Enns was running ragged—coordinating the needs of all the Northern kings at once was, without doubt, the greatest challenge of the old steward's life.
Meanwhile, Lann stood in a side chamber that had been converted into a conference room, his feet planted firmly as he scanned the figures seated around the round table with a scrutinizing gaze.
Closest to him was Eist of Skellige. The King of the Isles had been wandering the Cintran palace for some time before finally returning to his seat, a nostalgic look lingering in his eyes.
Next to Eist sat Radovid V, the newly crowned ruler of Redania. The young king wasn't particularly close to either Lann or Eist, but standing behind him was his current mentor—the Hierarch of Eternal Fire, Chappelle.
Then came Queen Meve of the United Kingdom of Lyria and Rivia, followed by Demavend of Aedirn.
Foltest had chosen a seat not too far from Lann, but not especially close either. Surrounding him was a large group of monarchs—including those from Brugge, the Duchy of Ellander, the Principality of Maribor, Lower Sodden, and others.
Only Elder Brouver Hoog of Mahakam had taken a spot relatively near Lann. Still, in sheer numbers, Foltest's cluster of kings represented the largest single faction at the round table.
Temeria had the most vassal states, after all.
Beyond them, there were also kings with whom Lann had rarely dealt.
Among the major ones were Kovir and Poviss; among the smaller: the Duchy of Attre, the Kingdom of Cidaris, the Hengfors League, and so on.
At that moment, many of them were casting glances toward Lann—some curious, some cordial, others wary or openly skeptical.
And yet, the most eye-catching figures in the hall were not Lann, but rather the two women seated at the far end of the chamber, their eyes closed in quiet repose.
Eithné, Queen of the Dryads. And Saskia the [Virgin] of Kaedwen.
For the first time, they appeared before the assembled rulers of the Northern realms.
…
Once the last king had entered, Ciri cast a tense glance toward Lann.
Lann gave her a subtle nod of affirmation. With that, the Lioness of Cintra rose to her feet and lifted the goblet before her.
"Your Majesties, my lords and ladies—first, allow me to say how honored Cintra is to host this gathering today. Some of you may know me, others may not—my name is Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon."
"No matter how many among you accept today's proposals, or how many reject them; no matter how much joy or disappointment awaits when we walk out those doors—before anything begins—" Ciri raised her arm, "let us drink to this moment!"
Eist was the first to stand with a smile, followed by Chappelle, Radovid V, Queen Meve, King Demavend, Queen Eithné, Saskia, and the dwarven elder Brouver Hoog.
Many of the other monarchs stole subtle glances toward Foltest—only to find that the man who had worn a stern face since stepping into the chamber had already raised his goblet high above his head.
And so, the toast echoed throughout the hall.
Ciri's cheeks flushed slightly. She sat down, glancing sideways at Lann with a half-tilt of her head.
Tonight, her duty as queen was limited to opening remarks—she'd said what needed to be said. From here on, it was the Lion's stage.
Lann set down his goblet as well and stepped forward, drawing all eyes away from Ciri and toward himself.
"I know that the way Cintra extended this invitation may have caused offense. For that, I offer my sincere apologies."
His expression hardened. "But there is only one reason I acted so recklessly—Nilfgaard."
"This empire entrenched in the South carried out an unprecedented massacre in Cintra two years ago. Not long after, they nearly brought the same fate to the realms of Queen Meve and King Demavend."
"Through a united effort, we drove the Black Sun Empire back—but they still hunger for the North."
He raised a hand and pointed to King Foltest.
"Not long ago, they turned one of our own—Vilgefortz, the famed Northern sorcerer—against us. He led a massive force to invade Thanedd Island, within Temeria, and shattered our Brotherhood of Sorcerers."
"On that same day, they dispatched assassins to murder His Majesty Vizimir II of Redania—may he rest in peace."
Radovid V, the young king, blinked in confusion as Lann pointed toward him.
The newly crowned boy-king didn't seem to be following the speech at all—until Chappelle gently laid a calming hand on his shoulder.
…
As Lann spoke, the gathered monarchs broke into murmurs. Of course they'd heard these shocking reports.
When the Empire first invaded, few had paid it any mind. After all, Cintra was the first to face the brunt of it—and if Cintra fell, there were still plenty of other great kingdoms left standing.
But once the Empire began sending assassins on a regular basis, panic spread. Everyone realized the problem could no longer be ignored.
After all, if even Vizimir II could fall to a dagger in the dark, who else in the North—besides Cintra—could possibly be safe from Nilfgaard's blade?
"This is far from the end of it."
Lann looked over the disorderly assembly of kings. He didn't wait for their murmuring to die down. Instead, he abruptly raised his voice.
"Just recently, intelligence from one of my spies inside Nilfgaard arrived!" Lann's voice surged like a lion's roar, silencing everything in the hall in an instant. "Nilfgaard is preparing to launch a new war against the North!"
"And with it will come a flood of assassins, spies, and battle mages!"
The kings froze for a moment—then the room exploded as if a bomb had gone off.
Many of them threw their goblets across the floor. Some shouted in fury, denouncing the Empire's actions. Others simply refused to believe it. A few collapsed into their chairs, trembling with fear at the mere thought.
