"If he lives and we die, his truth becomes written
And ours is lost.
Shepherd will be a hero. Cause all you need to change the world is one good lie and a river of blood."
…
…
The winds howled outside, but inside the building where Napoleon and Louise were sitting, a great fire was blazing. The two of them sat at a great round table, and a mug of steaming coffee sat in front of the Emperor. An expression of contempt and disdain remained on his face as he looked across at the opposite side of the table.
"I am curious, General De Poitiers. Are you so eager to obtain promotion and glory for yourself that you chose to launch an invasion of a foreign nation high in the skies in the fall?"
The old general said nothing in response to the biting question, but rather drew an overcoat around himself a little tighter. Chief of Staff Wimpffen, sitting to De Poitier's right, responded instead.
"It was necessary in order to ensure that justice was done as swift as possible. Besides, it's not like it's a significant problem, Captain. This invasion so far has proven to be a resounding success. Eight weeks ago, we were sitting in Tristania, discussing how to supply our soldiers. Now? We are in the city of Saxe-Gotha, just a few miles away from the Albion capital city of Londinium. We can end this war quickly enough anyways, especially since we do have the necessary supply trains."
The last line was clearly a barb at what Napoleon had proposed back in Tristania, but the Emperor gave no reaction. A couple generals chuckled at Wimpffen's words, but they were interrupted as the double doors to their room swung open. And Princess Henrietta walked in the conference room, with Wales at her side and Agnes following slightly behind them.
Everyone, even Napoleon, stood at attention upon seeing her walk in, but a wave of her hand caused them to sit down. Henrietta took her seat and Wales sat next to her. Agnes remained standing.
After greeting and saying the names of the dozen or so generals who were there as well as Louise and Napoleon, Henrietta clasped her hands in front of her. She was waiting for De Poitiers to give his report, and he hastily obliged.
"Your Majesty, as you are well aware, it has been about three weeks since we disembarked at the port of Rosais without receiving even the slightest opposition from Albion's remaining forces. As it stands now, this pattern has continued. Albion is holed up in Londinium, likely awaiting a last siege or hoping that the weather will wear down our troops enough for a counterattack. The problem is that besieging Londinium will be very difficult especially as it descends into winter, and we will need more food and supplies in a couple weeks. This is especially so as we have been giving the locals in Saxe-Gotha food as Albion took all of the remaining supplies, reprising our own scorched earth tactics to a less extreme manner."
De Poitiers paused for a bit and looked at Napoleon. The Emperor was seemingly not seriously listening to the report, as he stared at the roaring fire while drinking coffee. All the same, now that the Supreme General thought about it, it was rather strange. Napoleon had advocated taking food from the Albion people as a means of feeding the Tristain forces, and so he should have been enraged when he heard about how Tristain was giving their food to Albion. It was something which even some of the generals had objected to, as they had argued that they needed to take care of their own logistical needs. Instead, Napoleon had voiced no complaints whatsoever with the policy, though he had basically refused to discuss why.
Clearing his throat, the old general continued.
"An immediate assault on Londinium is currently not possible. We would need more supplies brought in, more mages and more cannons to assault the walls so that the city could be taken. Consequently, it is probably best to wait. Extend our control over Albion in general, and obtain more supplies. Our overwhelming air superiority will make that not very difficult."
He finished and looked at Wimpffen, whom took the gesture as an indication. The Chief of Staff took out a slip of paper from a pouch on his belt.
"Going on those lines, we have received a notice from Cromwell. He is offering a truce to us for the duration of the Silver Pentecost, one of our most important religious holidays. It would last for approximately two weeks, starting tomorrow. I believe that we should accept, Your Majesty."
"You are insane."
No one was surprised anymore to hear those words, as there was only one person in that room whom would bother to say that to the Tristanian military leadership. Looking directly at De Poitiers instead of Wimpffen, Napoleon set his cup down and made his retort.
"A truce? You have the momentum, De Poitiers. You intend to break that momentum, lie around for a few weeks like a lazy dog, and then restart the fighting. Two weeks without any fighting will give Albion plenty of time to shore up their defenses in Londinium at the absolute minimum, and they could likely maneuver their forces to hit our supplies and communications. There is no reason to stop fighting in a war. Ever."
De Poitiers bristled at the sharp, sarcastic words.
"You know, Captain, we don't even know where you're from. Does a man like you even believe in Brimir?"
