Chapter 795: Imperator's mission(3)
Chapter 795: Imperator’s mission(3)
As the two came to an understanding that their voices would rise together during the coming conference, Alpheo believed it apt to excuse himself for the poor manner in which his guest had been received.
He was, after all, an emperor, and they hadn’t even thrown him a feast. Now that was truly embarrassing!
And so the prince leaned back slightly “I must apologize,” he begun, “for the rather lackluster welcome. Hospitality ought to reflect the honor of the guest and yet…” he gestured toward the bare stone walls, “we have little to work with in this city and we had little time to prepare an apt welcome for your arrival.”
Mesha inclined his head with a measured grace. “Your Grace need not trouble himself. We are in a city fresh from conquest, no less. To expect fineries or the gilded comforts of Romelia would have been foolish. I believe the measure of true hospitality is not whether a silk carpet lies under our feet.” He let a brief pause linger before finishing with a smile. “Actions speak louder than silk or marble ever could.
Though—” he added, cracking a light jest that would draw a faint chuckle from Alpheo, “that does not mean we do not miss their soft touch.May I know, then,” Mesha continued, more firmly, “when we are set to depart for the conference?”
“In two days’ time,” Alpheo replied immediately, “We will be received in Shidna before the rest of the princes arrive. The conference itself begins in a week and a half, but I would rather not arrive with the crowd. It is far better to speak meaningfully beforehand with the one whose hall we will soon occupy. Words exchanged early are worth more than speeches shouted later.”
He set his cup aside, his expression cooling as his thoughts turned to the days ahead. The Romelian presence at his side was a potent card to play, but it did not grant him the luxury of idleness. Influence, he knew, was like water, constantly moving, seeking cracks to seep through. If left still, it stagnated.
And so, he intended to press forward. Shidna offered more than shelter; it offered a chance. As far as Alpheo could see, he had a rare opportunity to pry loose yet another stone from Oizen’s crumbling wall of supporters before the conference even began.
After all, what is more effective?A lone voice carried by the wind, or a host of voices shouting the same hymn in unison?
And as Alpheo was ball’s deep in his own plans, the young emperor too was busy racking up his brains for what he was to say next.
Should I? Mesha’s eyes drifted toward the half-empty cup of milk before him, now cooling on the table. Lukewarm, forgotten, yet still present, an oddly fitting mirror of his own indecision if one thought about it.
To act, or not to act.
That indeed was the question.
There was a reason, after all, that they had shown such sincerity in answering Alpheo’s call for aid. The man who so often kept the Imperial court at arm’s length had suddenly beckoned them near. That in itself was rare enough to be an opportunity. And opportunities, his grandfather always warned, had short lives if not seized quickly.
Romelia had its own designs to see fulfilled. They had tried once before to sway the Fox of Yarzat to their cause and had been rebuffed. But the tides had shifted. Now the prince found himself encircled by rivals and hostile tongues, his victories stirring as much envy as admiration. And in this sea of sharpened daggers, it was the Romelians alone who stood at his side with goodwill intact.
Mesha knew the prudent course would be to wait. Doria, the Imperial envoy, had the silver tongue and the practiced experience of having deal with the Prince. That was his role. The safe choice was to leave the burden to him, to let the words be weighed and measured by a man whose life’s work was diplomacy.
And yet—
There was another voice, a quieter but more insistent whisper buried deep in the young emperor’s thoughts. Can I not do this myself? Must I lean always on others? Do I not have confidence enough in my own skill?
The more he wrestled with it, the more natural it seemed. They had just spoken of alliances, of standing together against the princes who circled like vultures. To extend that hand further, to gently place Romelia’s own requests upon the table now, it felt less like presumption, and more like the natural next step…like water coming out of a mountain
Golden opportunities, Marthio of House Achea had once told him, rarely arrive with trumpets.
He should be seizing it before it announces itself.
In the end, it was that memory and that stubborn whisper that triumphed. Mesha straightened in his seat, the hesitation sliding from his face, replaced by the cool mask of an emperor who would pioneer the course himself, even if the wiser voices counseled patience.
“Your Grace, it is clear that we cannot find any better ally than among ourselves,” Mesha began, his lips parting dryly as he tried to wet them, but the aridity of his mouth betrayed the tightness in his throat. “We have behind us a long history of collaboration. Any tariffs between our borders were long ago renounced, and our peoples have benefited from each other’s presence,each of us lending a hand in the other’s hour of need.”
