The Purpose of Conflict

by Vickers-Vimy-1919

Forced into war, the Empire fights enemies on all sides. Their only ally in the time of crisis, the exiled Kingdom of Albion, seeking strength to restore the crumbling Commonwealth and return to the Home Isles. For Tanya, she finds an ally in the exiled Prince Gabriel. Unsure of his or the Commonwealth's true intentions for the war, the Empire, or herself.

11. Ch 11: Psalm 37:13

The Purpose of Conflict: Chapter Eleven- Psalm 37:13

06/11/1924/ Bucharest, Occupied Principality of Dacia / Palace of Dacia, Private Dining Quarters / 07:21

Tanya relished the flavour that seemed eternally absent in the government-issued dry ration meals.

Utilising her humble persuasive abilities, she had placed herself in proximity to Prince Gabriel when the palace staff served breakfast. With the Dacian Prince in what could charitably be described as power, the royal in Tanya's good grace was given access to the palace grounds along with much of the Invicta Pact politicians and officers. In contrast, the 203rd was stationed on the outskirts of the city. Meaning her men were awakening at that moment to the luxuries of canned meat and whatever they could buy from the marketplace. They would only be there for the day until their new orders of relocation came in. Meaning she only had one day to reap the benefits of her networking and enjoy the decent food.

Tanya cut off a piece of sausage and placed the fork into her mouth, followed by buttery scrambled eggs. Fresh produce was enough of a benefit to justify the effort. The man who inadvertently produced this meal for her sitting across the table was a bonus. The Salaryman knew never to let an opportunity for one's career to go unexploited.

"As I was saying sir, your work last night was remarkably well coordinated. It could become a new method of warfare."

The unmentioned factor of the weapons, altitude and communication timing requiring an upgrade was left in her head. The Commonwealth had in fact created the excellent outline for the Lockheed AC-130. Only with none of the benefits, again, left unsaid.

The prince was unresponsive, staring down at the centre of the elongated table they shared. He was moderately alert moments before the topic changed to the previous night. Not previously committed to the discussion hence forfeiting control to her, offering the bare minimum of engagement. A fine circumstance if not for the apparent misstep that rendered her conversing partner lost in thought.

She had not spoken with His Highness since the ceasefire of last night. Meaning this opportunity was the first to discover and diagnose the problem she might have caused.

"Is something wrong Your Highness?" A neutral approach seemed safest. Not one accepting or denying blame.

"Forgive me, Major," Gabriel looked to her then somewhere across the room. "I know I must be unpleasant company. It is not for your nature I assure you." At least he was self-aware and not ascribing blame onto her.

"Could it be the Hellenic King coming for the peace talks today?" Gabriel shook his head, muddling his face with both hands. Bringing attention to and then hiding a shadow of hair occupying his cheeks.

As the Salaryman, shaving was only a weekly occurrence. So, the stubble on Gabriel's face offered no indication of when it last saw a blade. Guessing from the tired demeanour and expression, it was at least the day before last.

"Two months a king and already making the rounds again." Gabriel smirked at her joke briefly before returning to solum misery. "I wish I was that pitiable to be upset at something so easy to resolve as a broken ego."

Tanya was pleased this royal had more humility than others.

"We lost a plane last night; pilot and mage were killed."

It was a statement followed by Gabriel rubbing his eyes until he was ready to continue hesitantly. "It is our first casualties for the unit. I'm still trying to comprehend what happened. Even at…at Jerusalem, we pulled through without losses."

Tanya had heard that commotion over the radio but paid it no mind, it was not her credit on the line. That was what must be striking the prince. The idea that this failure could bring imagined harm to the House of Stuart. Something her rational deductions could remedy.

"Isn't it good only one plane was lost last night? It can be refurbished at a relatively low cost – relatively speaking. It is only a minor setback if you consider it one at all. Regardless, I doubt the Commonwealth High Command will give you the bill."

Tanya relocated another serving of eggs into her mouth after making her logical point. In the time she expected her benefactor to respond he remained silent, appearing more shocked than relieved when she met his eyes again.

"What of the two men we pulled motionless from the wreckage of that plane? They didn't even have a chance to get out."

So that had to be the root of the issue for His Highness, a loss of trusted subordinates. Reflecting on her own experience at the helm of command, most died of their own inabilities rather than leadership faults. The most recent example involved Sergeant Rinehart getting shot in the back, earning her scorn and hospital leave.

Another instance to show off her advanced capabilities of rationalisation.

"Have you considered the positive aspects of this event? The weakest link in the unit has been identified and removed permanently. If the pilot and mage could not dodge and coordinate their shields there should have been no place for them in your unit."

Tanya started on how it was unfortunate they could not be retrained instead but was stopped.

"Two men are dead! Not a pilot or a mage, men! Human beings Major." Gabriel aggressively tapped the table after his outburst. Abandoning any notion of eating the prepared food on the plate. "They died by some ghost planes. It's my bloody fault they're dead."

The tapping stopped as Gabriel assigned the blame. Realising the fault in his actions and immediately sorting out his problem. Rubbing his eyes to likely stem harsher emotions. "Forgive me Major Degurechaff. I lost my composure."

It was such an uncomposed outburst of rude emotions the manners obsessed prince seemed to despise. It was surprising that he was only moderately emotional and not more impulsive.

"It is alright sir. I should have chosen my words more appropriately." This was a potential chance where she might free her benefactor from the tainted influences of Being X. "Shouldn't God look after the dead and damned? Why concern yourself with the matter, sir?"

Tanya knew she used too much of a vulgar tone in her word choice. Not to touch upon the lethal passive-aggressive nature entangled in each sentence. She could not help herself sometimes when it came to that thing.

"God wants us to be well and prosperous Miss Degurechaff. My countrymen might be in a better place but that does not soften the blow."

Of course, it would not. Some scant rational department of the prince's brain was crying out how preposterous the idea was. To say that outright however would be foolish despite the likelihood of it being true.

"I imagine He prefers us to bend the knee and obediently praise his humility."

"Discernment rarely comes with the gift of clarity Major. We are to solve that out for ourselves" Gabriel apparently gave no thought to his next line. "Or at least what you comprehend to be clarity."

"Please don't talk down to a superior officer, Lieutenant!" Tanya jumped to add more and not prematurely burn this bridge. "It would be awkward if we were overheard by the men. We should maintain a dialogue of equal officers lest we slip up. Yourself being a member of the royal family of course."

Hopefully, a perfect way to rework her mistake and not raise herself above a Prince. Gabriel gave no opposition to her proposal while maintaining his theological ground.

"The Father gave us ten rules and His son for their fulfilment. I would not call that mere obedience as you do."

"How can you expect me to accept that in a serious notion, sir?" Tanya did not know for certain if it was herself or the Salaryman speaking. "Do you honestly believe us to be following His commandments in these trying times? I know I have not been that of a saint." She safely included the generalization to not outright accuse Gabriel of hypocrisy. Not that it impeded his reaction time.

"I look after my neighbour and responsibilities according to His commandments." There was a pause as he composed himself. "I have tried my best to follow His will. I know last night I failed in that role."

"I recall one of my caretakers reciting that "Thou shall not kill" was also on that list. I also recall how it is one's alleged duty to prevent our descent into violence, yet the Commonwealth has done nothing but prepared for war before I was born." Another rare time where Sister Amelia's Sunday school lesson came to be relevant. Being raised by nuns rarely boosted her credentials in a discussion before.