"No."
The response was made without even the slightest hesitation, but everyone was stunned by how brusque it was. Even Henrietta and Louise, the two who knew him the best, were surprised. But Napoleon gave no indication of noticing them as he continued.
"I don't believe in Brimir. He didn't exist where I came from. And honestly, Brimir won't win us wars, De Poitiers. He also hasn't done much in making sure your estates are profitable or that your son isn't cavorting around."
"WHY YOU!"
De Poitiers roared in rage at those final words. That was it. He could tolerate military insults. But insulting his estate which had just happened to have some bad luck these past few years, or his family? He would make this little rascal of a captain know his place!
The general pulled out his wand out, but at the same moment Napoleon pulled out a pistol and held it in his right hand. Louise realized it as the one he always brought around with him, but she was still surprised. What was he thinking, bringing it to this conference?
The two glared at each other in hatred and contempt, pointing their weapons at each other in a room that was shocked into silence by the scene before them. It was interrupted by the sound of clapping. Henrietta sarcastically slammed her hands together repeatedly, not even bothering to hide her expression of total irritation.
"Am I going to have to separate you two like I would do with a pair of five year old children? I have already asked you both to work together, so put down your stupid weapons. Now."
The normally fair and just princess had disappeared. Henrietta was a triangle water mage, and if she got pissed enough, she believed she could probably kill both De Poitiers and Napoleon by herself. And she was extremely irritated with both of them by now despite their respective talents.
The two glanced at Henrietta for a second, looked at her extremely angry expression, and then slowly lowered their weapons. Even then, they continued to glower at one another. Wimpffen took the opportunity to break in and repeat his opinion.
"Your Majesty, whatever Albion may be doing, our forces still need time to recover and rest. I again recommend that we accept the truce."
Henrietta sank back in her chair, deep in thought. Planning out a campaign was much harder then she had ever anticipated, especially given all the concerns which were made for her protection. She had no intention of telling Napoleon, but she likely would not have directly participated in the Albion invasion over the objections of her courtiers were it not for him. At minimum, she knew that she would likely be needed to keep De Poitiers and Napoleon from killing each other as had just happened. But there was more than that. He had been a ruler of a great empire, and he marched and fought alongside his men. Even if he had been defeated, the idea of fighting alongside one's soldiers was too much of a temptation for even someone as peaceful as Henrietta. How could a ruler not fight and command his solders? If she was to be a great and just ruler, she had to show that she was as good at war as she was at peace.
After several minutes of thinking, she finally hung her head.
"I understand, Wimpffen. Tell the Albion commander that we will accept it for two weeks. Also go ahead and demand the surrender of Londinium while you're at it. They almost certainly won't accept it, but you never know."
Wimpffen nodded in response, and then Henrietta stood up.
"This meeting is adjourned. I will be returning to my tent to pray for all who have died over the course of this war. I urge every single one of you to do the same."
The generals saluted, and stood up. The meeting was over, and it descended into a hullabaloo as everyone idly chatted with one another. Henrietta made to leave, followed by the Prince and Agnes who had both remained silent throughout the meeting. But then she heard a shout behind her.
"Princess!"
Napoleon had apparently moved quickly towards her the minute the meeting ended, but now Henrietta simply glanced back at the fellow ruler.
"What is it, Napoleon? Would you please attempt to get along with your peers?"
"I'd like to speak with the Prince of Wales. Alone."
The Prince himself turned around at those words, and for the first time, he talked to the Emperor.
"What is it you wish, Bonaparte?"
"I just want to talk with another sovereign. Nothing more."
Henrietta regarded the request with suspicion, but she found nothing wrong with it. She looked at Wales, who shrugged and nodded at the Emperor.
"Very well then. Is there someplace in particular you would like to talk?"
"I would like to go into town. It would be nice to see the people of your country and what they think of you."
Wales paled slightly, but Napoleon simply clapped him on the shoulder.
"Come on, it will be interesting. What's the worst that can happen?"
…
Louise looked nervously around, not knowing what to do. Napoleon had come back, half-escorting, half-dragging the Prince along, and telling her to come with them while they explored the city. Now they were indoors, in a café that Napoleon had insisted they stop by, waiting for the meal they had ordered. Furthermore, they were not alone. Napoleon had stated that as they were two sovereigns and an important mage, it was important to have protection. Consequently, he had first stopped by the barracks which was housing his Guard, and had sent for Foucard and Guiche. The latter had been literally dragged out of his cot by the former, and even now the giant man had one muscular arm wrapped around the noble's shoulders.
