gently. "Yes, we are going to actually eat. I didn't have any plans for anything else. Unless you did, then I'm totally up for it," he teased. He chuckled quietly before turning his head to look at the food that had been uncovered. He lifted one hand from Bel's thought to grab one of the wraps. It looked as good as it smelled. He held the wrap up to Bel's lips, indicating for him tjbtake the first bite. Nico would get a small pleasure for just being about to feed Bel. It made him happy to take care of him.
Once a bite had been taken, Nico took his own bite. He chewed thoughtfully, making his face look more dramatic than it needed to be. "I have to say, this is the best wrap I've ever had. And I'm not just saying that."
Bel blinks when the wrap is offered to him first. Knowing that Nico would persist until he obliges, Bel bites the bullet and bites the wrap. He chews it for a moment and swallows, definitely missing his spice rack. It's not terrible but Bel knows he's capable of much more. He's at least thankful that he had swallowed his food before Nico talked, for he's sure he would've choked on it from Nico's melodramatic reaction.
"Stop–" Bel smiles and knocks his head against Nico's collarbone. He keeps his eyes low as he reaches for a brownie, breaking it into smaller pieces. They're still warm.
Nico laughed softly as Bel knocked his head along his collarbone. He pressed a gentle kiss to the side of his head, giving his thigh a small squeeze. He raised the wrap back up to Bel. "Here, have a few bites for me love." He was too skinny. Bel was tkk skinny. If Nico ran his hand along his sides he would be able to feel every rib. It wasn't good. But he would have to take it day by day, slowly encouraging bigger portions. They would her there slowly.
Njco noticed the brownie in his hand. "Teying to skip lunch and go straight to dessert? He said in a teasing voice to Bel. He raised Bel's hand up to his face and took a piece of brownie out of his hand, eyes watching Bel the entire time with a sensual glaze.
"I didn't make this for me–" Bel objects softly, batting away at the food. "But if you're so inclined to force me to eat–" Bel reaches for the smallest wrap of the three, practically a half. "Will you be happy if I eat this?" He won't have to eat anything else for hours, he likely won't even be that hungry for dinner, but now is all that matters. He bites into the small wrap.
"Is it so bad to have a little bit of a sweet tooth?" Bel inquires with a mischievous grin.
Nico gave him a nod as Bel reached for a wrap. "Just a little bit for me. You don't have to eat it all." He would rather Bel eat it all. He would rather Bel eat more. He was curious as to why none of them ate very much but that was a question that could come later. Right now was not the time to bring that up. So instead, he put on a brave face and tried to act like Bel's lack of appetite didn't phase him. One day it would get better. One day Bel would feel comfortable to eat as much as he wanted to. He would have the appetite for it. One day.
He chuckled. "I don't think it is." He still had the brownie piece in his hand, still raise to his lips. "Open your mouth."
Bel's rarely hungry. He's never felt obligated to eat, especially in front of an audience. The presence at the dining table was suffocating. Bel always stared at his plate of half-eaten food before quickly excusing himself to sit alone in his room, strumming at a lyre or growing some plants. He supposes all those years of hardly eating at all transferred to his current state. Through the journey to the camp, he had been fine, but then he learned the truth. Then his siblings showed up and bad memories resurfaced and that perfect bubble was ruptured and Bel isn't hungry anymore.
Bel takes a few slow bites, chewing them thoroughly so it's easy to swallow. Once he's taken his share, he sets the remainder down on the tray. He'll likely pick it up again in the next few moments. He looks over to Nico with an inquisitive glare. "What are you doing?" He says, halfway between a laugh and a question. Nevertheless, he opens his mouth to see what the other man has planned.
Nico tried not to let it ruffle him as Bel set down the half eaten sandwich. It was already pretty small to begin with, so eating half was really even smaller than that. But he didn't say anything. No matter how much he wanted to. He needed to have patience. And he coukd be but apparently not when it came to Bel.
Taking a piece of brownie, he raised it up to Bel's lips and gently placed it between the prince's lips and into his mouth. He had an almost heated look as he did this. He never knew eating could be so sensual. Not like this, anyways.
Bel takes the sweet carefully, brushing his teeth and tongue gently across Nico's fingers. "Thank you," he says quietly after he's done chewing. He licks at his lips, never once looking away from Nico's face. He brings his arms to lightly rest around Nico's torso, shifting so he's almost at eye level with Nico.
He wishes they had more time. After these two days, they'll be on the road for a week. At least after that they'll have two and a half months to lice together in the palace–that is, if Bel's cousins opens her gates to him. The Blakkian border had been closed for nearly a decade, but with new royalty comes change; Bel prays Sella will be kind enough to house them.
