Chapter 3: The Board is Set Three days passed faster than Mael expected. The tutoring continued at the same brutal pace, but he'd adjusted enough that his body stopped screaming in protest every evening. Corvus drilled him on military tactics, economic theory, and the finer points of aristocratic etiquette. The combat training remained exhausting, though Mael could now complete the basic forms without dropping his practice sword halfway through. The morning of the dinner party arrived with typical efficiency. Varos had prepared formal attire the night before: a dark blue tunic with silver threading that matched the Helvor family colors, tailored specifically for Mael's Small size. The fabric was expensive enough to signal status without being ostentatious. Appropriate for a prince residing with a minor marquis. Mael dressed himself, which took longer than it should have because the buttons were designed for Normal-sized fingers. He eventually managed it and made his way downstairs, where a carriage waited in the courtyard. The carriage was modest by aristocratic standards but still required three Large-sized Milkmen to pull it. They stood in harnesses at the front, their cheese-flesh a uniform pale yellow that suggested they were servants bred specifically for physical labor. Mael had learned that some aristocratic families maintained breeding programs to produce Large servants with optimal strength-to-intelligence ratios. It was efficient but also deeply uncomfortable to think about. Celise was already waiting by the carriage. She wore a light blue dress that probably cost more than the carriage itself, decorated with patterns that Mael didn't recognize. Her expression suggested she was looking forward to the party, which made sense given that she'd spent the last week watching Mael get tutored while having nothing productive to do herself. "Finally," she said when Mael approached. "I thought you were going to make us late." "We have plenty of time." "Father said we should arrive early to make a good impression. Being punctual shows respect." Mael climbed into the carriage without responding. Celise followed, settling onto the opposite bench with an annoyed huff. The interior was cushioned but cramped, designed for Normal-sized passengers. Mael fit comfortably enough, but Celise had to adjust her dress to avoid crushing the fabric. The carriage lurched forward as the Large servants began pulling. The motion was smoother than Mael expected, suggesting the wheels were well-maintained and the servants experienced. They moved through the Helvor estate's grounds, passing manicured gardens and servant quarters before reaching the main gate. The city beyond was called Masuhara, named after the Masuhati river that flowed through its center. Mael had studied maps of it during his geography lessons but hadn't actually seen much of the city since arriving. The carriage traveled down wide streets lined with buildings that ranged from modest shops to elaborate mansions. Most structures were built from compressed cheese-brick, which was cheaper than stone but less durable. The wealthier districts used stone foundations with cheese-brick upper floors, creating a distinctive two-tone appearance. Celise stared out the window, apparently fascinated by the scenery. Mael watched her for a moment, trying to determine if she was genuinely interested or just bored. She seemed sincere, which suggested she didn't get out much. That made sense given that Marquis Helvor kept a relatively isolated household. "Have you been to many dinner parties?" Mael asked. "A few. Father takes me sometimes when he needs to maintain social connections. They're usually boring because everyone just talks about politics and trade agreements." She glanced at him. "This one might be different since there will be other princes there. Father said you should try to make alliances." "Did he say anything else?" "Just that you should be careful not to offend anyone important. And that I should behave myself and not eat too much." She said the last part with obvious resentment. Mael filed that away. The Marquis was using Celise as a chaperone, which was practical but also revealed something about how he viewed Mael's position. Sending an adopted daughter along suggested the Marquis wanted to maintain some connection to the evening's events without committing his own presence. It was a way of hedging bets. The carriage continued through the city for another twenty minutes. The buildings gradually became larger and more elaborate as they entered the aristocratic district. Mael recognized some of the family crests from his studies: a count's estate with red and gold banners, a baron's mansion with green trim, several viscount properties clustered together in what was probably a political alliance. Then they arrived at Prince Baelin's residence. The mansion was enormous. It occupied an entire city block and rose four stories high, built entirely from white stone that must have cost a fortune to import. The architecture was elaborate without being gaudy, featuring columns, arched windows, and a grand entrance with double doors that stood at least ten meters tall. Guards in formal armor flanked the entrance, their