"Have no idea how a runt like you survived for two minutes against Martin," he grumbled. "Even I would have difficulty kicking that lover's rear end."
Napoleon laughed loudly at those words as he drank from a glass of beer.
"I told you, Foucard, I take only the best. If I'm going to throw a noble like him in the Guards, then I think he can be good.
And by the way, Louise, I like the new outfit. It looks good on you."
Louise blushed heavily at those words. The café had not been the first place they had gone to when they had entered Saxe-Gotha. Louise had continued to wear her school uniform despite the long time it had been since they had been at the Academy. However, Napoleon had declared that given how cold it was getting in Albion, it was absolutely unacceptable for his partner to be wearing something like that. Consequently, their first stop had been at a tailor who had received orders to give Louise a proper winter outfit. She now wore a fur coat and scarf, with a thick olive shirt underneath. She also wore pants of a matching color, something which had surprised everyone who saw her. But Napoleon had observed that as improper it was, there was no way she could reasonably be expected to fight wearing a dress. "Results are what matter" were his exact words.
"T-thanks."
The group continued to chat for a little while, receiving their food and digging in. After finishing his pork chop, Napoleon looked up at the Prince. He was wistfully looking out at the town.
"So, Prince. Why don't we get started on our conversation?"
Everyone looked at Napoleon at those words. Wales shrugged his shoulders in response.
"You have some reason you want to talk to me so badly. What is it?"
"Why are you fighting?"
"Huh?"
The question simply provoked confusion from the rest of the group, but Napoleon cut them off with a wave. The Prince in the meantime blinked in confusion.
"What do you mean, Bonaparte? I'm fighting to retake the throne."
"And why do you want the throne? What will you do when you take it?"
"What does that matter? I am the rightful ruler of Albion. My father ruled this country, and his father did before and so did his father. Look at what Cromwell has done. He has ruined this country, not even giving it a chance for peace before plunging it into another war, an aggressive war where he seeks to destroy me."
"So you, like the Princess, seek peace."
"Well, what do you seek, Napoleon? Why does someone who's not a Tristanian fight?"
Napoleon had ordered another glass of beer in the meantime, and stirred it with a spoon. He looked outside. A crowd of natives were beginning to gather outside the café, seeing that their former ruler was sitting nearby.
He thought about ignoring the question, but then glanced at Guiche and Foucard. The two were looking at him with great interest in response to Wales's question. So after thinking about it a bit more, he gave an answer.
"Eternity."
"Huh?"
Everyone at the table, including Louise gave a sound of confusion at such a peculiar answer. But this time, Napoleon did not give them the chance to retort.
"At any rate, what will your relations be with Tristain be when you take the throne? Will you just be friends with us or will there be an actual alliance?"
The Prince blushed furiously at those words, and looked down for a bit. Then he spoke up with a very soft voice.
"I will be marrying Henrietta and thus securing the safety of both of our countries. I know it's supposed to be a secret, but-"
"Secret? Everyone knows that."
"Huh?"
Wales looked around at the group. Guiche and Foucard had never met Wales before. They had never attended any of the conferences. But even they nodded their heads along with Louise, and Wales's face flushed.
"B-but how did you know?"
Foucard shrugged in response to those words.
"Heard it through rumors somehow. But it's all over the camps. Everyone knows that you two have a relationship and will probably marry when this war is over. But it's not like it's that important. The Reconquista attacked us, and thus it is our duty to fight back and obey our Princess. That is our duty and job."
The conversation drifted off after that. Guiche and Foucard stared into space, Wales looked down at the ground in embarrassment, and Louise wondered what to do. Meanwhile, Napoleon keenly stared at Wales, clearly deep in thought.
CRASH
Without warning, a large rock was flung through the window. The impact slowed it down, and the rock skidded to a halt in front of the table at which Napoleon's group was sitting at. They looked outside at the culprit, and Wales paled at what he saw.
The crowd of natives outside had grown larger and larger as they continued to sit outside the restaurant. The majority of the people here supported Wales, as they were tired of the wars which the Holy Republic had brought upon them and were grateful to the Tristanians for giving them their provisions. But there were those who still opposed him. Even now, as fighting broke out, Napoleon and the rest could hear the different chants.