The King of Lower Sodden was the most shaken—what was left of his realm was barely half a country. His eyes immediately darted toward King Foltest, silently pleading for help. After all, they'd recently begun negotiations to become Temeria's vassal.
Yet what he saw was that every major ruler, without exception, had their eyes locked on Duke Lannister.
And so, the noise gradually faded.
For the second time since the meeting had begun, all attention in the room returned to Lann—utterly focused.
"Duke Lannister, what will Cintra do? What will you do? And what... should we do?"
Lann offered a faint smile.
He raised both arms.
"We unite!"
...
Redania had gone through great upheaval over the past three years.
King Vizimir II was assassinated—his death marked the end of an era, and this wise monarch would surely be remembered in the annals of history. The learned and perceptive within the kingdom mourned him of their own accord.
But misfortune rarely comes alone. Traumatized by witnessing his father's murder, young King Radovid V underwent a dramatic change in personality. Rumors spread that he often lashed out at maids and guards in the palace, berating and beating them, and had even ordered the execution of nobles who had offended him on several occasions.
For a time, unflattering nicknames about him began to circulate widely.
Fortunately, at the queen's request, Mr. Chappelle, the Hierarch of Eternal Fire, assumed the role of the young king's tutor. He frequently offered counsel and helped Radovid handle state affairs, gradually bringing things back under control.
In addition, Duke Lannister of Cintra provided extensive political support and trade orders, which helped stabilize Redania's troubled foundations.
One was the Hierarch of the state religion and tutor to the king; the other, the famed Lion of the North. The people of Redania, from top to bottom, felt deep gratitude toward both men.
…
Novigrad—hailed as 'the capital of the North'—was the largest port and trade city in the region.
Three years had passed, and it remained the most prosperous and liberal city in all the Northern Kingdoms.
A massive merchant ship slowly docked, urged forward by the sea breeze. As the sails were drawn in, three trade leaders disembarked.
Surprisingly, none of them were human.
Leading the group was a dwarf, bearing a trade banner adorned with a roaring lion. Behind him came an elf and a Dryad. The elf's caravan flew a banner with a green dragon's head beneath a yellow sky, while the dryad's was marked by a three-branched oak tree over a field of green.
Even in Novigrad—renowned for its openness—such a sight, with three non-human caravans walking together, was rare. Yet the dockworkers, traders, and sailors passing by didn't find it strange. On the contrary, many looked on with admiration and envy.
"Master Zoltan! Got any new ways to make a fortune this time?" a sailor called out boldly. "Is your caravan still hiring?"
The elf and the dryad frowned slightly at the sailor's brashness, but the cheerful Zoltan simply burst out laughing.
"Not anymore! I'm with the royal trade fleet of Cintra now—we don't hire outsiders!"
Zoltan had already been a well-known figure when he worked the trade routes of Novigrad. Since taking the helm of Cintra's royal trade fleet, his fame had only grown. Exchanges like this were a common sight at the docks.
The sailor, rejected, didn't seem to mind—it was clear he had only been joking.
The men, having finished their shift, lounged idly on sacks of hemp by the sea, watching the three caravan leaders walk off into the distance, expressions full of envy.
"I wonder what Duke Lannister was thinking, letting all that money go to non-human races…"
"That's not even the half of it. Just three years ago, the only non-human nation in the North was Mahakam, the dwarven stronghold," another sailor said, shaking his head. "Then the Cintra Summit ends, and suddenly we've got the Independent Kingdom of Brokilon and the Independent Kingdom of Saskia... Damn! Two new queens overnight—one's a dryad, and the other's a quarter-elf!"
News spread fastest through Novigrad, and its sailors—exposed to constant comings and goings—were more informed than most. Their casual dockside chatter rivaled the debates of political students in Oxenfurt.
The second sailor's comment drew a wave of laughter.
The first one chuckled along, then gestured in the direction the three caravan leaders had gone. "Still, I'd wager those independent kingdoms won't stay independent for long. Before you know it, they'll be the Brokilon Province and Saskia Province of Cintra. And their queens? Off to Cintra too, I'd bet."
Another sailor smacked his lips. "Let's hope Temeria gets a move on. If the North crowns a third queen, we'll be living through history!"
That caught everyone's attention. "You're from Temeria, aren't you? Has King Foltest really done it? Named Princess Adda as heir?"
The sailor nodded with a smug little smile, and the rest of the dockhands drew sharp breaths.
"What the hell is King Foltest thinking? Independence is one thing—but Temeria? A major kingdom putting a princess on the throne…"
"And that's not all," the sailor added, lowering his voice like he was sharing a great secret. "That rumor about Princess Adda? It's probably true."
"You mean… the bastard child?" someone blurted out. "No way! A princess like that inheriting the crown? Has King Foltest run out of heirs or what?"
"What if the bastard is a blond baby?" the sailor replied casually, his tone full of smug implication.
Another collective gasp echoed around the pier.
This time, no one dared question King Foltest's decision. Instead, someone muttered bitterly, smacking his lips, "All for Duke Lannister, huh... Princess Adda really is the most calculating woman in the North."
"Don't call him Duke anymore," another sailor corrected with a grin. "He's about to become King Lannister!"
"He's already the King in the North, isn't he?" a third sailor laughed even louder.
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