The Prince in Question Is Not Stable

It always snowed in the vast jungles of north, no matter the season. The reason for this was the dense air that accumulated with birth of natural beasts.

That’s why the path that went through the jungles to reach the Dukedom of Krells was known as the path of Pale March.

*Clatter-Rumble-Clatter-Rumble-Clatter-Rumble*

A white carriage cut through the snowfall. It had golden moon emblem on its side.

Snow struck the lacquered wood and slid away as its wheels ran hard along the single packed track.

The track was narrow, and trees pressed in from both sides.

Knights rode on all sides, wearing white armoured suits with golden linings and the same emblem of moon.

Inside the carriage sat a man in a white suit, his hair was golden blonde, eyes of deep red.

He sat upright, one gloved hand resting on his knee and the other pressed against window frame.

It was quiet inside except for the low rumble of the wheels and the silent sound of the storm outside.

Cymbal Celestie of Lunar.

He was the second Prince of the Lunar Kingdom.

A prince that is known throughout the royal court for his ambitions for the kingdom, for his intelligence and powers in the social network that stretched beyond the Kingdom of Lunar.

A man whose only failure up till now was not being the crown Prince.

But all that changed when suddenly...his schemes just did not get through. From the rebellion he carefully crafted, from the son he brutally murdered, from making the covenant the enemy, and making Royals take the fall for support.

Nothing, nothing worked.

Every single thing was fine until Marcus Rile appeared...No...it was from even before that. Everything failed from the point Ymir stepped up to defend his fiancée in the court that was meant to turn the kingdom upside down.

A man who had never faced a loss, did not witness a single win in front of Ymir Celestie of Lunar.

And the thought of it...it killed him from inside.

Ahead, the trees thinned as the light of day was starting to hit the end of damp snow jungles.

The massive gates of Krells Dukedom with a wall made of black stones, that stretched endlessly on either sides came in view.

Knights of Krells stood before them. Dark woollen clothing covered their armour in silver. The symbol of hounds was etched into the metal on each chest.

They held their positions as the white carriage and its escort came into sight along the single long track.

A brute of a knight stepped up onto the high wall.

He raised a long horn to his mouth and blew.

*Fwoooom*

The sound was deep and heavy. It rolled out across the snow and the black stone walls, even the ground shivered to the bass of his noise.

The massive gates of Krells began to open. Iron and timber moved outward in slow motion, grinding against the frozen ground until the way was clear.

As the fleet of Cymbal crossed the gates of Krells without a stop, the knights of Krells turned and followed without order.

Their dark woollen cloaks floated in the wind as horses galloped in frenzy and caught up with speed.

The path inside led straight through the outer settlements. Low stone houses lined the roads, with roofs having slight sheets of snow, smoke rising from short chimneys.

The people of Krells lived in a dukedom which wasn’t much developed compared to others, but they still managed considering it was their hometown.

Most wore thick coats and paused to watch the white carriage and its mixed escorts pass.

The road climbed higher and higher until Black stone rose in the center of snow white field.

Towers od Dark stones came into view.

At the end of the long approach stood the Castle of Mordrak Krell. The Black Ice.

The carriage rolled to a stop before the main steps, and knights of Krells formed ranks on either side.

The horn sound resounded once more, marking the arrival of Cymbal Celestie.

The carriage doors opened.

Cymbal stepped down onto the black stone. His white suit stood sharp against the snow and dark walls.

Knights in white armour with golden linings formed a clean line on either side of the steps. The Krells held their position farther out.

At the top of the steps stood Mordrak Krell.

He was tall, about 7"9’. A solid frame of a peak Gravitant-ranked knight. Chestnut hair with a slightly unkempt, rough beard.

He wore a dark wool over his bare body and black pants.

Mordrak, too, had suffered. He lost a count, and sustained his dukedom. He lost his only son, and had to live with a daughter. He had lost his wife early, and now, it seemed as if the Court did not care about him.