"Death to the Whore's Puppet! Long Live Cromwell!"
"Long Live the Prince! Long Live the Prince!"
Another rock sailed through the window, and Napoleon could see the café's owner shrink down behind his counter. Growling in irritation, he drew his sword and covered the Prince with his own body, while pointing at Guiche and Foucard.
"Both of you get out there, do not let anyone enter this store! Louise, stay with me!"
Guiche drew his wand, clearly unable to hide the nervous expression on his face while Foucard unslung his musket.
"You owe me for this, old man! Come on, noble boy! Show these people what you can do!"
The two charged towards the café, Guiche following the muscled Guard. Louise made to chase after them, but Napoleon grabbed her arm.
"What are you doing, you idiot? You won't be of any use out there."
"Why you!"
Louise retorted without thinking, but then simply trembled a bit and sat back down at the table. What good would Void magic do in keeping a crowd calm? In fact, what use was she in this crisis at all? The Prince had attempted to move forward to speak to the fighting crowd, but Napoleon resolutely blocked his way, and after a brief struggle, the Prince laid under the table, shielded by the Emperor.
Meanwhile, Guiche quickly used his Valkyries to create a wall protecting the café, and Foucard stood at attention, his musket ready to fire on anyone willing to charge. Napoleon noted that he did not actually attack anyone yet and instead focused on protecting the perimeter of the café, and he grinned at that. Good, he thought. Foucard wasn't as dumb as their initial encounter had led Napoleon to believe. The soldier had realized that attacking haphazardly would more likely enrage the crowd and endanger the cafe then stop the fighting.
The shrieks of whistles blasted through the air, and the three of them saw that the local guardsmen were running up with spears in hand to stop the disturbance. With a few more whistle blasts, and a couple cracked skulls, the guards broke up the two fighting groups. As peace gradually came back to the street, Napoleon glanced at the Prince, whose face was pale at the commotion over him outside.
"So you're a liberator, eh?"
He couldn't help but make the sarcastic quip, but Wales continued to look outside at the street. Blood from the fighting flowed down, draining into some nearby gutters.
…
As the five of them rode back to the Tristain camp, they continued in silence. Guiche and Foucard were bruised and the latter had been hit in the head by a work which had caused a cut on his head. Nevertheless, both were fine, and the muscular man now had a higher opinion of Guiche. Right after the fight, he had heartily regaled the young nobleman and proclaimed that now he could understand how the nobleman had survived against Martin. Louise had shot Napoleon an icy gaze at those words, but the Emperor said nothing.
Still, it was late at night, and all of them were too exhausted by the day's events to do much after the fighting or even to talk a lot. Nearing their destination of their nightly lodgings, they dismounted, and Foucard and Guiche gave their farewells before they left. As the remaining three people watched their backs trail off, the Prince of Wales spoke up.
"I'd like to thank you two. For helping my people, as well as me."
Louise shook her head.
"It is how one should treat a Prince. But Your Majesty, I'm so sorry you had to see that! I'm sure most of your people understand!"
"Do they?"
The Prince gave a sad chuckle at his words. After thinking for a bit, he continued.
"You know, I thought the people really did support me. When I ascended to the throne two years ago, I was eager. I hoped to instill a reign of peace and justice, and thus did my best to work for all interests, not just the nobles. I understood the commoners needed a voice too, and so I lowered their taxes and was thinking of a way to give them further rights.
But when Cromwell appeared out of nowhere with most of the nobility behind him, the commoners did nothing. They didn't particularly help Cromwell, and given how quickly he rallied the nobles to his cause, perhaps it was indeed better for them not to help me. But the fact that they didn't even make the slightest effort surprised me. The people I'm supposed to rule, treat with dignity and respect, did not move in the slightest to help me in return? Do they even want me to return, or am I just a whore's puppet?"
"Don't speak of Her Majesty like that!"
Louise instantly shouted at the Prince for using such a derogatory word, but then shut herself up in embarrassment. The Prince gave no notice of it, and simply looked out at the sky. He couldn't help but think of a burned letter and of an angry bodyguard.
Agnes had told him months ago. That he had to fight, to represent the Royal Family. To avenge their deaths and take the throne that rightfully belonged to him.