"Kill is a translation error from the original Hebrew Major. We are not to murder, to take a life in just wars is permissible."

"I'm pleased to see you're content with that security. But does that not mean your two men were killed justly? According to God's commandments of course."

Gabriel tensed up; the tapping resumed. The gears visibly moving and making him appear more frustrated. It might be a potentially consequential game she played, one provoked out of her by that wretched creature that was ever-present on Gabriel's tongue. One she did not intend to get into since it had only no clear benefit in angering the boy that got her a decent breakfast. There was an outcome that she could indulge in: entertainment.

"I read something of relevance...many months ago. Back when..." The pause signalled the ceasing of the tapping and a general calming of attitude. His eyes no longer fixated on her and looked somewhere near the floor. Tanya expected him capable of regulating himself, she only predicted it would not take this long. "Back when Jerusalem was sacked, plundered. I read Saint Bernard of Clairvaux's endorsement of the Knight's Templar. I read it previously before I started training, but I felt compelled for a reminder."

His Highness cleared his throat for the summary.

"If we take up arms in the name of God and commit ourselves entirely to Him, what do we have to fear in death? We should not, it is supposed to be a solved problem."

As Gabriel talked with more misplaced passion as he dived deeper into the old text he read.

"I remember he details them as having "Only the sword and cross mark his belt." Death is regarded without fear to those fully devoted to God. In that context, why should we fear life or death? To live is an opportunity to serve Christ, and to die a chance to ascend into the next life. One has fulfilled their purpose in dying for Christ. They are without sin from wars or their own defeat, untainted by sin, having vanquished an evil by men of worth with equally worthy goals."

Gabriel reared his head into his hands, clarifying the following line was directly from the historical figure before giving the rendition.

"If he fights for a good cause, the outcome of the battle is never evil; likewise, the result can never be considered good if the cause is evil and intent unrighteous."

Tanya found an odd agreeable sentiment in the quote. If in a manner the author did not intend, from an atheist own all people. That line of evil causes would be drawn much thicker to encompass all military operations.

Continuing to eat Tanya accepted the apology. Alone in enjoying the decent meal as Gabriel found squeezing his face more profitable. This silence only highlighted by the clinking of silverware was acceptable to her. Unfortunately, the customs of good company begged her to pretend to consider the mental superficial well-being of others.

"You do appear rather stressed."

"Your observation skills are only outclassed by the weight I feel on my shoulders."

"I don't believe I understand your poetry, sir."

Gabriel chuckled, rubbing the dread off his face. "I have been asked to sit in on the Dacian peace talks today as a representative of the Allied Kingdom. I already surrendered sleep so I could cram the necessary readings"

Now, this was why she brought herself close to him. Proximity to power always brought influence out. The excitement made it into her voice.

"I believe congratulations are in order. That is quite the assignment."

"I politely disagree. But am thankful for your kindness regardless." Of course, His Highness would see Dacia for what it was, a footnote rancher than development in one's career.

"May I confide Tanya?" Gabriel revealed his face to look across the table at her. Tired eyes seeming to beg for an outlet to talk with.

"Of course. As long as I can confess that I've gotten better food on the Rhine than what the cooks are serving us."

Gabriel nodded at the joke but failed to let it derail his abruptly serious attitude. "I only believe Her Majesty wants me there because of my proximity and ability to speak Dacian."

It was an authentic if not profound confession, masked by meekness in the voice.

"I did not realise being linguistically gifted was the point of contention." That might have been harsher than formalized in her head. Something Gabriel missed or disregarded for his concerns.

"If anyone was closer, they would use them instead."

"Do you not think it is possible your mother and advisors may find you possessing beneficial skills?"

"I do not."

His Highness' apparent joke did not land well. A flat delivery that took the will out of the conversation.

The next several silent minutes were spent by Tanya finishing her satisfactory breakfast. The most she could get out of Gabriel was a comment that his "eyes were larger than his stomach." At least she would not need to beg for his cold leftovers, that era of her life was behind her.

The door opened with a knock intended to announce entry rather than request it. Slightly startled, Tanya looked in the direction, Gabriel unmotivated to do the same. Not a Dacian wait-staff or army man but curiously a woman dressed to the appearance of a maid. The bored face and cut hair familiar but undefinable to Tanya. Walking in without introduction, rowing a briefcase in one hand and suit bags over her shoulder.

"Good morning Your Highness." Spoken in Albion with a matching accent, reaffirming who she was here for. The notion was further reinforced as no mind was paid to Tanya. The woman walking past her to lay out her cargo onto the rest of the long table. The woman sighed, pausing her profession to refix her hairdo. Braids pinning her hair into balls that implied more length than the bangs on the forehead. Tanya could not help but wonder if it was worth the effort to maintain. If her own experience with stylists was a universal standard, feminine hair care was wasteful futility.

The maid glared down at Tanya, imitating a hard stare manneristic of her master. Humming at the Germanic child until a conclusion was reached. Acted on in fluent Germanic.

"I believe you are Miss Degurechaff." The maid bowed her head. "Her Majesty Annabelle V speaks highly of your accomplishments."

Tanya was pleased externally and ecstatic internally. This was exactly what she wanted from Gabriel. The corner office could not be too far off. "Please tell her I am honoured."

"You miss understand me, ma'am." Tanya was flabbergasted at how she had miss-stepped. "I am a maid, not a courier. Now-"

The maid shifted attention solely onto the Stuart, walking around the length of the table to his side. Switching back to an Albion tongue. "Did you read the documents provided to you last night sir?" Gabriel became alive again, sitting up straight and forcing himself to answer.

"I have. I finished my modifications by sunrise."

"And will you be ready for the meeting?" Gabriel nodded along, excusing himself to Tanya and rising to his feet.

"I will do as Her Majesty expects of me, Miss Canvel."

"I do not doubt that." The aptly named woman walked past her master to the briefcase. Unfastening a lock and clipping it open. "Does that mean you will shave yourself, or would you like me to do it?"

"I can do it myself thank you."

"Her Majesty requests that her children be well-groomed. Please ensure that you do not cut yourself."

Tanya felt abruptly forgotten at the moment. A notion that was held then discarded by Canvel. "My Master will need to excuse himself after his meal. Would you like him and myself to teach you how to shave?"

The Salaryman would not likely turn down a pretty European girl playing with his face. But this was a less gratifying offer and now targeted as a plaything for a child. Tanya knew her life could afford no such frivolities or points of future mockery.

"Thank you but I already know how to shave."

"You do?" Gabriel joined in, confused while his maid portrayed an emotion different from the boredom she was likely experiencing.

This required caution. It was not an obvious giveaway, but it could be a problem if not dealt with in the moment. "I have seen my men shave themselves before."

Canvel straightened a bundle of papers and passed them off to Gabriel. "Is it common to shave in front of your C.O. in the Empire?"

The Empire cared more about capabilities than appearances as did the Commonwealth. Most of her men consequentially kept clean-shaven out of preference. That and the attempt to describe it as a result of environmental rather than regulatory followed. It seemed to satisfy the prince before the maid who persisted in the matter.

"And you feel confident in holding a razor against your face to cut properly?"

"Well, of course." The maid scowled and Tanya knew to change tactics. "How hard can it be? It's just rubbing the sharp end after the cream gets rid of the hair."

