"Crowns topple easily. Thrones crumble like dust. Hearts cease to beat. Thorns draw blood."
In a country torn into two, there should have been no room for mistakes. Especially not at the very core of the royal family. That was what she was. Yes, a...
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"Stupid medals."
The young prince played with a copper medal, the circular disc of metal that was quite worthless to him yet possibly meant a lot to many. He transferred it from hand to hand, before smacking it on the table with a scream of anger.
His mouth formed a sneer as he tossed the medal into the fireplace, the metal releasing crackling sounds as it hit the embers. His hands formed fists turning it pale before he punched the iron gilding of the fireplace.
Each punch came with a growl of anger, each punch he imagined someone receiving it. "Damn you, Darkling! Damn you, Irina! Damn these soldiers! Damn you all!"
"Your Highness?" A man peeked his head into the room, his eyes widening at the bloodied fists of the prince.
"What?!" The young prince growled, his mind as messy as his desk, littered with various journals.
"Lord Kirigin is h-here, Your Highness. He s-says he is here to t-talk about his lands." The man stuttered.
The prince finally smiled, his teeth baring almost scarily. "Good. Let him in."
He wiped his fists clean of the blood, pushed his golden hair back, and donned the mask of a politician.
"Moi tsarevich." Lord Kirigin, the old lord greeted, walking inside and taking the hand offered to him, planting a kiss on the bejeweled ring, decorated with the Lantsov family crest.
"Lord Kirigin. A pleasure." Prince Oleg exchanged pleasantries, gesturing to the seat in front of him. "Please take a seat."
"You know, I was surprised when you contacted me so soon. I was waiting until you yourself became the king. I did not expect you to go against your father, especially since you recently just returned from fighting in his war." Lord Kirigin drawled.
Prince Oleg let out a charming laugh, used to it after so much practice. "Let me cut to the chase, Lord Kirigin. I do not wish to speak about my war, but yours. You have lands in Balakirev, now they are no longer yours."
"What in the Mother of all Saints are you going on about, boy?" Lord Kirigin asked angrily, the crinkles around his eyes getting bigger.
Prince Oleg took on a shocked expression. "You mean you haven't heard?"
"Heard what?" The old lord questioned.
"My father has agreed to give your lands in Balakirev to the newly named and appointed Lord Kirigan. The earnings from that land shall go to the building of his Grisha sanctuary." Prince Oleg replied smugly.
"You've got to be kidding me! King Andrei would never." Lord Kirigin doubted, beginning to pace. "He would never strike a deal with a Darkling"
"You mean, my great grandfather would never. My father, on the other hand, is a different man." The prince corrected. "Now, I'm here to make a deal of my own, Lord Kirigin."