But what kind of vengeance did it mean if his country would be burned in the flames of war in return?
He finally snapped out of his reverie, noticing that the pair accompanying continued to watch him.
"I bid you good night." Wales said. And with those words he set off for Henrietta's camp. Louise and Napoleon watched him set off before they walked back to their own tent.
"Napoleon?"
"Yeah?"
"What are we fighting for?"
The Emperor slowly looked at his partner, and then gave a bright grin, slapping Louise in the back.
"Good, my partner! Very good! That is what I expect from you, to ask questions like this!"
Louise remained confused, and thought of asking just what he meant by this words. But then as they continued to walk, they saw that a messenger was relentlessly pacing in front of their tent. He looked up as he saw them approach.
"Are you Louise Francoise le Blanc de la Valliere?"
Louise nodded in response to his inquiry, and he reached into a pouch that he was carrying.
"I have a letter for you. From the Valliere estate. It is urgent."
The messenger held the scroll to Louise, who opened it and began to read. As her eyes went further and further down, Napoleon saw her face grow steadily ashen.
"Cattleya…"
"What?"
Napoleon gave an inquiry to that mumble. He instantly regretted it when he heard Louise's shout.
"Cattleya! Napoleon, she's sick, really really sick! It's from Jerome, our butler. He says she's dying, that I need to go to her."
"H-hold on a sec…"
"She's my sister, Napoleon! I need to be at her side! Right now! I need to go; I need to be with her, I…I…"
She began jumping up and down, clearly unable to control the energy which was running through at that news. Napoleon could see that her partner wanted to drop everything and rush to her ill sister, but…
"I don't know what to do. It's my sister, I need to be with her. But Her Majesty…Her Majesty…I need to be with her. What if something happens to Henrietta while I'm gone? I have to protect her…what do I do, Napoleon?"
Her voice quavering, Louise stopped jumping, and then wailed in agony and grief. But as she continued to jump nervously around, she felt a pair of arms around her.
"Go."
Napoleon's mouth was by her ear. His breath tickled it slightly, and the shock of the gesture caused Louise to stop bawling, though she still sniffled in response.
"But… Henrietta…"
"You should go. Right now. The generals will likely be enraged at the idea of you leaving, but I will explain it to the Princess. We'll be fine without you."
"Are you sure, Napoleon?"
He hugged her a little tighter in response.
"I am the Emperor Napoleon. The army in Londinium? I could defeat them with just my guard. Trust me, Louise. Nothing will happen to us. "
She smiled a little bit at his boast, and then they parted from one another. Louise stood outside the tent, and Napoleon could hear her throwing in a few essentials into a bag. He then heard someone else walking up behind him.
"What is it, Guiche de Gramont?"
The young mage, Louise's companion at the Academy, stopped in the grass in surprise.
"How did you know?"
"Your footsteps are the lightest."
There was short silence of surprise that followed his words.
"Sir, is Louise alright?"
Napoleon nodded at his inquiry, still not looking at the young nobleman.
"She'll be fine. Tell me, Guiche, you are not the only one who she woke up, correct?"
"Everyone was woken up except Martin, sir. Apparently he's still in the town, doing… something."
"Good for everyone here, then. An army always needs to sleep lightly. Dismissed, Gramont."
The young mage saluted at those words, and then slunk off. After he did so, Louise emerged, carrying one bag. Napoleon knelt down, putting his hands on her shoulders.
"Get there safely, Louise. And do be back before the truce ends."
Louise wiped her face with one hand and then lightly hit his arm with the other.
"I promise, Napoleon. I'll be back to end this war, and then Tristain can remain in peace. Forever."
He clapped her on the shoulder one more time, and then Louise took off. As she called for a horse, she decided that as frightened as she was for her dear sister, she would try to think positively. Think about the future victory. Think about Cattleya getting better.
Oh yeah. One more happy thing. It appeared that Joseph had learned how to read. That was good.
…
"Are you sure about this?"
In the White Hall in the Albion capital, a general nervously nodded at Cromwell's words.
"Yes, your Excellency. It's been five days since we successfully negotiated the truce. And we have received word from our latest spy. Apparently Tristain has a powerful weapon which they intended to use to win the war, and it was that weapon which caused the destruction of the Lexington. However, it will be out of commission for some time."
"How long?"
"The spy didn't say. Apparently, it will be some time."