cheese-flesh dyed dark blue to match the estate's colors. The carriage stopped at the front steps. One of the Large servants opened the door and helped Celise down, then did the same for Mael. The height difference was awkward, but Mael managed to descend without looking completely ridiculous. A head servant waited at the entrance. He was a Normal-sized Milkman wearing spectacles and formal attire that probably cost more than everything Mael owned. His cheese-flesh was pale white, suggesting a diet of premium milk. "Prince Mael Amir and Lady Celise Helvor," the servant announced after Mael identified himself. "Welcome to the Baelin estate. Prince Baelin is currently entertaining guests in the main hall. Please follow me." They entered through the massive doors into an entrance hall that was larger than the entire ground floor of the Helvor mansion. The ceiling rose three stories high, supported by columns carved with religious symbols from Vahilism. A grand staircase dominated the center of the space, splitting into two curved paths that led to the upper floors. Servants moved efficiently through the hall, carrying trays and attending to various tasks. The head servant led them through a side corridor into what he called the main hall, though it was really more of a ballroom. The space could easily accommodate two hundred Normal-sized Milkmen, with a vaulted ceiling decorated with painted murals depicting historical scenes. Long tables lined the walls, covered with various milk-based foods. Mael recognized some of the dishes from his studies. Fresh milk in crystal glasses, obviously. Condensed milk that had been partially solidified into a cream. Milk that had been flavored with herbs and spices. Cheese curds in various stages of fermentation. Milk foam that had been whipped into elaborate shapes. The variety was impressive and probably represented a significant portion of Prince Baelin's monthly milk allocation. The hall was already populated with guests. Mael counted approximately forty Milkmen, ranging from Small to Large in size. Most wore formal attire in various family colors. He recognized some of the crests from his studies: two barons, a viscount, several counts, and what looked like the children of a duke family based on the elaborate gold threading in their clothing. Celise immediately gravitated toward the food tables. Mael let her go, since keeping her entertained wasn't his responsibility and she'd probably be less annoying if she was occupied with eating. The head servant had disappeared, leaving Mael to navigate the social landscape alone. He scanned the room, identifying potential targets for conversation. The goal wasn't to make friends. The goal was to gather information and establish preliminary connections, which was basically collecting power in this aristocratic system. These connections would be useful later. He approached a Small-sized Milkman wearing the colors of a baron family. The Milkman was standing alone near one of the food tables, looking uncomfortable. That suggested either social inexperience or political isolation. Either way, it made him an easy target for conversation. "The food selection is impressive," Mael said. The Milkman turned, looking relieved to have someone to talk to. "It is. Prince Baelin's family must have significant milk allocations to afford this variety." "I'm Prince Mael Amir. I don't think we've met." "Baron Telric's son, Jorath. I'm here representing my father's interests." He said it with obvious discomfort, suggesting he'd been forced to attend rather than choosing to come. Mael filed away the name. Baron Telric wasn't particularly important in the grand scheme of imperial politics, but barons controlled local territories and could be useful for specific purposes. "What are your father's interests?" "Trade agreements, mostly. We control several tributaries in the southern provinces, but the Lord Party has been pressuring us to support their expansion proposals. Father wants to maintain neutrality, but that's becoming difficult." That was more information than Mael expected to get from a simple greeting. Jorath was either naive or desperate for someone to talk to about his family's problems. Either way, it was useful for his collection of connections. "The Lord Party pressures everyone," Mael said. "That's their primary strategy. They assume most families will eventually cave rather than face economic consequences." "Exactly. But if we support their proposals, the Civilian Party will turn public opinion against us. We're caught between two factions that both have more power than we do." Mael nodded sympathetically, though he didn't actually care about Baron Telric's political problems. "Have you considered forming alliances with other minor nobles in similar positions? Collective bargaining might give you more leverage." Jorath's expression brightened. "That's what I suggested to Father, but he's worried about appearing too organized. He thinks the major families would see it as a threat." "They probably would. But being a threat is better than being irrelevant." They talked for a few more minutes. Mael extracted information about Baron Telric's territorial holdings, his relationships with neighboring