The maid backed down, content that this child seemed to be overly cocky in false knowledge. Tanya hated to resort to using her appearance in these situations. It felt like validating Being X's curse, however, it would be equally unwise to not use all available resources at her disposal.

The two Albions were still enamoured with their paperwork. The usual breed that took pleasure in doing that mundane work. A trait that not even she could acquire a stable hold of. Back to talking among themselves in a language she pretended to not understand.

"Her Majesty has requested me to sit in with the meeting to act as your advisor."

Canvel opened one of the bags, touching a suit and skirt that she would wear. Canvel continued before Gabriel could comment. I have told Miss Pierre to join us too. She will be provided with her computation orb as a safety precaution."

"Did she agree?"

"I did not give her a choice." One of the other bags was patted, explaining that it would be given to that Aquilonain brat. "It should fit her; I have pins just in case."

"In case she does not comply?"

"Possibly."

Tanya stood up, sinking in height due to this imperfect form. Her meal was eaten, and the networking session had reached a forced conclusion. There were other connections she wanted to force before the 203rd was shipped elsewhere. The maid flashed her eyes at Tanya and to the briefcase before the formalities could commence.

"Sir." Canvel reached into the luggage and produced a gift-wrapped package. Sliding it across the table into Gabriel's small array of papers. "This came for you from Aquilonia."

Gabriel rapidly thanked her for the efforts - the job of a courier apparently.

"Major Degurechaff." He excitedly passed the gift over the table, smiling his odd smile. "I apologise for this being late. I did not know it was your birthday until you mentioned it to Major Hanover."

The annual corporate bonus had unexpectedly arrived. The pinnacle of subtle bribery. Continue to be useful and loyal, there is more to come.

His Highness was annoyingly religious, but that meant the Christmas bonus would be sizeable. Humility was key, however.

"Thank you, sir." It was genuine gratitude she had, if admittedly still selfish. "Your kindness suits your character."

The wrapping was carefully undone, lest she behaves like the child she appeared to be. When she was through the flimsy defence of coloured paper, humility would not need to be faked, rather gratitude. It was a small box, fitted to hold neatly arrayed bags. Oriental lettering and Albion indicating the product if the smell was not a giveaway. The Salaryman could read what Gabriel told her. "Qing Styled Tea."

Tanya knew she should have never trusted tea drinkers.

06/11/1924/ Bucharest, Occupied Principality of Dacia / Palace of Dacia, Main Conference Room / 16:41

"In conclusion." Gabriel felt his throat tighten. All members of the meeting were looking at him. The natural action, it was his duty to represent the House of Stuart on behalf of the Commonwealth. He had spent that allotted time speaking dully yet clearly done while minimalizing eye contact. That worked until he accidentally caught the gaze of the Dacian prince and his appointed general. How expressionless they looked. They must have been pretending to listen intently. What worth could he contribute to such a meeting?

Gabriel took a breath, attempting to make it all a part of the rhetoric. This was not his information, all the contributions he made was checked by Miss Canvel and other trusted eyes – then approved by the others from Hellas and the Empire. Mother would never let his ineptitude get in the way of politics. It was practically their ideas being put forth; he was just the messenger. Then each idea and concept were foolproof, practically straight from the Queen herself. His only task was to relay them effectively.

"In conclusion, with His Highness, Prince Florin elevated into a more prominent role of king, under the approval of the Empire for policy and military. The self-governing Dacian Kingdom will be left to act as an economic partner in Europa, a resource and investment opportunity for Imperial industry and an additional bulwark against the Federation."

Now he was finished. Gabriel was relieved to sit back down into the chair and disappear from the collective conscience. The two pivotal Dacians seemed the most receptive to the mock speech. This was their first hearing, after all, meaning the smiles appearing through their thick beards could be relief or mock satisfaction. Miss Canvel leaned in from the seat beside Gabriel and whispered under the cover of an Imperial diplomat detailing more economic factors and concessions.

"The explanation was a bit long but well-done sir." As abruptly the covert act appeared as if it never occurred and Canvel was back to pretending to be another unremarkable aid. The other woman on Gabriel's side leaned over with less nuance. Not parting with words but a fist bump and smug look relaying her approval. Pulling back when the Imperial finished his small rant about Carpathian oil suited to the war effort. Letting the final speaker stand up and take the floor.

"Is there anything else we should clarify before the meeting can ends?" The General Staff representative and a Dacian on the other side of the table rose to speak. Neither soon-to-be King Florin nor his military second in Draža Mihailaru had promoted the man – a carryover from the old Horváth regime.

"On the status of amnesty – for the soldiers. We – we already covered the leading men. Right?" The man nervously corrected himself, aware of his luck of a minor role being the deciding factor that kept him from a trail in the Empire's courts. "The Empire agreed to amnesty and release for all troops."

"Enlisted men and lower-ranked officers." Gabriel almost choked. The room carried on watching him, unknowing of the prince's inability to take in oxygen.

What did he do? Why did he speak for no reason? He answered a question that he did not need to provide it. Why would these men take him seriously? A boy from the roughened military unit that had just been bested. Imperial commanders, a full adult about to become a king, Miss Canvel had their own achievements that were more impactful than his. Why would any of them be impressed by him? Why did he get tasked with this? The Commonwealth had grown in strength but was fledgling on the best of days.

The motion of the room lingered on Gabriel as the tightening of his lungs increased. There was no need to go over this, correct? Dacia will still be allowed its reduced army of veterans under General Staff supervision. The prince still held the motion with the politician still trying to explain his position.

"I am aware we are surrendering. You will have our cooperation so long as your state does not seek to harm my – our people."

"Vae victis." Gabriel squeezed his hands together. He could not breathe, why did his mouth find a reason to speak? Now unprompted and with the table's full attention. Awaiting him to ratify or humiliate his immature act of muttering sentences.

His hand was approached by a foreign one. Peggie had reached over to make physical contact. Gabriel opened his fingers. The thoughts lingering as a response slowly formulating the longer his hand was supported. Despite his comfort in this position, it was the practice to stand as one spoke in these environments so he reluctantly left the warm grip behind.

"Vae victis. The Empire is the victor today and can do as it pleases. Any concessions made are at the Empire's mercy. Not your rhetoric." Gabriel locked eyes with the politician that started this small commotion. "Do not mistake wise governance for foolishness on our part."

"Forgive me, sirs." The man was quelled by the prince, evidently influenced by the subtle reminder of his weakness. "I just want to reaffirm a small detail we might have overlooked."

"Then speak of it." Gabriel barked before taking his seat. Peggie sliding her hand back into his. Canvel breaking rank for a moment to touch her master's back and whisper approval. The leading Dacians looked more pleased with him than their rambling countryman. A descriptive attribute that continued. "I want to speak of our Green shirt leader. Mr. Tóth."

Gabriel tightened his hand around Peggie's, jaw clenched, and teeth gritted at the man's wretched name. an unnoticed reaction by the Imperial that addressed the point.

"Our army is holding him, prisoner, in the capital jails right now. What of him?"

"Well, his rank was never officially Marshal despite what he claims. To the government, he is still a lieutenant and therefore liable to the amnesty deal."

The Imperial side of the table was silent, let to be frustrated but unmoved to protest the technicality. The insurgent problem was a hindrance to the war effort but not worthy of full attention. It would have been pleasant to drag the man that had killed so many to Berun in chains but there was no spirit for it among the diplomats. They had already committed to a deal, to turn back now for a single seemingly insignificant detail was wasting time as much as it risked giving the Empire a bad reputation. The leading Imperial conceded the terms. "Very well. He will be released when the treaty goes into effect tonight at 22:00."