Beside him stood Ailsa Krell. She was young, around eighteen, dressed in practical dark clothing suit, she kept her place at her father’s side without stepping forward.

"Second Prince," Mordrak called out, and his voice sent a wave of low shiver through the chests of knight.

"Welcome to the Black Ice." He said.

Mordrak descended the last few steps himself rather than waiting for the Prince to climb them, which was a small courtesy.

"This way," he said, and turned.

After a short walk of minutes, they arrived at the entrance of long chamber of black stone. It had no gates.

Mordrak gestured his daughter to leave, and Ailsa bowed, leaving with her own fleet of few knights.

A single heavy table ran down the centre of the chambers.

And the room was not bare of just welcome. Several young maids stood along the sides, carefully chosen. Neat hair, dresses cut clean against the cold.

Two of them moved forward at once as Cymbal entered, one carrying a tray of dark northern liquor in thick glass, the other already stepped close enough to take his long coat off.

He let the nearest maid take the long coat, and accepted the liquor without comment.

He set the glass down on the table edge a moment later, and took his place on the black chair, with a backrest designed from the skin of dark hounds.

Only then did Mordrak gesture toward the four men standing around the table.

"My counts." He said.

"Galt, Elias, Hurst, and Kravos," he introduced them.

Glat looked old, but he was also a brute with white beard and hair.

Elias wore a coat with a shade of blue and white. He had marble grey eyes with slightly tanned skin.

Hurst kept a ledger under one arm with brown hair and fair skin. A man who wore circular rimmed spectacles.

Kravos stood apart. He was young, he wore a grey suit, had fain blush on the white of his skin. He was the most beautiful and handsome in the room except Cymbal.

Mordrak took his place at the head of the table.

"Second Prince. You’ve come a long way through my snow to ask me something. I’d rather you ask it than dress it first."

Cymbal’s fingers rested lightly on the fresh glass.

"Then...I’ll not waste your winter," he glanced once at the counts, and then at the maids, then his gaze shifted back to Mordrak.

"House Krell has been wronged. Not...just once, but, repeatedly. And I...I am someone who had placed his interest in the Krells for a really long time,"

"It was because of me that the Duke was able to recover from the civil war within his Dukedom, I did not help you because I wanted something in return, I merely did because that’s what Krells deserve. Recognition," he said.

"You’re a major force of the Kingdom, Mordrak, and the royals...Royals have succumbed to the first,"

"Our goals align Mordrak. I’m here to offer you an ending," he said.

"An ending that will bring you salvation, and a new beginning."

Hurst placed the ledger on the table, drawing everyone’s attention.

"A war is inevitable, My Prince," Hurst spoke.

"Assuming House Krell commits its main strength, the main houses, with all nine hundred thousand in the army of four houses, whete does it eat? Pale March doesn’t feed an army that size for longer than a season, Krells had not yet begun acquiring the small Dukedoms, which...if we commit to, can be done within a span of month, but the question still remains, where will the Krells wage war? Capital is surrounded by powers like Arterris, Giovannis, and the Covenant itself."

"In the far west, we have Silver Valley, where the fifth himself resides, and is not a force to be reckoned with."

"You and I both know, a war just doesn’t occur when you say you’ll march an army of millions on a dukedom, a war occurs when the Kingdom cannot afford to lose the very thing we go after," Hurst said.

"I like that you got straight to the point, and the answer to your question is surprisingly...simple," Cymbal said.

"Cerevisia," Cymbal said.

"Wealth enough to seize, feed, and fund the rest of the campaign, the moment it falls...you would’ve won the war already, all that would remain would be cleanup,"

"A dukedom two hundred miles south, undefended by mountains, guarded by soft men who’ve never fielded a real war," Cymbal smirked.

"But, I have to say...I thought our discussions would be more difficult."

"Now I at least know why this is called the gathering of Hounds"