nobles, and his family's financial situation. The baron was land-rich but cash-poor, which was common for minor nobility. He controlled tributaries that produced decent milk yields but lacked the infrastructure to process it efficiently. That made him dependent on larger families for trade agreements. Mael filed it all away and moved on to the next target. Over the next two hours, he worked through the room systematically. He talked to a viscount's daughter who complained about inheritance disputes. A count's son who wanted to modernize his family's agricultural practices but faced resistance from traditionalist relatives. Two barons who were feuding over tributary rights. A Large-sized Milkman from a duke family who seemed bored by the entire event but attended out of obligation. Each conversation followed the same pattern. Mael asked questions, listened carefully, and offered just enough insight to seem helpful without committing to anything concrete. It was almost touching how eager they all were to explain their problems to a sympathetic eight-year-old. He was building a mental map of the aristocratic landscape—who held the strings, who reached for them, and who was so desperate they'd confide in a child prince with no apparent power. The count's son was particularly interesting. His name was Verin, and he controlled significant agricultural land in the eastern provinces. He'd been experimenting with new irrigation techniques that increased milk production from tributaries, but his family's conservative leadership refused to invest in expanding the system. Verin was frustrated and looking for allies who understood the value of innovation. Mael made a mental note. Agricultural innovation meant increased milk production, which meant economic power. If Verin could be convinced to share his techniques in exchange for political support, that would be delightfully efficient. Nothing quite like watching someone hand over their competitive advantage because they were lonely and frustrated. He was talking to a baron about trade route security when a servant announced that Prince Baelin was ready to begin the formal portion of the evening. The guests began moving toward the center of the hall, where chairs had been arranged in a loose circle. Mael counted nine princes total, including himself. They were all Small-sized, which made sense given they were only eight years old. Some looked confident, others nervous. One was already talking animatedly with several aristocratic children, apparently having formed preliminary alliances. Another stood alone, watching everyone with calculating eyes. Prince Baelin himself was easy to identify. He stood at the center of the circle, wearing elaborate formal attire in red and gold. His cheese-flesh was slightly darker than average, suggesting a diet heavy in fermented milk products. He had the kind of presence that came from either natural charisma or extensive training in the art of pulling strings. Probably both. "Thank you all for attending," Baelin said. His voice carried easily across the hall despite his Small size. "I thought it would be useful for those of us competing for the throne to meet informally and discuss our mutual interests. The succession won't be decided for five years, but the alliances we form now will shape how that competition unfolds." Mael studied the other princes while Baelin talked. There was a pattern emerging. Some were clearly aligned with specific political factions already. One wore colors that matched the Lord Party's primary duke families. Another had been talking extensively with Civilian Party representatives. A few seemed genuinely independent, though that might just mean they were better at hiding their allegiances. Mael realized that this initial environment was too vague and structured to make any concrete plans, like a game board before the first move. Baelin continued. "I propose we form a preliminary alliance. Nothing binding, obviously. But we can share information, coordinate our efforts, and avoid unnecessary conflicts that would weaken all of us. The real competition is against the princes who aren't in this room, the ones who think they can win through isolation or brute force." That was clever. Baelin was framing the alliance as a defensive measure against external threats rather than an offensive coalition. The classic move: make cooperation sound like self-preservation rather than ambition. It made the proposal seem reasonable and reduced the perceived risk of joining. Mael almost wanted to applaud. One of the other princes spoke up. His name was Kael, and he'd been the one talking with aristocratic children earlier. "What kind of coordination are you proposing? We're all competing for the same throne. At some point, we'll have to eliminate each other." "Eventually, yes. But that's five years away. Right now, we're all vulnerable to interference from established powers. The Lord Party is already backing specific candidates. The Civilian Party is doing the same. If we don't coordinate, we'll just be pawns in their political games." Another prince, this one named Theron, nodded. "Baelin's right. I've already had three different duke families approach me with 'offers of