Peggie was back to squeezing Gabriel's hand. Miss Canvel followed in the example to show off papers of supposed significance. A dual effort to keep him quiet. More voices drowned out while Gabriel consumed himself with his thoughts. Powerless to stop the motion that had been made without him. One slip in his self-control and this table would not be big enough to stop him from leaping across and strangling the man that wanted to free a child abuser.

"Woe to the conquered." Yet they defeated still won.

06/11/1924 / Bucharest, Occupied Principality of Dacia / Palace of Dacia, outside the third-floor Smoking Room / 19:21

"You remember the plan Visha?

"Yes ma'am."

"Good. And remember to keep formalities with His Highness. Understood?"

"Yes ma'am."

Tanya grilled her adjutant as they waited outside the reserved room. The illusive Major Hanover was inside, that occupant the last networking session she needed to perform in the limited time she had left in Dacia. Despite her attempts, the last time they had a full conversation was at the grassy fields. His disrespect, possibly unintentional, was not enough to dissuade the possible benefits of a professional relationship.

To befriend royalty was life changing. To do the same with the man who commanded royalty more so.

If Visha played her part well, then the Dacian campaign would set her up for life.

The adjutant knocked on the door and no time passed before they were permitted entry. "Enter." The deeper voice of the fellow Major beckoning them in.

Visha opened the door and followed her superior in. Gabriel sitting on a couch in the same funk that took over him this morning. Hanover leaned against the same furniture, pouring wine into a glass for his prince's consumption. He glanced over to see who had entered the room, only looking back to continue the act of pouring.

"Miss Degurechaff, Serebryakov. Here I thought it would be that maid running around." He smiled at his joke. "How may we be of assistance?"

"I hope we're not interrupting." Tanya said, taking the opportunity to lead the conversation. She had told Visha to speak when it was her time so there was no risk of accidents. The day spent with Her Highness was a point of panic she scarcely wanted to repeat. However, Hanover did not seem interested in creating a social faux pas and did not push for expanding the conversation beyond the two majors.

"Nothing of too much grandeur I'm afraid. Just celebrating Rupert's achievements in the peace talks." Hanover turned his head towards the Imperials, occupying himself by pouring his wine.

"I heard. I must extend my congratulations to the well-crafted work."

Gabriel was standing, acknowledging her approval silently with a nod. At least he was not trying to legitimize his religion again. He was not in the royal regalia, changed into a proper attire high-class officers sipped wine while basking at their abilities.

"Now." Hanover topped off his glass and put the bottle down. "How can we help you ladies?"

Visha stumbled slightly at her cue. Acting and stepping back to speak in turn.

"The Battalion officers are meeting together in a pub for the evening. I was wondering if you wanted to join us?"

"W-would that be appropriate?" Gabriel is surprisingly the one to resist. Tanya privately expected it would be Hanover to fulfil that. "It is your downtime. Do you really want someone...me around?"

He emphasized the subject of the final sentence. Tanya rarely interacted with her men on these events for reasons of respecting privacy and protecting her authority. But if it was not his men then logically the fear of violating status was minimized. Tanya readied to step in and encourage the act, unexpectedly to be rescued by Hanover.

"Is this the same pub all the Hellenics are gallivanting about? Miss Serebryakov?" Visha confirmed the suspicion by nodding her head. "Have a go at it, Rupert."

Hanover moved to stand in front of his second. Speaking softer but not in the tone of a whisper. "Try to take your mind off of it lad."

Tanya did not see the reaction from the prince, only his arm going to his lips to finish the wine he had been rationed. Receiving a pat on the shoulder from his Major before being coerced to, follow the Imperial out the door. No words beyond a polite farewell given, chased out by Hanover calling out to Visha.

"Make sure he eats, Miss Serebryakov."

Tanya fretted as her adjutant ran back into the room to confirm and salute the order. Only then guiding the prince away and closing the door. It should never be assumed that teenager could not embarrass her somehow.

At least the mission was a success, it was just her and Hanover; distractions were removed, and privacy was ensured.

"It appears it is just the two of us." Tanya readily started the

"That appears to be true." Hanover sat back down, not obstructing Tanya from sitting opposite him in an armchair. His indulging of wine gave the opportunity for Tanya to formally start this impromptu meeting.

"I hope you don't mind if I keep you company in the absence of His Highness. I'm certain there is much we can discuss."

"That sounds a fitting idea, but-" He let his glass sit half full on the couches arm, standing and explaining himself as he crept towards the door. "I want to see if I can find that maid and the tea she's yet to bring in."

Then excusing himself to roam the building. The abandoned glass is the only connection that would imply his return.

Tanya sighed, realising that her only option was to sit and wait. Hoping Hanover returned in a timely manner. Muttering to herself despite the isolation she was in.

"Tea drinkers."

06/11/1924 / Bucharest, Occupied Principality of Dacia / Marțolea Street / 19:30

Visha walked in silence beside Gabriel through the Dacian capital. She had only just left the vicinity of the palace to already be met with the sense of failure. Hopefully, the Major was getting the meeting she wanted with her Albion counterpart.

Now she could claim to have been alone with a prince. No child, no prisoner or date to sack as a buffer. Part of her was excited, the rest terrified.

The Major had instructed her several times how to conduct herself around this untouchable race of humanity. Nearly every instance making her out to be a bumpkin merely wearing the uniform of the Empire. After she was punished for promoting conversation it became reflexive to second guess her actions.

This was the same man she talked with however if sleep-deprived and starved. There did appear to be genuine emotion behind the cold exterior. But then, they barely knew each other, and it could be premature to make any deeper assumptions.

It was an educated guess she would need to push conversation between her princess and him back in September. Meaning tonight should be no different: merely with fewer participants and pre-existing permission from her commanding officer.

The question then became what to talk about?

"Are you alright, sir?" Her question was that? Why could she not manifest a better question? Drawn from the observation of his state but likely something the Major would wince at.

"I'm just tired Miss Serebryakov." The claim made would appear genuine regardless of the extra information. Any caffeine that maid piped into him throughout the day had worn off; leaving a visibly tired lieutenant to walk alongside her

The cause of said exhaustion could be touched upon, but Visha knew not to allude to topics that were to be left alone.

"I imagine." Visha started, realising she risked letting the conversation die if she did not push on. "I hope you don't mind me saying this but overheard the radio announcement of the terms. Good work on the peace talks today, sir."

His Highness shied away from openly accepting the praise, as she expected. Peeking again Visha saw him nodding to then downplay his contribution.

"Her Majesty requested my presence and provided the information. All I had to do was relay her wishes."

"Does that mean you didn't enjoy it? Major Degurechaff said you were enwrapped with some papers a maid brought you."

"Well..." The thought forced an uncomfortable-looking and short smile from His Highness. "Maybe it was moderately fun, in retrospect. Miss Serebryakov."

"A word of advice Mr. Stuart: don't let Degurechaff become aware of that. She gets enough paperwork already. She might get you to go through it if she learns you like it." Visha was of her normal complexion while the prince maintained a rigged frown. His reply neatly adding to the stern impression

"The Major also has you help on that matter?" His Highness looked over to her, awaiting a response. It was to her realisation it was a prod, not an accusation to lax duties.

Visha giggled, their only one laughing but she sensed the humour was shared.

