Return to your tent, contact Corinne.

Deciding to give spectating the battle a miss, you excuse yourself to your tent. Though none would ever say anything to your face, you feel the Beathans left to guard the camp staring daggers at you. The northerners, of course prized martial accomplishment in their leaders even more than Itheria did. For a king to be absent from the field, much less withdrawing to his quarters, was doubtless unthinkable.

You tried to pay them no attention. Your... unsuitability for matters of warfare was something you had long come to accept. Besides, with what you were about to do, chances were you could have a greater effect on the course of the war than any able-bodied man could on the field.

Ensuring you have adequate privacy, you lift your enchanted ring and will it to contact Corinne.

The Morlandian answers almost immediately. Through the red-tinted magical representation of her environment, you see she's in some kind of cave, her fearsome mask and armour discarded for a more practical set of leathers.

“Edward, this is a delight!” your cousin exclaims. “Mother tells me you've gone off to war alongside those snow chafed northern chiens. Most curious!”

“Y-you're no fan of Beatha, I take it?” you ask.

“Were it not for the aid those barbarians lend our enemies to the west, we'd have taken Sinnabarrow already!” Corinne explains.

“I'm surprised you care.” you slur. “you're sworn to our grandfather's cause above Morland's, surely?”

“Ah, in truth I suppose I don't truly care.” the baroness admits. “Still, I grew up in Morland, I have a certain... fondness for it, even if I'd see it brought under the All-sire's heel just as readily as any other human realm. It's like supporting a knight in a tourney, you know? I've no real stake in matters, but it's excellent diversion to play along.”

“I'm surprised you've been to a tourney.” you follow up. “To hear Roland tell it, you keep to the privacy of your own land.”

“Roland is a moron.” Corinne says. “While it's true I do prefer the seclusion of home when I'm not working for the good of our cause, I do occasionally make appearances at court. Have to, really.”

“You know...” you begin. “We could really use The Spider's assistance up here. A few infiltrations, assassinations...”

“I'm sure you could.” Corinne chuckles devilishly. “But why should I lend Beatha my talents?”

“T-they're a valuable ally. For me. For Itheria.” you clarify.

“I'm sure they are. But from what I hear, all you've committed to their cause, your men, your money, Roland and so many other sell-swords. Seems a little excessive, non? Unless... there's another reason you assist them so readily.” the Morlandian teases.

“There is.” you concede. “Her name's Kara. I intend to wed her.”

Corinne lets loose a throaty cackle.

“And your mother said you were different! So much more like a demon than a man! Yet here you are, smitten by some pure human girl!” Corinne snorts. You're a little surprised just how much condescension the brunette is able to put into the last three words, despite her own outward appearance.

“It's not like that.” you lie. “Marrying Kara joins our realms together, in spirit if not by birthright. We can use them.”

“Mother says they're a lost cause. Too strong-willed a people, too married to their local customs. Not to mention with the Order of the White Torch, they're home to one of the more formidable anti-demon organisations.”

“What human realm would kneel down for a demon king?” you scoff.

“Morland, for one. Believe me, “my people” are a weak, debauched lot. They're godless, demoralised, their riches plundered by their Sinnabarrovian neighbours and the realm disorganised by a chain of weak kings. Mother is confident with a few nudges in the right direction, we could bring the kingdom in line, when the time comes for Arinum to reign openly.”

“More talk of your mother. How is Arvha?” you can't help but ask.

“Irritable.” Corinne admits. “Unlike Aunt Bezoriana, pregnancy does not agree with her, I think.”

“A-apologies for that.” you say, unable to hide your grin.

“Have no fear, cousin, you simply followed grandfather's orders, as did she. But still, from what she tells me, me and my father are the only children she's produced in a century.”

“I suppose your soon-to-be brother-uncle or sister-aunt is joining a rather exclusive club then?” you respond, eliciting a deranged giggle from Corinne.

“All-sire, but they are!” she smiles. “I hope it's a girl, I always wanted a sister.”

“Out of curiosity, w-what are you doing, right now?” you ask The Spider.

“Oh, just disposing of some stock for Mother.” Corinne says casually. Tilting her hand, she shifts the magical projection being magicked into your tent until you can see the cave floor. At Corinne's feet is a naked woman, ****, her hands and feet bound.

“Some... stock?” you query.

“Oui. Mother likes to keep her stable of thralls at a certain size. When we acquire new servants, we have to trim the fat, as it were. That, and some of them get too old for Mother's liking, or used up, or-”

“I get the point.” you tell your cousin.

“It can be a chore, at times.” Corinne admits. “I don't mind too much though. Especially since mother lets me give them to my babies!”

Changing your view once again, Corinne provides you with a quick vision of the far side of the cave. It's nearly entirely given over to cobwebs, spider eggs, and the giant, eight-legged monstrosities themselves. The spiders are fearsome, larger even than the ones in Madeleine's menagerie. And almost certainly better-fed.

The overgrown arachnids bear Corinne no ill will. If anything, they welcome the Morlandian as one of their own.

“Ooh, I think she'll make a fine breakfast!” Corinne decides, letting out an unhinged giggle as she stoops, stroking the thrall's bare stomach.

“I'm... sure.” you say, a little disquieted.

“Do you want to watch them, Edward? I've always enjoyed watching my babies feast, but I've never been able to show anyone.” the baroness asks, as casually as she would beg your opinion on the season's fashions.