Varre descended down the stairs towards the castle’s basement. He led a small group, consisting of Chancellor Anastasia, Steward Marna, and Captain Hakon, for good measure. He has only visited the place once before, shortly after his coronation.

  The lower level was largely meant for storage. The king’s diet was varied, and the chefs needed to be ready to organize a grand feast at a moment’s notice. Entire rooms were filled with spices, dried meat, jams, and pickled vegetables.

  While the servants bought fresh food on the city markets every day, the castle was ultimately a defensive structure. It needed to be ready for battle at all times. It even had an inbuilt granary. It was outside, on some stilts to make it harder for rats to get in, but the fort was prepared to hold out against a siege for several months. In case the city folk ever decided to turn on their monarch.

  Besides that, the lower level also contained an armory, some sleeping quarters for the servants, and Varre’s destination. The dungeon.

  It was a dark, somber place. Massive stone walls muted all sounds, ensuring that wailing prisoners wouldn’t bother any of the other residents. Thick wooden doors blocked the entrance towards a small security section, where at least one Royal Guard was stationed at all times.

  The room was also a popular place for card games between soldiers off duty. Captain Hakon even secretly supported this idea, as it essentially meant that multiple men volunteered to sit here for hours at a time. In case something happened, they could react fast. They wouldn’t even need to be that alert to prevent any escapes, or people sneaking inside.

  There were only two doors in the entire chamber. One of them led to the main corridor on the lower level, while the second was made of iron bars and led further down. Any fugitives would need to pass through here first, and the see-through gate made it harder for them to plan anything without being spotted.

  The cells were further down. Torches in sconces lined the walls, but there was little risk of a fire in case of some riot. The basement was made of stone after all. At worst they’d damage some furniture.

  Downstairs, the dungeon was split into several different wings. Each was separated from the others by thick wooden doors again, making it harder for anyone to plan and coordinate escapes. The prisoners were mostly left to themselves, with the guards coming down here to patrol every couple of hours or so.

  This wasn’t a place for regular criminals. Holding somebody in a cell cost a lot of money. The food and the warden’s salary was one thing, but just making a large enough building was expensive. Most thugs were punished immediately. Either with a fine, or some kind of physical punishment. A night in the stocks, or a whipping were common. Prison was intended for special cases only.

  Serious crimes, like murder or treason, typically ended in an execution. This was a good enough reason to hold someone for a while. Investigation took time. Sometimes, the crown also wanted to make a show out of the sentencing. It was a good opportunity for local officials, or if the crime was truly egregious, the king himself to come out and publicly pronounce their judgement. It both legitimized them in the eyes of the people, while also provided some entertainment. Since the local noble was typically too busy to show up immediately to punish some criminal, they’d wait in a cell until the right moment.

  A second reason to hold someone in a dungeon, was their status. Nobility deserved a different level of penalties. Physical punishment would be far more humiliating when done to some knight than a peasant. Sometimes this was the whole point, but not always.

  Which is why now, the normally pretty empty castle’s jail was filled with rebel knights from the battle of Westbridge.

  Many were let go pretty quickly. When Nilo decided on everyone’s punishment, he started with the men already within his reach. Some were simply fined and released. Others, had their titles and properties stripped away. There were a few who were still awaiting their sentence, but they were getting fewer by the day.

  Two prisoners were clearly more important than others. They were held in a separate wing, away from the rest. Charles’ sons. Varre’s reason for coming here.

  One of the guards opened the door to their section and the king entered, looking around. The conditions weren’t perfect, but this wasn’t meant to be torture. The floor was dry and they had real beds, as well as some other furniture. The princes were clean shaven and a couple of their servants were even allowed to stay with them to increase the level of comfort.

  Varre finally stopped in front of their cell and greeted them through the iron bars.

  “Have you finally decided what to do with us?” the older one, Emory, asked.

  The noble was clearly resigned to his fate. He saw his father die in front of him and knew that the rebellion was over. Most people like him would be executed quickly. But it had been close to a week now and he was still alive. Something was going on.

  “I have some ideas,” the king admitted mysteriously.

