Vinício, the new capital of the Kingdom of Rondón

Prince Rafael had sent a message to Duke Nicolas Soult when he had heard the Duc was coming to Vinicio to finalize plans and paperwork for the duc's new capital, Brais. Rafael had never been to the once-small village, and during the war, the young man had commanded forces to the East. He'd only ever gotten as far as Vinicio, and had had no desire to travel the rest of Zephyr after.

One day, of course, he would have to. One day, he would be King of Rondòn, and would be expected to not only step out from his mother's shadow, but to cast an even larger one by fanning the flames of Rondòn's victory higher and higher.

It was he who had suggested to his mother that they push for Rondí ships to sail further. Now that they had so many, and that so many of the merchants were more than willing to call themselves Rondí if it meant coin and papers that legitimized their right to piracy, why not expand?

It kept his mother's mind off of him... And off of Arenna. If she had been seriously hurt, their pendants would have said something. No, instead she was off sewing wild oats and Rafael had to remind himself not to be angry with her. Less than a year ago, he'd been the same.

But war had changed him.

He'd only ever known Duc Soult in passing, hardly had he said more than niceties to the man at the victory feast, but Rafael felt as if the man would have better advice for him than those that were too close to him... Or too much his senior.

In the city of Vinicio, Prince Rafael had worn the clothes of his captain and put his signet ring on a chain hidden around his neck. He waited in the Broken Swan tavern, not exactly a dive but not the grandest in Vinicio either.

He'd taken the liberty of ordering two ales, since he was sick of drinking Rondí wine, and hoped that the Duc would appear as... Casually... As the prince.

On this night, the young man didn't want any trouble.

"I'd rather not be recognized and bombarded with questions," the young, serious-faced man said to the older. He'd noticed the orc -- everyone had noticed the orc -- and Rafael passed one of the ales over to Nicolas.

"Thank you for meeting me," he said by route. "How are things going in your territory?"

Execute them, was Rafael's knee jerk reaction as a swell of hot anger filled his belly. He hadn't been at Dreigh, but he'd heard of it, just as every person in all of Rondon -- Zephyr side or no -- had heard of what had happened at Dreigh. Some, mostly the Zephyy, called it propoganda. Others tried to deny that such radicals existed. Almost all of the Rondi let it fuel their righteous assault on Zephyr.

But Rafael was not a soldier, nor was he a commoner, or a merchant. He was a prince, the crown prince, and he'd soon by the king... of Dreigh, of Nicolas' duchy, of Rondon. He couldn't afford to execute men and women because of his own emotions.

"Sentence them to labor. My mother has done the same in Port Calar and LaReino," Rafael offered, and drank some ale to quench the fire inside. "We have new villages popping up everywhere it seems. In the south, most would rather start from scratch than rebuild, especially in Beorn. Excuse me, Bonce." Rafael stopped himself from rolling his eyes. Another of his mother's ideas was to rename everything, as if that would erase the history.

Perhaps she was right, however. If one always had to refer to the bloody history of a town as before, it might help the locals to divorce their thoughts from their Zephyy heritage and embrace their new Rondi way of life.

Rafael was running out of small talk. After all, that's not why he'd asked for the Duke. "How can you sleep at night after what you saw in Dreigh?" Rafael blurted out, a glimpse into how young Rafael was, even if the War seemed to have aged him by far more years than just one.

Rafael looked through the frosty glass of his ale as Nicolas answered. He slowly turned the mug on the table, making the wet ring it left on the wooden top grow larger. The duke's words didn't reassure him. They were words he'd heard before, when he asked some of the generals and captains who had served directly beneath him.

I suppose, the prince thought, I just soldier through it and get on with living.

At that thought, Rafael took another drink and shifted marginally in his seat, crossing one leg to drape a booted ankle over his knee. He looked over at the orc again, and then back at Nicolas. "While we were raiding the Sisters, one of my captains seemed to command some undead beast that ripped through the Zephyy fleet that tried to block the Ryel mouth. I'd never seen such a thing before, but I suppose I will have to get used to the nightmares. Perhaps, before this war, I glorified it all too much."

Rafael rubbed at the back of his neck, feeling that unease and pressure rising over his shoulders as their conversation rolled naturally into talk of duty and expectations. He drank more ale, then found he'd bottom'd out the mug and lifted his hand to order another. The waitress noticed both of the tall, dark, and handsome men at the table, but other than a wink, didn't stay to catch their attention. The tavern was busy, and good looking men were a dime a dozen -- there was hardly anything worth mentioning for these two.

"I imagine I'll be expected to marry soon. How have you stayed a bachelor so long?" Rafael asked as he leaned back in his seat and subtly bounced his knee beneath the scarred face of the table. "I would have expected a man of your rank to have been married as soon as possible."

Rafael shook his head. "She is still in the process of," he said, a slight frown to his face. He didn't like the thought of having to get married, and even less that he'd get married on his mother's terms. It was demeaning for him, his mother still controlling so much of his life. "You haven't a sister, have you?" Rafael half joked.

He leaned back in his seat with a small sigh, broad shoulders lifting and relaxing. "You should watch out for her; she'll want to create marriages among the Zephyy nobility and the Rondi in order to mix the lines. Since you aren't Rondi, I imagine you'll be better received by whatever Zephyy nobles are left." He drank more and then really did laugh.

"When did marriage get as exhausting as war?"