"Well, maybe next time we're stationed together you can show us how you make paperwork fun."

"Did I not just hear you warn me to avoid this fate with the Major?"

"Then I guess you'll have to show me how you make it enjoyable, so I don't turn you over to her."

Gabriel made a small scoff on top of Visha's repeated giggling. His hand touching at his collar to stay in place as silence descended over them again.

Now what was she supposed to say?

Had she seen this before? The pose? Too odd to be relaxing and sporadic enough that she remembered it from somewhere. Visha knew she had. Back at the Vatican, and then again at the ambush. No better a topic to prolong the conversation and satisfy her curiosity.

"Mr. Stuart?" He looked over to the speaker. "Would you mind if I asked what you are doing?"

That sounded like how the Major would pose her question. To get an answer without directly touching the subject. His Highness stumbled momentarily, realising his hand's location and pulled a small chain from underneath his clothes.

The metallic reflecting in the streetlamps and moonlight pulled taught. Gabriel held the charm in his fingers. A small cross carved of wood and stained. Making it near invisible in the limited nighttime light. "It's a gift from my former governess she gave it to me when I started training. Carved it herself."

"This is the same woman from that photograph? The one in your helmet?"

Gabriel looked bewildered for a moment, remembering his previous heirloom was witnessed by more than the young boy. Then nodding along realising his mistake. Visha could read the impression that he thought himself a fool; time got another change in discussion.

"I have my own necklace too." Visha retreaded it from its home in her pocket and held the pendant up to be seen. Steadily providing the item's history. She knew it paled in comparison to Gabriel's valuable, but it might ease him if she exposed her treasure.

Proclaiming it was made from "real gold" probably meant little to a member of royalty. Not that her claim of meniscus wealth interested nor amused His Highness.

"In hoc signo vinces."

Visha smiled for her success and the prince's interest. Filling in for the Germanic/modern variant. "By this sign. Conquer."

"I'm pleased your Latin is on par with your history Miss Serebryakov." His Highness' painful smile returned, stirred on by thwart topic he loved to talk about in the back of a truck.

"I'm afraid it only lines up with my religious classes. I was never too good at history." She felt herself shrink back down; in a temporary reversal of roles, it was His Highness reassuring her.

"The Lord grants us different gifts. It just means your natural talents are elsewhere, not nonexistent." He seemed to be unaware that what he was saying could pass for comforting words. Before Visha could make a comment on that he was already onto his next point.

"Why do you keep it in your pocket?"

Visha wrapped the necklace back into a ball as she answered. "Well. I wanted to keep it safe. One of my first missions caked me in mud from crawling around in trenches along the Rhine. I didn't want to lose it so carelessly, so I made a habit of keeping it here." She patted the breast pocket in question. Realising afterwards the act consequentially jiggling her womanly features – in full display of Prince Gabriel. Accidental but still an interpretable clumsy seduction play. She had been spending too much time around those who saw her as "one of the boys." That bond was first forged after being forced to strip nude during the Major's counter interrogation training.

Erya would be proud: undermining a princess was the brazen behaviour she encouraged.

The benefit of their night was here face might not show the slideshow of red shades on display. His Highness looking away at the unintentional promotion to fixate on the distance once again. His representation of Christ hidden back under his collar.

"I think you should wear it Miss Serebryakov." At least he was pretending he did not see what she did. "What is the point of having something from your loved ones if it is hidden away?"

"To keep it safe?" That was Visha's given reason at least.

"Then why not keep it back at base? Or bury it? A city's light upon a hill cannot remain hidden."

"I think I understand what you mean sir." I might have been able to use it last night when the Major saw the dead Prime minister." Another mistake on her orders. Now came a frantic panic in which she had to reverse the effects of mentioning last night.

"I'm sorry sir. The Major told me not to bring his up. I apologise."

The man remained silent, looking at her temporarily but lost for further words. His own grief palpable to hers, if not greater. He talked slowly, never breaking eye contact in his confession.

"I have yet to come to terms with what happened." Therein followed a small, unsettling laugh, more in common with a growl than an expression of humour. Visha assumed and hoped it was sponsored by dejection. "I still need to write the letters for their families."

They stopped talking for another length of the increasingly uncomfortable stroll. The prince touching his neck spontaneously for the wooden cross and airing more of his guilt.

"It's a first for us. The 27th has had casualties but none that...had permeant results. We're all stuck in uncertainty."

Visha listened intently. Saddened by the loss of life that was, unfortunately, familiar for her military career. Noting the new but not unforeseen condition from someone that usually seemed overly privative. Nothing worthy aside from sympathy and pity she would not confess to.

"I wish I knew what to say, Mr. Stuart."

"Look at me."

Visha took the order literally and fixated on him. Gabriel now stared down towards the walkway, his hand shaking as it reached for the governess's gift. The laugh growing in volume and violence and inherent awkwardness. Conjuring the emotion, he defined himself with.

"I'm expected to lead, and I cannot protect my own men. Then I have the gall to feel sorry for myself." He laughed again, dragging his voice to croak. "It's my failure that caused this, I basically killed Rushworth myself." Then he descended in an unclear rambling, desiring to be the literal killer as it would "be less painful" for the Albion.

Visha was lost for a reaction. Their destination. Was visible in the distance but Visha doubted that to be an optimal decision for the Major's distraction.

She was woefully out of her league to deal with this. She must be the confidant out of convenience rather than confidence. If Peggie was here she could unceremoniously transfer responsibility onto her. That Aboriginal was most likely inside the establishment so pushing him inside would free her of responsibility. That only entailed violating a basic notion of decency critical to her ability to consider herself a decent person.

It might violate the Major's plan of building a better connection with Hanover, but present circumstances overruled the mission directive.

"Mr. Stuart." Visha formed her posture downward, becoming shorter than she already was in comparison to the prince. The involuntary meekness was receptive to the Albion as they halted on the sidewalk.

"You don't have to go inside if you would rather not. I'm not fond of these places myself."

Visha winched. Why did she keep inserting herself into these situations naturally devoid of her? As if her disliking of these establishments would contribute to His Highnesses decision. This was not about her, rather what was best for an acquaintance clearly suffering.

"No, it's alright." His Highness regained a degree of composure. Not fully free of his lingering shame. "Peggie will be here soon if she is not already inside."

Loud cheers could be heard emoting from inside the building, attempting to lure them into the den. Visha wanted to clarify where else the woman could be. 'In the small amount of "girl time" Peggie forced her to endure gave the impression drinking places would be her natural habitat.

"Thought she would be the star of the show?" Gabriel found amusement in the unsaid implication. Being able to produce an expression that was not laced with depression.

"Where else would she be?"

"The campaign is over and she's going through a breakup. That means she would have found a Roman church somewhere around here for mass followed by confession."

"I guess she's not satisfied with only communion wine, sir."

There was a shared laugh this time, the prince reacting with amusement not related to the events of last night.

The moment fading to silence that let the awkwardness of each others company creep back in. In mutual agreement to share in the discomfort, Visha lead the way to her mission objective.
Once inside their ability to converse petered out. His Highness was whisked away by his pilot, herself collected by Grantz who patiently waiting for the girl he apparently pined after. In less than a minute she was back beside the prince, neither adapted to the environment and locked into a circular booth by their ecstatic company. The pub crowded with men in varying stages of glee and intoxication. Visha had to lean towards whoever was speaking at the table if she wanted to hear their rambles. The unofficial "Germanic Corner" as the few Imperials present gravitated there when not mingling with the Hellenics or Commonwealth troops as the other present minority.

