Chapter 39: Insecurities

Chapter 39: Insecurities

Maenius and Rosk ventured out for a stroll, the crisp autumn air biting at their cheeks despite the season's reluctance to fully embrace winter's icy grip. Maesinius, having endured the bone-chilling cold of true northern winters, couldn't help but find the current weather almost comically mild. In those frigid lands, even the hardiest of beasts with fur as long as his cock, sought refuge in the shelter of their dens rather than face the relentless cold. Though it also meant that there was less prize to hunt and feed oneself with .

Maesinius cast a glance over his shoulder, his eyes meeting Rosk's . Among the rugged inhabitants of the north, Rosk was a rare gem, possessing a demeanor that befitted the attitude toward royalty. He bowed with deference, his demeanor meek and respectful. nove(l)bi(n.)com

He was the only one really.He was no fool though, as no prince would search for counsel from a jester.

"I extend my deepest condolences for your loss, your grace. Your father was a formidable warrior," Rosk spoke with a slight bow, his words intended to convey warmth, but to Maesinius, they stung like hot coals. At nineteen summers, the mere mention of his father still sent a shiver down his spine, he hated him but now he was dead, and what use was keeping grudge now?

"Aye, he was indeed a great warrior, a skilled swordsman, and a masterful tactician," Maesinius replied solemnly "Gratios of House Kontazounes commanded respect on the battlefield and led our armies to countless victories. But now, he lies in the cold embrace of death,and his sons will quarrel to cut the flesh out of the empire he rebuilt.He was also hardly a loving father you know?''

Rosk made no answer and kept staring

Maesinius stood in the cold embrace of the northern winds, his thoughts swirling like the snowflakes around him. He watched over the desolate landscape, it was his, just like it was of the north

"There was never a case," Rosk continued, his voice steady despite the bitter chill in the air. "You are the first. The people witnessed the prince fighting over Bane's stone, they saw how you struck deals for grain with southern lords, many of them found themselves eating grain only because you decided to owe some favor to some nobles for when you became emperor . They love you for both, my prince."

As Rosk spoke, flecks of spittle danced in his brown beard, . Though Maesinius found it a tad repulsive, he chose to remain silent, unwilling to dampen the moment

"No royalty has done as much for the north in the hundred years since we entered the empire as a small, 'fucked-up' prince has done in three years. They have taken men and taxes, in exchange?They gave us nothing!" Rosk declared, his words carrying the weight of truth. "The choice is not yours anymore.Whetever you want it or not the north will fight. Winter is coming my prince, soon all the land will be filled with even more snow, lands will be barren and there will be no animal to hunt .Children and old men will die of cold and hunger, their tears becoming ice on their face, with their mothers , fathers and sons watching helplessly.It has been so for many winters and it shall continue to be like this. Honestly I would prefer dying with steel in hands, and with southern's blood splattered in my face, rather than die of cold.That is an ugly death aye. The people will fight , just like the nobles. You think this 'hut' has been called on , to decide of what to do?'' He laughed , steam coming out from his mouth ''This is to decide on how to fight not whether we should. The war had started the moment your younger brother usurped the throne.The north's honor call for such war to be made ''

The prince's gaze met Rosk's stare. "But I don't want to,thousands will die " he murmured.

Rosk's expression remained stoic, his resolve unyielding. "Nonetheless, you will," he stated firmly, his tone brooking no argument. With a decisive nod, he turned away, his breath forming frosty clouds in the chilly air. ''It's either a swift death in the midst of glory, or a slow death by hunger, fear and cold.You would them a favor to give them the first''

"It's getting colder," Rosk observed, his breath misting as he spoke. "And the nobles are awaiting us. It has been five years since a hut was called, and they sense it in the air. War is coming, and their blood is boiling."

And so like this ,the prince followed Rosk as they made their way back, with the walk being a little less cold than it was before.

Winter was coming to the south.