support' that were really just attempts to control my decisions. We need leverage, and the only way to get it is through collective action." The discussion continued. Mael listened carefully, analyzing each prince's position and motivations. Kael was ambitious and probably saw himself as a frontrunner. Theron was more cautious but recognized the value of alliances—or at least, the leverage an alliance provided against his internal squabbles. A prince named Valis seemed genuinely idealistic, talking about "serving the Empire's interests" in a way that suggested either naivety or exceptional acting skills. Mael suspected the latter. Nobody came to a meeting like this without wanting something specific. Another named Corvin was quiet but observant, watching everyone with the same calculating expression Mael probably wore. Then there was a prince named Aldric who seemed to position himself as a heroic underdog type. He talked about "earning the throne through merit" and "proving ourselves worthy" in a way that was either sincere or carefully calculated to appeal to Civilian Party sensibilities. Mael couldn't tell which yet. Baelin eventually steered the conversation toward specifics. "I suggest we establish regular meetings to share information about political developments. We can also coordinate our responses to interference from the major factions. If the Lord Party pressures one of us, the others can provide support or create distractions." "What about resource sharing?" Kael asked. "Some of us have better access to milk allocations or territorial holdings than others. Are we pooling resources or maintaining separate bases of power?" "Separate for now. Pooling resources would require trust we haven't built yet. But we can facilitate connections between our respective households and the aristocratic families we're cultivating relationships with." Mael saw the opening he'd been waiting for. The conversation had established the basic framework of the alliance, but it was still vague and undefined. How convenient—a power structure with gaps just waiting to be filled by someone helpful. He spoke up for the first time. "The resource question is important, but there's a more fundamental issue. We're assuming the major factions will treat us as a unified bloc, but they won't. They'll identify the weakest links and apply pressure there. We need to address our individual vulnerabilities before we can function as a group." Several princes turned to look at him. Baelin's expression was interested but guarded. "What do you suggest?" "We should identify what each of us lacks and see if others in the alliance can help address those gaps. Some of us have political connections but lack financial resources. Others have territorial holdings but no access to the Lord Party's networks. If we can shore up each other's weaknesses, we become harder to manipulate individually." Theron nodded slowly. "That makes sense. But it requires being honest about our vulnerabilities, which is risky." "It is. But the alternative is getting picked off one by one by families that already know our weaknesses anyway. The major factions have been studying us since we were born. They know exactly where to apply pressure." Mael was deliberately framing the proposal in terms of defensive necessity rather than offensive opportunity. Amazing how much more palatable strategic chess moves became when you called it "addressing vulnerabilities." It made the idea seem less threatening while also establishing him as someone who thought strategically about group dynamics—or at least, that's what they'd think. Kael looked skeptical. "And you're volunteering to go first? Tell us all your vulnerabilities so we can exploit them later?" "I'm residing with Marquis Helvor, a minor noble with limited political influence. I have no direct connections to either major party and no significant financial resources. My primary advantage is that nobody sees me as a threat yet, which gives me freedom to maneuver. My primary vulnerability is that I lack the infrastructure to capitalize on opportunities when they appear." It was mostly true, though Mael was deliberately understating his capabilities. The goal wasn't honesty—what a quaint concept that would be. The goal was to seem honest enough that everyone else would feel compelled to match his apparent vulnerability. Nothing encouraged confession quite like the illusion of mutual trust. Baelin studied him for a moment, then smiled slightly. "Fair enough. I'll go next. I have strong financial resources and connections to several count families, but I'm politically aligned with the Lord Party in ways that limit my flexibility. The Civilian Party sees me as an enemy, which means I can't build popular support effectively." The other princes gradually followed suit. Kael admitted he was overextended, trying to maintain too many alliances simultaneously. Theron revealed that his household was facing internal disputes that weakened his position. Valis talked about his idealistic goals in a way that revealed he was politically naive. Aldric positioned himself as lacking resources but having "integrity and determination," which was exactly the kind of thing someone would say if they were