Enjoyable to some, just another smelly loud experience for herself.

Nothing of significance occurred from her perspective for the next hour. Embedded into the routine of listening to her fellow 203rd officers or pilot officer William tell stories from their respective journeys. She had listened to him tell his tales before, this time in accordance with MR. Stuart's claim of an en-masse sedentary attitude; lacking previous vim and vigour in recounting the skies of Anatolia and or the battle of Suez.

Despite her orders from Hanover, she stopped mentioning food after Mr. Stuart rejected the proposal once. Taking to a pint glass his pilot brought him over, offering her the same if she grew tired of normal water. Visha and Mr. Stuart were made equal only by how little either contributed to the group, rather a hindrance as most kept themselves restrained due to the royalty among them.

It was fitting then, that Peggie would be the one to upset the status quo.

An hour passed when the spiritually rescued Aquilonian appeared. Naturally sliding next to the prince, Grantz following closely behind to ensure he was never too far at any given time. A new subject was introduced by the new addition to the evening. That topic combined with a sinister offering.

"Hey, Visha." Peggie was trying to promote her drinking habit without the grace of a subtlety. A shot glass with a transparent liquid floating inside presented to her. "Guess what this is." While not ideologically opposed to drinking, being offered unknown liquids was not something she was ever keen on doing.

She denied the offer twice, both falling on deaf ears. It was evident Peggie would not be satisfied until the glass was emptied which was a condition Visha refused to meet. The prince matched it instead, taking the glass without permission and consuming the liquid in its intended manner. The table and aboriginal rejoicing when he placed the glass face down. Scrunching his face to then rub it with his hand. Impossible to tell which part was red from the physical abuse.

"Gin. Its gin." There was a small round of bemused mumblings. "I'm told my father liked gin. I can't stand the poison."

"A drink fit for princes it seems, sir." Koenig commented while topping off his own brew.

"Must be since he died in the revolt. A drink for worms." He rubbed away the twitches of alcohol, too far gone to realise or possible care to how poorly he contributed to the mood.

"Guess we'll need another round for Rushworth then." William spoke into his pint glass. To the detriment of the Invicta Pact members present. Visha stepped in to steer the discussion away from the nuances of death

"At least we can put it all behind us. Fighting insurgents is something I can live without."

"At least we took care of those guys. They won't be a nuisance to the Empire anymore." Grantz finished on to her attempts to salvage the evening.

"Hardly," Mr. Stuart mumbled loud enough to capture the attention of the group. Before Visha could think of a distraction on his behalf, His Highness finished his beer and devolved into a rant.

"The Empire has agreed to a general amnesty for low-ranking officers and enlisted men. That includes Tóth, off with nothing more than a wrap on the knuckles."

Now he made everyone resemble his unappealing attitude.

"We spend weeks chasing him around every cave and mineshaft in this country and he gets to go free?" Neumann was followed by Grantz's complaining.

"It isn't right. How many of our boys did he get killed? Probably executed them for fun."

"That wouldn't surprise me." Koenig was before Visha. "I guess. They have to have some reason." She continued to fight the negative sentiment. "They're probably trying to keep the peace or something. There's nothing we can do about it."

His Highness shifted next to her, muttering "Maybe we can." to himself leaning back in the sleeping posture, sealing himself off from Visha's questioning. Apparently considering the options privately in his drunken mind. Continuing to rest his eyes in silence until the complaining ceased. Grantz told a story in the meantime he was reminded of, Originating from Private Kropp who enacted his form of localised justice. Relaying a juvenile prank against a bully of an instructor after their training was completed. Spanking the man with his cane on a trip back from the pub; a cathartic but amusing story that seemed to end the topic of the Dacian insurgent.

Weiss, Neumann and Koenig leaving for the next refill, inadvertently provoking the prince to fall to temptation and reintroduce Tóth back into the vocabulary.

"What if we could? What if we did something?" He repeated himself louder for the table. Everyone was listening to a degree of interest, none dismissing his proposal. Visha being the one to question it.

"Are you proposing vigilantism?"

"Divine punishment!" He hit the table, shaking the empty glasses. "Something to let him know we have not forgotten about him." Mr. Stuart was barely audible over the sound of the bar, the noise concealing the scheme. No one outright denied it, simultaneously giving him minimal support.

"I'm in." The first to back him was Peggie, unsurprisingly. Grantz in her wake with a grin. The youngest among them following the guidance of the woman he fancied.

"I'll do it." William joined in. "Don't get much else to do inside a cockpit nowadays. Be nice to get some action in."

Visha was stunned into silence by the idea. Further by how easily everyone was roped into this conspiracy. Were they really considering this? All it took was one proposition then the rest were ready to fall in line.

"What are you doing?" She leaned into Mr. Stuart, nearly touching him – a prince. She might have not been a noblewoman but in that moment she seemed to be the only one with critical thought. "Don't you realise how much trouble you will get in?

Mr. Stuart looked at her, in a manner reflective of his status. Almost crazed. Fully committed to the abomination. The commitment was commendable if it was not directed to a worthy cause.

"I don't care." Gabriel made no attempt at whispering but was still naturally quiet. "Why should we consider anything when talking about someone who hurts children?"

06/11/1924 / Bucharest, Kingdom of Dacia / Bucharest Alleyway 50M away from capital jailhouse / 22:19

Visha hugged her arms into her chest. She wished she could blame the decreasing temperature. A true statement, yet each bout of shivering was incited by fear.

Everyone here was moderately liquored up so she could not justify leaving them to wander without supervision. Allowing her to dissuade her companions from this hideous event. The prince and Aquilonain currently watched for the target as she interrogated her fellow Imperial deeper in the alleyway.

"Visha, relax." Grantz waved off her most recent attempt, rubbing his nose as he responded. "The streets are filled with patrols. No one will know it's us."

"That just means we're going to get caught." Visha's rebuttal was discredited as paranoia. Treated in the manner he would dismiss a threat made by his little sister against him, not a credible criticism from an equal officer. Grantz attempted to wander off to his crush's side only for Visha to pull him back. She was not done with him yet, much to his frustration.

"Look, don't worry about that. They'd probably buy us the next round if they see Tóth getting it." He leaned on the side of the alleyway, ever as confident. "How many of our guys did he kill anyway?"

"What if the Major finds out? Her reputation for punishment speaks for itself." It was better than talking about the casualties that would entice the assault. Visha threatened Degurechaff 's pillbox methodology - such was the fate of those who she could not trust. "I don't think she would be happy with us hunting someone who's essentially a civilian."

There was a pause from the Imperial. Degurechaff's reputation of an uncompromising figure often spoke for itself. From the academy she was described as wicked, those who experienced her as a primary source could testify to its accuracy. The fact Visha had to remind him spoke about his commitment or the amount of alcohol in his system. Grantz was hesitant until his wandering eyes found Peggie at the mouth of the alley. His affection overriding respect or fear of the Major.

"Look." Grantz sharpened his tone, unable to make Visha back down. "You have been with her the longest. But don't you think she'll be fuming when she learns Tóth is getting off free?"

"Not enough that she'd want us to break the law."

Grantz scoffed, not budging on his decision and Visha relegated him to a lost cause. Instead of pressing him further, she followed him towards the Albion's, hoping that she might convert one of them to her side.

