"Peace through strength." the rather neutral-sounding voice of Edelgard rang in Petra's ears. "Or failing that, peace through threat."

And this was quite the threat, she forced herself to admit. How else could one really interpret Edelgard treating both her and Grandfather to dinner, but also to witness the crosses she'd had her carpenters erect on the beach throughout the day, the local chiefs (for some offense or another- factual or not) hunted down and lashed to said implements in various painful fashions? Gods knew her grandfather had attempted to spare her from such a spectacle, but the emperor insisted ("It will be just like old times.") upon her presence.

"Would you like some more wine, Petra?" inquired Edelgard, disarming as the situation would allow. "Hubert assures me that his family's vineyards are the finest in the Empire."

"Thank you, but no." answered Petra, polite but terse. "I am having no hunger."

The elderly man shared his granddaughter's apprehension at the situation, already taking notice of several lifelong friends of his among the wretched dying and dead. "You are most generous, Your Grace." he lied neutrally.

Edelgard raised one of those snowy-white eyebrows, as though noticing something amiss. "Is something troubling you, Raqmu?"

The old king sighed, the lines on his normally-vital face seeming more apparent than usual. "Your Grace, in Brigid, such matters are generally...done privately." Raqmu informed gingerly. "No matter what their crime may be."

Not unlike the dual-headed bird of prey adorning her cape (and many other of her effects), Edelgard was quick to notice the weakness in her vassal's tone. "Recall the terms of the treaty giving the Empire the right- no, the duty- to punish your subjects who act against us. I believe conspiring to assassinate my generals falls under said actions." she reminded harshly. "The treatment of the chiefs was no crime, Raqmu. You'd be wise to remember that."

The Emperor took another sip of her wine. "Unless of course, you'd care to join them on one of those crosses."

Her grandfather sufficiently cowed by said threat, Petra spoke up at last. "Edelgard...please."

Edelgard scowled in Petra's general direction. "Petra, be quiet about matters that do not concern you." she warned. "Much like my- the Empire, I can be both merciful and cruel. And you've already tested the former."

Oh, but such matters DID concern her, Petra thought angrily. Her duty was to the people and land of Brigid- to keep them as reasonably secure in mind, spirit, and body as possible- to make them reasonably secure that their ultimate fates were not to hang out to die in the harsh sun so much like the dried flesh of beasts. "But you have forgotten that, no?"

If this was what Edelgard's "mercy" looked like- to pollute her country's most serene, often-sacred natural features with the wretched, anguished bodies of the dying and dead, purely to send a message- it was a mercy for which she was having progressively less tolerance as time wore on. Despite what her command of the spoken language of the continent would suggest to some, Petra was no naive child. She knew fully well that politics and diplomacy was a dangerous, sometimes-bloody game. And the sheer ease- almost like breathing for her- with which Edelgard switched between offering her more drink and threatening to crucify her grandfather out on the beach, left Petra to seriously wonder what their relationship- especially since their time at Garreg Mach- was really like.