trying to appeal to heroic narratives. Corvin was the last to speak. "I don't have any particular vulnerabilities worth mentioning. My household is stable, my resources are adequate, and I'm not aligned with any faction yet. But I also don't have any significant advantages. I'm exactly average in every measurable way." That was definitely a lie. By claiming to be average, Corvin was avoiding scrutiny while also not revealing anything useful. It was a transparent move, frankly, but the others seemed to accept it. Mael filed it away as evidence that Corvin thought he was being clever. How charming—someone who believed "I have no weaknesses" was a sustainable strategy. His cards were showing, he just didn't realize it yet. The conversation shifted to specific proposals. Baelin suggested they meet monthly to share information. Kael wanted to establish communication channels that couldn't be intercepted by the major factions. Theron proposed they coordinate their responses to political pressure to avoid being played against each other. Mael listened and waited for the right moment. The alliance was forming, but it was still fragile and undefined. The princes were cooperating out of necessity rather than trust, which meant the structure had cracks waiting to widen. He needed to plant some seeds of discord. Not enough to destroy the alliance—that would be wasteful—but enough to establish fault lines he could navigate later. The goal was to position himself as a useful mediator while also ensuring that the other princes remained divided in ways that opened doors for him. It was almost too easy. They were practically begging to have their strings pulled. He started with a question that seemed innocent. "Baelin, you mentioned you're aligned with the Lord Party. Does that mean you support their expansion proposals for the southern territories?" Baelin hesitated. "I support some of their proposals. Not all of them." "Which ones specifically?" "The infrastructure development initiatives. The southern provinces need better irrigation systems and trade routes. But I don't support their attempts to establish private settlements beyond imperial oversight." Mael turned to Theron. "What about you? Your household controls territory in the eastern provinces. The Lord Party's expansion would probably affect your family's tributary rights." Theron's expression tightened. "It would. That's one of the internal disputes I mentioned. Some of my relatives want to support the Lord Party in exchange for economic concessions. Others think it's a trap." "It probably is a trap," Kael said. "The Lord Party doesn't make deals unless they benefit more than you do. They'll offer concessions now and take them back later once they've consolidated power." Baelin bristled slightly. "That's an oversimplification. The Lord Party has legitimate interests in developing the southern territories. Not everything is a conspiracy." "Maybe not everything. But most things are." The tension in the room increased. Mael had successfully triggered a conflict between Baelin and Kael by highlighting their different relationships with the Lord Party. It wasn't a major conflict, but it was enough to create division. He noticed the cold way Baelin met his eyes, almost acknowledging the move. He pressed further. "Valis, you mentioned wanting to serve the Empire's interests. How do you define that? The Lord Party claims their expansion serves imperial interests. The Civilian Party claims the opposite. Which one is right?" Valis looked uncomfortable. "I think both parties have valid points. The Empire needs economic development, but it also needs to maintain popular support. The challenge is finding a balance." "That's not an answer. That's a platitude." Aldric jumped in, apparently seeing an opportunity to position himself as Valis's defender. "Not everyone needs to have a detailed policy position on every issue. Valis is right that we should focus on what's best for the Empire rather than getting caught up in factional politics." "That's easy to say when you don't have any political power yet," Kael said. "Once you start making real decisions, you'll realize that 'what's best for the Empire' is whatever benefits your faction most." The conversation was deteriorating into exactly the kind of conflict Mael wanted. The princes were revealing their positions, their biases, and their willingness to attack each other over political differences. It was beautiful, really—watching them tear into each other while thinking they were having a productive policy debate. The alliance was forming, but it was fractured along lines he could read like a map. Baelin tried to regain control. "We're getting off track. The point of this alliance is to coordinate against external threats, not to debate policy positions we won't be implementing for five years anyway." "But our policy positions determine how we'll respond to those external threats," Mael said. "If Theron's family is pressured by the Lord Party over tributary rights, and you're aligned with the Lord Party, how do we coordinate our response? Do you support Theron or your faction?" Baelin didn't have a good answer to that. Neither did anyone else. The question exposed the fundamental