  “Are you going to kill us?” the younger one, Nicodemus, blurted out.

  He was angrier than his brother. Perhaps he was more rash in his decision making, but it seemed like he didn’t care whether his behavior put him into any more trouble.

  “Do you want me to?” Varre simply replied.

  “Do we have a choice?” Emory shot back, with a spark of hope in his eyes.

  “You do,” the king smiled, “you already know that the civil war is over. I won and the realm is at peace again. Your father was a good man, but…”

  “He lost,” the older brother looked down on the ground, dejected.

  “He tried his best!” Nicodemus tried to cheer him up, then turned towards the monarch, “we were just following our dad! Wouldn’t you have done the same in our place?”

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  “Perhaps I would have,” Varre agreed, “which is why I don’t want to kill you. If I don’t have to.”

  “It’s our mother, isn’t it?” the younger one bit back, “she’s still defending in her castle and you want to take it! You want to trade our lives for our lands!”

  “This was always the plan Nick,” Emory shut him up, “she was supposed to negotiate for our release.”

  “We want to negotiate with you instead,” Anastasia said, “directly. You are Charles’ primary heir, aren’t you?”

  “I am,” the older son proudly nodded.

  “Then why not talk to you? You make all the decisions,” the chancellor smiled warmly.

  “Alright,” Emory walked closer to the bars, “what do you want us to do then? Swear that we won’t seek revenge, then take all of our titles away? Keep our mother and sister as hostages?”

  “I hope we won’t need to go that far,” Varre chuckled, “you are my relatives after all. I know times have been tough, but I hope we will be able to trust each other again. Your word will suffice. I won’t need any hostages.”

  “But we hope you’ll understand our position too,” Anastasia continued, “if we let you go too easily, people will see us as weak. We have to punish you somehow.”

  The older brother squinted his eyes. The younger one wanted to protest, but Emory shut him up again. “Punish how?”

  “I know how important your home is to you. I want you to keep it,” Varre said, “you will inherit it, and your mother and sister can stay with you for as long as you like. I will also let you keep a lot of your lands. It’ll look bad if I go too easy on you, but I won’t let you fall into poverty either.”

  “And the catch?” the younger brother finally shot back.

  The king chuckled. “There is one thing I cannot let you keep. And that is your title. I will find a new duke of Humber, but both of you can remain counts.”

  “I think that’s the best deal you can have under the circumstances,” the chancellor egged them on, “think about it. We need to take away something big to send a message, but you will get to keep living in luxury. You’ll still be powerful and respected. She,” she pointed to Marna, “said we should punish you far harder, but his majesty insisted on mercy.”

  The steward theatrically looked away, as if offended. In line with the script.

  “That’s not as bad as I thought,” Nicodemus admitted, “I think we should take it brother!”

  “It’s easy for you to say,” Emory growled, “you weren’t going to be a duke anyway.”

  “I’ll let you think it over. When you’re ready, I’ll send my Alderman to discuss the details with you,” Varre said, then left the brothers alone.

  They decided to take the deal before the day was over. No matter how much they postured, the offer was excellent. They pored over maps with Nilo, trying to scrape the best potential situation for themselves out of this agreement, but they didn’t notice the trap that had been prepared. Perhaps they weren’t thinking straight under all of the stress, or perhaps they simply didn’t think that far ahead. Regardless, as planned, their lands were split to encourage conflict between the two brothers. They’d be too busy to fight back against the monarchy.

  Now, everything was ready for the grand ceremony.

  It was held on the 15th of October. Most of the nobility that participated in the campaign was still in the capital, waiting for the grand celebration. Word was also sent out to nearby aristocrats, inviting them to attend.

  Those that refused to support Varre at the beginning of the campaign, would now see exactly what they had missed out on. Hopefully, it would inspire them to be more loyal in the future. And if not, it would still show off the power and stability of the crown, as it handed out rewards to the most distinguished generals.

  Like most other ceremonies in Westbridge, it began in the temple of Zyvan. The archpriest gave a fiery sermon, befitting his god, where he praised the bravery of the knights. Then, after a short victory parade, where all of the generals rode down the boulevards in their shining plate armor, everyone moved to the castle.

