The Attack.

You watch on from the sidelines as the Oro Elide's ballista is wheeled as close to the town gates at the Southern mercenaries dare. A host of hundreds, Donald, Kara, Seki and Khaliq amongst them, cluster behind, ready to charge, shields raised to protect from whatever projectiles the Deanians can muster.

"The moment of truth!" Madeleine whispers, watching from your side. As the first bolt is loaded into the siege weapon, the princess grips your good hand for support.

Working as swiftly as they're able, before the raiders catch on, the Oro Elide fire. The first missile goes wide of the mark, impacting the rough-hewn town walls. The special bolt works as intended, splintering apart in just such a way that it's payload is strewn across the wall. Unfortunately, as Madeleine's composition was designed for wood and iron, it's not very effective.

“What the fuck?!” Madeleine hisses, squeezing your hand tighter, her rings biting into your fingers. “Benjy, go and tell these simpletons to aim better! They're making me look like a fool.”

“These are skilled operators of their chosen machine, Your Excellency.” Swain responds, on the other side of the Dauphine. “I'm sure they're well aware of what they're doing.”

“That's not what the evidence would suggest.” Madeleine sighs. You watch on as the siege operators load in another bolt, and recalibrate the device.

“Now that's more like it!” Madeleine observes, as the bolt strikes true. Even from far away, you can hear the wood and iron fizzle as the powerful alchemical formula dissolves them.

A cheer goes up from the amassed warriors. The Deanians atop the town walls seem taken aback, unsure how to respond to this new tactic. Of course, you have little doubt they're rallying behind the gate, preparing for the moment when Beathan and mercenary forces stream through.

“One more should be enough.” Madeleine notes, as the engineers ready said bolt. With the briefest of readjustments, they fire, the third bolt following much the same course as the second.

There's a palpable silence in the morning frost, before the gate comes apart. Great rugged planks of wood tumble down, echoing in a sequence of dull thuds. The way is clear now.

Donald, his handsome features obscured by a steel helmet, holds his axe aloft and bellows for the assembled forces to charge. They do so, closing the distance to the gate in a matter of seconds. As they do, the Deanians come out, meeting them. Though they know victory is a nigh-impossibility, given the numbers on your side, the raiders still fight with a certain zeal.

-

“I never doubted your invention for a second, Your Excellency.” Swain tells his lady, as you retreat from the periphery of the field, back towards the camp proper.

“I would've had you exiled if I even suspected you did!” comes Madeleine's chipper response.

“Shall we retire to your laboratory?” the bard asks. “There is the matter of that dispatch from the Queen...”

You sense the Dauphine's mood instantly sour.

“Forgive me, perhaps it was foolish of me to mention that, given our present company.” Swain catches himself. “Perhaps there are other endeavours-”

“No. Edward knows how much Camille has it in for me. Better than most, I should think. Here, read this.” Madeleine says. Reaching under her fur cloak, the princess produces a slim envelope from a fold in her gown, pushes it towards you.

“Let me know what you think.”

Accepting the proffered note, you scan it quickly.

Ma très chère Madeleine,

I write again to implore you to come home. The field of battle is no place for a young lady of good breeding and comportment. For the Dauphine to travel to foreign lands, taking part in a campaign in which Sinnabarrow has no stake, to which your father has given no sanction, is unthinkable.

Your father is sick. Frail. The thought of you in Beatha only exacerbates the king's condition.

For his sake, if not your own, I bid you return to Copieux at your earliest convenience.

With love and fealty,

Camille of Sinnabarrow

“Typical.” you say. “A duplicitous cow, as ever.”

“Exactly!” Madeleine exhales, as glad to hear someone share her dim view of her father's mate as you expected she would be. “ I swear, when Benjy read this to me, I got so mad I broke my best alembic.”

You glance to the bard. Madeleine's former tutor studiously avoids your gaze.

“Like that poisonous idiot cares one iota about my father!” Madeleine rants, as you, herself, Elodie and Swain enter the tent housing her workshop. “She wants him dead! Only she needs an heir from him first, so she can get her grubby hands all over my kingdom!”

“Whatever comes, whatever the Queen and the Chancellor attempt, you'll have my support, Madeleine.” you swear.

Your declaration is enough to bring a touch of mist to the Sinnabarrovian's eyes.

“Oh Edward...” she sighs, throwing her arms around your. She squeezes you tightly, pressing for forehead to your chest. “Why'd you have to marry Kara?”

“I'm... sorry?” you stammer.

“I never intended to marry, not if I could avoid it, but with you... It would've been tolerable.” Madeleine tells you. “Just think of it. We could've joined our kingdoms in a powerful union, supported each other completely, Itherian military power advancing Sinnabarrovian industry and genius. I would've even let you keep Kara as a mistress, if you so desired.”

“You're still important to me.” you say, doing your best to reassure the temperamental princess. “Kara and I, we may be joined, but we both care deeply for you.”

“You do?” Madeleine sniffs. “How much?”

You search for the correct platitude for a few agonising moments, hoping Madeleine will dismiss it as a facet of your infirmity, as many others do, before speaking.

“If Beatha and Sinnabarrow's positions were reversed, if your kingdom was the one facing down Einar, I'd be just as swift to ride to your aid.”

“Well, to sit in a carriage while your men ride to my aid.” Madeleine smirks, unable to help herself.

“It's no word of a lie.” you promise.

“So the next time Morland comes knocking at our border, wanting to bring us back under their boot heel, we can count on Itherian troops to defend us?” Madeleine probes.

“...Yes.” you slur. Even as you give Madeleine your word, part of you is aware you're spending political capital you might just have already burned. Your decision to commit so heavily to aiding Beatha had not been received entirely warmly in your court. To say nothing of more recent events, such as your marriage to Kara.

“That would mean a lot.” Madeleine says. “The very thing that makes Sinnabarrow so great, our trade expansion across the globe, is what leaves us unable to fully repel the Morlandians without external help.”

With Madeleine assuaged, you return to your own tent. You sit, swilling wine and doing your best to ignore Roland's repeated attempts to contact you over your enchanted ring, whiling away the hours until the battle is resolved.