weakness of the alliance: they were cooperating out of necessity, but their interests were ultimately opposed. Which made their decision of telling their weaknesses even more painful. Mael let the silence stretch for a moment, savoring his handiwork, then offered a solution. "Maybe we're approaching this wrong. Instead of trying to coordinate our responses to every situation, we should focus on specific areas where our interests genuinely align. We can cooperate on those issues and stay out of each other's way on everything else." Theron nodded slowly. "That's more realistic. We're not going to agree on everything, but we can probably find common ground on specific problems." The conversation shifted toward identifying those areas of common ground. They eventually agreed on a few basic principles: sharing information about major political developments, avoiding direct conflicts with each other when possible, and coordinating responses to assassination attempts or other direct threats. It was a weak alliance, but it was an alliance of convenience. Mael knew the others weren't there for friendship. They all had their own calculus for using the group for leverage or cover. The difference was that Mael's calculus was better. But more importantly, he'd established himself as someone who thought strategically about group dynamics and wasn't afraid to ask uncomfortable questions. It made him useful to everyone, for now. He had set the board and now the game had started. He'd also created fault lines between the princes that he could walk through later. It was almost disappointing how cooperative they'd been in letting him arrange the pieces. The formal meeting ended after another hour of discussion. The princes dispersed back into the larger party, mingling with the aristocratic guests. Mael found himself standing near Aldric, the heroic underdog type. "That was an interesting discussion," Aldric said. "You asked some good questions." "Someone had to. The alliance won't work if we're not honest about our differences." "True. Though I got the impression you were trying to highlight those differences rather than resolve them." Mael met his eyes. Aldric was more perceptive than he'd initially appeared. "I was trying to make sure we understood what we were agreeing to. Better to have conflicts now than to be surprised by them later." "Fair enough." Aldric paused. "I heard you're residing with Marquis Helvor. That must be challenging. He's not exactly well-connected." "It has advantages. Nobody expects much from me, which gives me room to maneuver." "I'm in a similar situation. I'm with Viscount Tarim, who's even less influential than Helvor. But I've been working on building connections with agricultural families in the region. There's a lot of potential for improvement in farming techniques if someone's willing to invest in innovation." That was interesting. Aldric was positioning himself as someone focused on practical improvements rather than political maneuvering. It was either genuine or an excellent cover for more ambitious plans. Mael figured connecting Aldric to Verin would serve two purposes: it solidified Mael's image as a useful facilitator, and it gave him a direct line into Aldric’s emerging network without having to manage the local barons himself. Mael saw an opportunity. "I actually met someone earlier who might be useful for that. Count Verin's son has been experimenting with irrigation techniques that increase milk production. He's looking for allies who understand the value of agricultural innovation." Aldric's expression brightened. "Really? I'd love to talk to him. Do you think you could arrange an introduction?" "Probably. What would you offer in exchange?" "Exchange?" "You want access to my and Verin's knowledge and connections. What can you provide that makes it worth our time to work with you?" Aldric looked slightly taken aback. "I thought we were forming alliances to help each other. Isn't that the point?" "The point is mutual benefit. Verin doesn't need another ally who wants his help. He needs someone who can provide resources or political support that advances his goals. What can you offer?" Aldric thought about it. "I have connections with several baron families in the agricultural regions. They're small players individually, but collectively they control significant territory. If Verin wants to expand his irrigation systems, he'll need access to their land and cooperation from their households." That was actually useful. Mael had been planning to connect Verin with someone who could help expand his agricultural innovations, and Aldric had just placed himself on the board. "I'll arrange an introduction," Mael said. "But I want something in return." "What?" "Information obviously. You're positioning yourself as some kind of a hero, which means you're probably cultivating relationships with Civilian Party representatives. I want to know what they're planning and who they're backing among the princes. I want specifics about their core demands, like if they prioritize lowering milk taxes or expanding citizen rights. That kind of information helps me understand their vulnerabilities." Aldric hesitated. "That's asking a lot. The Civilian Party