  Several hundred nobles filled the throne room. In total, only around two dozen aristocrats would be promoted, but everyone wanted to be there to witness it. The generals lined up in front of the crowd, in order of their ranks.

  Nilo went first. Everyone already knew that he was the heir to his father’s county, but now Varre put him in charge of the entire duchy. The young noble would have a lot of work ahead of him to repair the damage, but at least with his family’s credentials, he wouldn’t be treated as an outsider in his own lands. He’d be trusted.

  Count Jan was next. He would be the new duke of Humber and watch over both of Charles’ sons. The crown technically still waited for a response from their mother, but with both brothers already having sworn new oaths to their monarch, in public no less, the matter was already settled.

  Varre watched them carefully, but they seemed cheerful. They still haven’t realized that their new position was designed to pit them against each other. Perhaps they never would. For now, they were happy that despite their posturing, they came out okay out of the whole rebellion. Emory was no longer a duke, but both were still in the upper echelons of nobility. They could recover some day. And with most of the royal family dead, they were technically still the second and third in line to throne. At least until Varre had some heirs of his own.

  Baron Gregory was promoted to count of Tresannes. He was happy at this new position and he promised to restore the area and repair the war damage. He’d need to cooperate closely with Nilo, as much of his new lands would be within the alderman’s duchy.

  A couple other barons were promoted to counts, and a few other baronets and minor knights to full barons. The others simply received land grants, or new titles, but lower than their current station. This way, a count with multiple children would be able to make some of them barons and baronets, even if the oldest would inherit most of the territory.

  The minor knights would be rewarded in a separate ceremony. By the alderman and steward. The king was a little too important to speak with each one personally. An invitation to this event was compensation enough.

  With the titles distributed and new oaths of fealty sworn, the guests moved towards the banquet hall. It was still a time of victory and celebration, so frequent parties were required to show off the state’s stability and underline the return to normalcy. The knights could use this as an opportunity to mingle and make new connections, especially with those who were just promoted. Clearly, they were on the rise and had the king’s ear. Minor nobles who ingratiated themselves with these counts and barons now, could stand to benefit in the future.

  The party went on without incident. The aristocrats ate and drank to their fill, though things were more relaxed than they had been during the victory feast. The guests discussed the latest events and shared gossip from their lands.

  All was going well, until a strange noble lady managed to approach the king, just as he finished talking with the newly promoted Count Gregory.

  “Varre?” she asked, as the general winked and took his leave, “it’s me! Don’t you recognize me? I know it’s been a couple of years, but I haven’t changed that much,” she stretched her arms out trying to better show off herself. As if that would help.

  The monarch stammered. “What? Uhhh…” he turned away, grabbing Benjamin who fortunately always stuck close to his liege, “who is this?” he whispered.

  The chamberlain’s eyes opened wider. “Lady Etty! It’s been so long!” he bowed deeply, “please, you must forgive his majesty. Varre has had some memory issues ever since his parents’ passed from the plague. A side effect from his treatment, you see?”

  She opened her mouth wide. “Oh… I’m sorry… I heard about that tragedy, but I had no idea there were such terrible side effects! If I knew, I’d have tried to visit you sooner.”

  “Your majesty, allow me to introduce Esther of Ashbourne,” Benjamin said, while she curtsied, “the daughter of one of your father’s closest friends.”

  “After all the years we’ve spent together, I hope we consider each other closest friends too!” she replied, dissatisfied with that introduction.

  Varre simply smiled back awkwardly. I suppose whoever lived in this body before me must have had relationships of his own. It was a miracle I haven’t ran into anyone yet. Looks like my luck has finally ran out, he thought as he extended his hand to greet her, “Varre. A pleasure to meet you,” he said, then decided to add, “again.”

  Loyal people were put to watch over those more dangerous, while the most devoted rebels had their power bases reduced. With luck, it should prevent civil wars in the future.

  But the previous Varre and Etty had apparently been pretty close.