Peggie kept an arm to ensure his wobbling posture did not send him to the ground. The other focus on her orb conjuring a formula to hear the extended distance of the jailhouse door. The prince for his part held onto a burlap suck they had borrowed from the back alley of the pub as they left.

She had spent more time with the female half of the pair yet had a hunch a more intoxicated prince would be easier to convince.

She thought of how to convince His Highness in a way he would accept. Common sense of danger and consequences already failed on all three parties. Meaning she had to lean on the rhetoric of a priest to try and convince him. Her next target and his best friend were maintaining a tactical discussion through whispers.

"It's still a Dacian jail, I wouldn't be surprised if he already celebrated his release." His Highness theorised aloud with more of the information he was permitted to.

"What if he stays the night in that case?" Peggie looked back to the person she kept a hold of. "Or if he is carried out."

"I think they'd be happy to get rid of him. We'll have to see." The prince staggered slightly, Visha approaching to help maintain his balance. "But we only get Tóth."

"Mr. Stuart." Visha started quietly, cluing her presence to the increasingly vacant royal. A shadow talking to a barely visible silhouette in the fully formed night. She let go of him once she was sure he was able to stand. "Isn't this revenge? We can't do this in good conscience."

Mr. Stuart fixated on her, not adamant in changing his mind. "Are we not obedient to Christians? And as such, are we not to teach the message of God to others?" Structuring this as a lesson to justify the crime.

"But we're also taught to respect due process sir."

Peggie looked away from her formula to scoff directly at her. "And how did that work out Serebryakov?" The prince teaming up to support the statement with another plea to theology.

"We are to protect the weak Miss Serebryakov. To "Defend the weak and the fatherless. To uphold the cause of the poor and the oppressed" as He tells us."

That sounded familiar to Visha, Mr. Stuart must have been quoting something, a Psalm possibly. It was frustrating that he was barely able to stand but could still recite scripture better than she could while sober.

"We got him." Peggie whisper yelled back to alert her co-conspirators. Keeping her spell active. "Walking like he's three sheets to the wind."

Visha and her countryman stared blankly until Peggie relented and rewarded the information. "He's drunk and coming this way."

"Then why didn't you just say that?" Asked Grantz, getting ready to commence the atrocity.

"She did." Mr. Stuart forced himself into a pouncing position. The plan of assault was formulated after William served as their dual witness and distraction. The Albions being the ones to grab the offending man and throw him into the alley for his punishment.

The prep had them pose ready for action against the wall in case a drunk Dacian had talented observation skills. Visha wanted no part in this sin but followed the example. Ending beside Grantz and whispering more at him for a final attempt to derail this diplomatically.

"Do you really think doing this will win over a girl?"

A hush came from the pair upfront, not deterring Grantz from justified himself. "She seems to be enjoying herself. Just look at her."

Visha peeking over the body of Grantz at the woman at the corner, an arm stretched back to pin the prince to the wall. Neither less serious than the other – as if assault was an actual mission for the 27th.

The empty street was highlighted with a slow shuffling of Tóth played through Peggie's computation orb. Each step another stumble towards his capture.

Visha's desire to cry out for something to change, to have the self-proclaimed marshal turn around, her friend to back her up or the foreign soldiers to cancel the mission.

But she could do nothing other than stay quiet, the desire to change the situation outpaced with the pressure to stay silent. Listening to the footsteps that got louder until they were just around the corner.

Visha knew it was wrong but closed her eyes and huddled against the wall. There to stay as the footsteps were cut in by the group jumping out, a bag placed over Tóth's head, and his body being dragged into the alleyway.

The body being thrown into the dirt bringing her back into the real world.

Lieutenant Stuart was still on his wobbly legs, leaning on the same wall as her. Inattentive to her in favour of the groaning and assumed to be swearing Dacian. Fixated and unwavering, tensed - barking an order to "watch the bloody street if you won't help." His tone sounding entirely removed from the shy boy she started the evening with.

Peggie and Grantz circled Tóth, the first blow landed made by Gabriel's boot. Striking the hand trying to remove the bag. "I said watch the exit!"

Visha flinched and did his bidding. Wincing each time someone took their turn to kick and cackle at the deed. Each boot imprint followed by a moan, laughter and one side making a derogatory comment. From her hiding spot, Visha did not see anyone else tread along the capital's street. It was unfortunate that there was nothing that could pre-emptively ruin this plan.

Everyone had gotten in at least two or three kicks before Visha could convincingly demand an end to this. Any longer and they might risk trouble capture and the repercussions they deserved.

"Guys." Peggie and Grantz looked over, satisfied with their dirty deed. Mr. Stuart stopping the beating but still revelled in the pain of the man. His boot pressing down into Tóth's shoulder-blade.

"We've done enough, can we go now? Please!"

"Ya sure." Grantz looked down to the entity that was the enemy not a day ago. The Aquilonain repeated the sentiment "Sure you don't want a kick or two?"

"I'm positive." Visha frantically nodded, trying to get everyone's attention as Tóth gradually moved more. "Now, let's get out of here."

Gabriel relented, reluctantly and at Peggie backing Visha. Whispering something into his ear while subtly grabbing him to force the decision. The moment he took his boot off Tóth allowing the adult to counterattack. Rolling over onto his back, hand up and aimed where he predicted the boot's owner was. The unmistakable shine of a pistol in his hand.

"Gun!" Visha was the first to yell. Peggie pushing her friend away at the warning without the action of self-preservation. The blast of the pulled trigger beating her volume in the enclosed environment. Embedding the first shot into the wall, the second closer to Peggie and nearly lethal if she had slower reflexes in forming a magical barricade. Absorbing the next shot fired by Tóth.

"You piece of-" Gabriel retaliated first. Kicking the weapon away once in range and swearing as the next blow was directly made to Tóth's head. Adrenaline or a primal reliance on training keeping the prince on his unstable legs. The frenzy was reignited. Those content and seeking more were back to enacting violence and beating any portion of the body that could be claimed. Everyone brandishing their own insults onto the man. Arguably just-retaliation to deadly force but ultimately sullied by them being the attackers.

But Visha knew there was no reason for the beating to continue as the Dacian went limp.

Tóth falling unconscious satisfied Grantz, another kick making Peggie content. Leaving the Lieutenant to alternate between kicking, cursing in a foreign tongue or stamping directly onto the bag. Still committed to aggression and his partners in crime were laughing it off.

"Mr. Stuart?" Visha tried to call him off, still nervous at him barking at her again. She could muster a louder volume but decided against the risk. Stepping closer and trying to make herself sound authoritative, failing as another stomp was made. The others were too taking notice of blow after blow was made against a defenceless man.

"Sir?"

"Gabriel!" Peggie commented with no success. The swearing continuing as the boot bounced off Tóth's neck. Hard enough that it made the Dacian gasp for air that was denied to him.

"Hey!" Peggie tried to push the prince away but was buffed off. Allowing more blows to be delivered onto the brain and windpipe. Accompanied by equally violent language too muddled for Visha to translate.

"Mr. Stuart!" That was enough. Visha tried to do the same as Peggie with the same result, being sent onto the ground. Grantz checking her condition immediately. Her attempt seemed not to phase the Lieutenant. Not aided by magic, crippled by alcohol and exhaustion but committed to his deed. The prince could barely stand but maintained the energy through willpower alone.

At the closer angle, Visha saw the bag changing to a darker shade.