Cromwell sullenly nodded at those words. The general glanced at the wine glass in his left hand. He had heard reports that his leader was resorting more to alcohol these days given how badly the war was going, but now he was barely hiding it. Nevertheless, he cleared his throat.
"As we all know, the Silver Pentecost lasts for two weeks, but it is the eighth day which is the most important. Consequently, we will strike at the night of the eighth day. Many of the Tristain soldiers will be reveling or at temple, meaning that they will be in no state to fight. We of course, will hold ceremonies during the day, but it will be at night when we attack.
That said, this attack will fail without the magic you are planning. I must ask if you are certain of it, Your Excellency."
While Cromwell had been nodding appropriately, it was obvious to everyone in the room that their leader was barely paying attention. As he took another drink, it was instead the strange purple woman behind him, the one the generals knew as Sheffield, who responded in his place.
"It is Cromwell's magic, but it will be my ceremony that will carry it out. Thus, I can assure you it will work. If you do not trust me, then you may come along with me, General."
"What about Gallia?"
An uncomfortable silence reigned through the words. The general had broached a topic which no one in the room had really wanted to discuss. However, Cromwell was the one who responded.
"King Joseph has told me that he is still busy organizing his soldiers. He needs to be properly ready if he intends to invade Tristain, as he observes that many of the nobles remain seriously uncomfortable with supporting us."
"He said that a month ago! He's likely decided that we've lost and is delaying the invasion! You need to tell him, Cromwell. Tell him that he attacks or we'll reveal the secret alliance! If it's discovered before the attack, no country in Helgekinia will trust Gallia ever again!"
"And what good would that do for all of us?"
Those words belonged to Sheffield. Her voice now was proud and haughty, and the general shrunk back a little at the coldness of her words.
"At this point we are dependent on Gallia. But that is better than it was for Tristain. They no longer have Germania to depend upon. So why can we not defeat Tristain by ourselves, especially since they lack this weapon of theirs?"
"I'm just trying to get an idea of our available resources!"
"You're just seeking an excuse not to attack during this holiday! My magic – I mean His Excellency's magic – will succeed. I promise this. All that will be necessary then is to deal your duty like you soldiers are supposed to. Is that clear?"
After a moment, the general sullenly nodded. Clicking his heels together, he saluted Cromwell, and then left the room. Only Sheffield and Cromwell were in the main hall at this point. Sheffield then made to leave, but then heard the sound of weeping. It was coming from her nominal master.
"I can't do this anymore Sheffield."
Cromwell fumbled for the wine glass. He needed drink. The duty of a king, the duty to rule Albion. It had been all too much. Besides, was he even really a king? It's not like he had to work for it. Once, a long time ago, he had told a stranger in a bar that he wanted to be a king as a joke. But then the next night he had met the strange woman besides him. Always following her, always obeying her commands, that was what he had done to rally the nobles around him. But that still meant he was a servant, just one with a fancier title.
He finally grasped the glass, only for it to be snatched out of his hands. Sheffield grabbed it, and then flung it against a far wall. As the glass shattered into a thousand fragments, she looked down on Cromwell, speaking to him in a motherly voice.
"You drink too much these days, Cromwell. You know why we have to do this. To unite all of Helgekinia and turn this country into one. That is Brimir's will."
"But why me? I'll turn Albion over to Joseph, he's capable, and it'll be alright then."
"No. Joseph is not a holy man. Only one like you, who was so candid with me on that night in the bar, can do it, Cromwell.
All the same, trust him for now, Cromwell. I'm certain the King of Gallia will come with the appropriate ships."
"Y-yes! I'm sorry!"
Cromwell, the ruler of Albion, knelt at the feet of his secretary, his face stained with tears. Sheffield knelt down with him, one hand on his shoulder, the other entwined with the fingers of his right hand.
"So, may I please have the Ring of Andvari?"
Cromwell quickly bobbed his head up and down, and removed the ring. He dropped it into Sheffield's hand, who gave him a beautiful smile.
"Good job, Cromwell. Now go, enjoy yourself for the rest of the day. A king can get some rest every now and then."
"Yes, Sheffield."
The leader of Albion quickly sprinted off, and after he left, Sheffield stood up, her expression now full of disgust. She needed to wash her hands. They were only fit to touch one person, the person who was truly fit to rule Helgekinia.
"Master Joseph… it's only a matter of time, my lord…"