doesn't share their strategies openly." "Then share what you can figure out from context. I'm not asking for detailed intelligence. Just general impressions of their priorities and concerns, especially regarding their key figures and how they might react if certain agricultural or trade policies were proposed." "Why do you want to know?" "Because the Civilian Party is going to be a major factor in the succession, and I need to understand how they think. You're better positioned to gather that information than I am." Mael was thinking that if he understood the Civilian Party's core policy desires, he could subtly leak information to Baelin that would make Baelin look antagonistic to those interests, driving Aldric further into Mael's camp as a necessary middleman. Aldric studied him for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Alright. I'll share what I learn. But I expect you to do the same with information about the Lord Party." "I don't have connections to the Lord Party." "Not yet. But you will eventually. We all will, you know it." They shook hands, sealing the agreement. Mael had just woven a useful thread while also positioning himself as someone who facilitated cooperation between other princes. Aldric would introduce Verin to his agricultural contacts, Verin would share his irrigation techniques, and Mael would benefit from both relationships without having to invest significant resources himself. It was almost unfair how well this worked. Almost. The party continued for another hour. Mael made a few more connections, gathered more information, and carefully avoided committing to anything that would limit his options later. By the time the evening ended, he had a mental map of the political landscape among the nine princes and their respective households. Baelin was the strongest financially but politically inflexible. Kael was overextended and vulnerable to pressure. Theron was dealing with internal disputes. Valis was naive. Aldric was positioning himself as a heroic figure. Corvin was hiding his capabilities. The other three princes were less interesting but still potentially useful for specific purposes. The alliance would hold together for now because everyone benefited from cooperation. But it was fragile, divided along factional lines, and full of pressure points. Mael had already started mapping those pressure points by creating conflicts and positioning himself as a mediator. The conflict between Baelin and Kael over the Lord Party's southern expansion, for instance—that was a gift that would keep giving. Baelin was politically inflexible due to his ties, while Kael was overextended. If Baelin pushed a policy Kael opposed, well, Mael could offer Kael some targeted, anonymous information to undermine Baelin's initiative locally. Baelin would look weak, Kael would feel grateful, and Mael would never have to take a side openly. He was setting up conditions where any internal friction would naturally flow through him to be smoothed over, thus drawing influence toward his position. It was elegant, really—like watching dominoes fall in exactly the pattern you'd arranged. He found Celise near the food tables, exactly where he'd left her two hours ago. She was working through what looked like her third serving of sweetened milk cream. "Ready to go?" Mael asked. "I guess. This was actually fun. The food was amazing." They walked back to the carriage. The Large servants were waiting patiently, apparently accustomed to long evenings. Mael climbed in, followed by Celise, who immediately started talking about the various milk dishes she'd tried. Mael wasn't listening. He was thinking about the evening's events, analyzing what he'd learned and planning his next moves. The alliance was forming, but it was divided and full of gaps. The aristocratic families were positioning themselves for the succession. The major factions were already backing specific candidates. And Mael was probably where he wanted to be: underestimated, connected, and positioned to walk through everyone else's conflicts while avoiding direct confrontation himself. It was almost too perfect. Which probably meant it was. The carriage began moving. Celise was still talking about food. Mael stared out the window, watching the city pass by. He was going to milk every single one of them for everything they had. The princes, the aristocrats, the factions. They were all pieces in a game they didn't realize they were playing—which was, frankly, the best kind of game. The goal wasn't just winning, but ensuring that by the time the succession arrived, the other princes would have already exhausted their resources and political goodwill fighting each other over the fault lines he had just drawn. Mael was going to win by making sure everyone else's pieces were already off the board. It was almost sporting to give them five years' head start. The thought made him smile. Not a pleasant smile. The kind of smile that would have made Celise uncomfortable if she'd been paying attention. No, perhaps calling it a smile would be an understatement. It was the grin of something that had nothing to do with cheese But she wasn't paying attention. She was too busy talking about sweetened milk cream.