"Mr. Stuart, you're-" Grantz helped her get back to her feet, himself witnessing the same detail as Visha.

"Gabriel!" Peggie reared for further retaliation.

"That's enough!" She rushed His Highness in unintentional sync with Peggie and together they slammed him against the alley's wall. He continued to fight as he was pinned against the brick, his strength failing as the target was out of his abuse.

"Calm down Gabriel."

"Are you alright sir?"

He did not respond to either girl, looking past them at the man he so hated. Gradually sinking to the ground as the will to resist dispersed. Not attempting to break out as they crouched to keep him restrained.

Visha's fellow officers were no longer stunned into inaction or blinded by thin excuses, returning to a variant of their normal selves, finally horrified with what had just happened. Grantz hovered over Tóth in his original position. Feeling that her reason for touching royalty expired, Visha moved away and crouched next to the blond where she could feel more useful. The Dacian's head did not move, neither did the chest rise and fall. The only change was the stain on the bag growing. No matter the condition, it was that substance she could almost always recognise.

Glancing over her shoulder the same thick colour was on Gabriel's boots. Visha could guess the answer to the question whispered by those around her. She found hatred for herself in not wanting to check for a pulse; to touch a bloody, smelly body. That hatred increased after she managed to touch his skin; no pity or mourning brought out for him; scum perhaps, but still human.

"He's dead."

No one commented. Everyone knew the culprit and vaguely knew the motive. The guilty prince was panting at the conformation, unable to maintain a steady breath.

Visha was shaking again, scared for herself, her friend, the Commonwealth members. They had managed to get themselves into a perspicacious situation by any standard which it could be judged.

What would her father think of her? an accessory to murder and she did not even pay mind to the victim. The insurgent, wife-beating child abuser. His life was not admirable, but he did not deserve this.

There would be a time for that later. The gunshots had them working on limited time, most of it already spent.

"We need to get out of here." She told her countryman, standing and telling the same to the other mages. Catching the prince's eyes, filled with the same expression of rage committed to his hated opposition in war. Rage matched with tears that would usually change the expression instead of enhancing it. The anger that emerged to protect and serving to mutilate

"Sir, we can't stay here." Peggie rocked the prince, bringing him into the situation but not dispersing the expression locked onto what was once Tóth. He moved out of his friend's restraint, crawling forward to the body.

Visha was ashamed to make a spectacle of flinch at the approach. In what energy remained in the prince he rummaged through the pockets of the coat and trousers. Taking each personal item that was found.

"What are you doing?" Grantz begged the obvious, receiving a limited and exhausting answer.

"Robbery. Make it look like a robbery."

"You sound confident in that." Visha did not realise she was speaking her thoughts aloud. no one paid mind to her thankfully.

"That's a rubbish idea, Gabriel." Peggie bemoaned, fumbling with her computation orb. Ignored by her superior who degraded himself by searching the body of his murder victim.

Gabriel retrieved a wallet and pocket watch among other personal items, trying to hold them all in his hands. Then trying and failing to get onto his feet. Visha aided him before Peggie could place herself next to him, ignoring him to focusing on her computation orb and looted pistol that nearly killed her. Stuffing the weapon into her belt before devoting herself to the act of spell crafting. Reading the displayed lights emitting from the orb, calculating a formula. All semblances of humour or lighthearted traits extinguished for a dauntless persona.

"Put Gabriel against the wall and get out of here. I'll take care of him."

Visha did so, the boy collapsing back onto the ground while he kept his anger fixated on the body. Visha following the next order to relocate the stolen items from Gabriel's hands back onto the body. Whatever was planned went beyond a falsified robbery, despite the protests of the prince who was otherwise neutered of influence.

Visha stepped back with Grantz as Peggie outstretched her hand, strands of active mana emitting from her hand. A small bright ball manifesting in her palm, as the formula neared completion.

The body erupting into flames that consumed the body and rapidly worked to eat through the human body. A napalm-type formula possibly, Visha had not seen one since her training. It was uncomfortable to see its first field use employed to cremate evidence.

The fire forcibly separated the two nationalities. Visha and Grantz kept at bay from Peggie and were unable to contest her orders. The target of the fire decreasing into a black mass that shrunk every second. Through the flames Peggie stood, speaking over her magic and its results.

"You two get back to your camp. Don't ever talk about this. It never happened."

Grantz spoke for her, grabbing Visha by the hand and dragging her off into a sprint out of the alley and away from the crime scene. The fire and smoke diminishing behind them, and a normal environment gradually returned. Transitioning into a silent walk to not invite suspicion. Lest the very air testify against them for the crime they had partaken in.

"We might actually get away with this." Visha talked to herself, Grantz hushing the sentence in a sentiment she agreed with. If the other two did not get caught and Peggie vaporised the entire body it might look as if the man disappeared into the night. The scorch damage is possibly indistinguishable from the other patches around the city. Visha would be impressed if it was not morally hideous. Could she live knowing what happened? No overwhelming sense of empathy for the deceased occupied her mind, only disdain for the crime itself. She guessed she did not have a choice. Four other people knew the plan and three of those its a terrible outcome. Despite the order from Peggie, they would have to discuss this eventually, formulate a plan going into the future.

The walk continued in silence, letting Visha think about the murder. Taking a life was not new to any of them, just the manner of cold-blooded revenge in this instance. How he handled it might be the deciding factor if they got away with this.

She thought back to the prince as they left. Still leaning with his back to the wall but visible through the flames. The image of Gabriel wiping his face repetitively. Not offering an exclamation, or anything that could resemble sympathy or regret. Only that look carved into his face. Possibly willing to do it all again.

Visha did not know how to feel about that. Unsettled but not horrified. Scared but not at repercussions or the threat of becoming a victim at his hands. She did believe it was accidental but that would imply some form of regret that was not witnessed outside of tears.

That psalm he talked about, "protecting the weak and fatherless, the poor and oppressed." Did that teaching mean she now had to support this lie for the sake of protection? None of them meek or defenceless but not forbidden to needing help. There was a lack of choice in the decision, but it was unusual to add theology into the matter.

The prince was fatherless after all. The same as two children in the north of the country due to that same prince.

A/N:

Here we see another scene that might push the rating up to M if cold-blooded murder is more flaggable than war crimes. Let us cross our fingers that I'm simply being paranoid, and nothing comes from it.

I hope it makes sense why I spent most of the time doing the characterising and admittedly slow pacing now rather than spreading it out over other fronts. I do see the humour and criticism of focusing on an aspect that was a blip in the canon. In early planning I found Dacia to be the perfect method to display the abilities and qualities of characters on top of unopposed combat. I doubt the Norden front for instance will be as inflated for that reason. I will admit chapter nine did not need to be a Unitary focused, and it sticks out from the others in tone and the flow of story events. I wanted to follow the classic "show don't tell" and it is an effective way to show the opposition. On a personal note, I really enjoy writing from the perspective of black morality.

For clarity, the psalm Gabriel tells Visha is Psalm 82:3. I tell this in part for transparency and to state, I am aware it is different from the title of the chapter.

There is some new artwork of Saint of Letzenbourg on the deviant art page, its title can be found on my profile since links get removed by the system. Go check it out if you want to see more quality content courtesy of Jebi.

Thank you to everyone who has read and leave reviews. It is always wonderful to get feedback and talk with those who have messaged me.

P.S. Happy birthday to Gabriel and happy Michaelmas to those of the faith.