Alpheo, who remembered this very tune sung once before, gave no sign of irritation or denial. He inclined his head slightly, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “Indeed, Your Majesty. We are comforted knowing that we need not fear our northern neighbor, and it is true, both our states have greatly profited from this harmony.”
The affirmation washed over Mesha like a tide, loosening the knot in his chest. For a fleeting moment he felt almost buoyant, the words flowing with less hesitation, as though he were carried by a momentum that existed only in his own mind. “Then I believe,” he pressed on, voice steadier, “that it should be in both our interests to deepen such relations, expanding them beyond mere economics into something more… intertwined.”
Alpheo did not stir. He merely observed, the flicker of memory returning to him. Indeed, we have had this very conversation before.
Then, he had declined, mindful of the diplomatic tempests that a closer tie with Romelia would have stirred among the princes of the South.
They remembered too well the sting of Romelian boots trampling their lands. An embrace with the Giant of the East would only have conjured the fears of today, rallying resentment against Yarzat.
But now… circumstances had shifted.
The storm had gathered without Romelia’s shadow. The southern princes, of their own accord, had bound together to halt him. His earlier caution seemed, in this new light, almost needless.
And yet, that did not mean Alpheo’s previous worry had disappeared.
That flicker of calculation brushed across Alpheo’s eyes, and though his expression never betrayed him, the young emperor across from him faltered. Mesha’s momentum cracked, a visible shiver of doubt passing over his features. His tongue, too eager, suddenly felt too heavy.
He should learn to wear a poker face, Alpheo thought, withholding any move to rescue him.
He just let the young man wrestle with his own words. There was value in patience, in silence.
Mesha drew in a breath, his resolve trembling but not breaking. If subtlety had failed him, then clarity would be his weapon. He cast aside the polite veil of ambiguity he had clung to at the start and thrust his meaning forward plainly.
“Your Grace,” he began again, this time more firmly, “you yourself have seen with your own eyes how hostile your neighbors have grown, and with how much fear they regard you.” His voice edged with urgency, almost a plea. “Today they gather in conference to find words sharp enough to bind your ambition. But how long before they trade words for swords? How long before they stop talking and act upon their envy?
“Surely,” he pressed, leaning slightly forward, “at least all of your southern neighbors have an interest in halting you. Their fear unites them, their envy drives them,and what will happen when they decide words alone are not enough?”
His hand tightened faintly on the armrest of his chair, knuckles whitening. “In contrast, we have shown you nothing but goodwill. We have not feared your rise, nor sought to stifle it. We have treated your strength as a boon, not a threat. And I believe, no, I know, that a deeper cooperation with Romelia would deter your foes. They would think twice before raising a hand, if they knew that behind you stood not only Yarzat, but the might of the Empire as well.”
Mesha leaned forward at last, his heart thundering but his voice carrying a clarity he had not yet dared to wield. The hesitation melted into resolve. “Your Grace, I would not waste words on pleasantries when the truth stands plain before us.
The world around you sharpens its knives; we alone extend our open hand. And so,let us bind that hand with yours. I speak not of trade alone, nor of friendship in passing, but of a pact that endures. A defensive alliance between Romelia and Yarzat. Our strength joined as one, to deter the envy of princes and to steady the future of both our realms.”
The words, once spoken, left him breathless. There it was.
The proposal laid bare, the gamble made.
Alpheo did not answer at once.
Mesha had dared to cast into the open air.
The Imperator of Romelia, scion of a realm that once ruled half the continent, had placed himself upon the same bench as Yarzat, a princedom barely a generation past obscurity. An Empire and a fledgling state, side by side.
It was, on the surface, almost absurd. And yet, the absurdity was telling.
For whatever estimation Alpheo had made of the young emperor’s resolve, it shifted then and there. The Fox of Yarzat, for all his caution, recognized something: Mesha’s and subsequentally Romelia’s desperation for this alliance was not shallow ambition. It was marrow-deep.
And that unsettled Alpheo far more than he cared to admit.
For all his thoughts , he could not pierce the veil of why. Why would Romelia, still draped in the tatters of its greatness, reach so feverishly toward him?
The question lingered like a splinter, and the thought alone was enough to give him pause.