Chapter 745: Asking for a favor(3)
Alpheo would have lied if he claimed the sight before him stirred nothing.
There, kneeling on the carpeted floor of his command tent, was Arnold, heir to a princedom, scion of a royal line, lowered by his own will to the posture of a supplicant. No shackles bound him, no sword was leveled at his throat. He had come to his knees freely, for no reason but to plead for help from the very man who had taken everything from him.
That had to, of course, tickle Alpheo’s prick, a flicker that was, however, not born from cruelty but instead from the knowledge that he would have no trouble from Herculia again.
It was one thing to break a man in battle; it was another entirely to have him kneel willingly afterward.
Thalien, for his part, looked at his brother with an expression halfway between disbelief and awe, as though he could not decide whether this was reality or some strange dream.
Then he shivered a bit and turned behind himself as if he had heard whispers from on his back. even taking hold of something inside his cloth.
Alpheo would later make sure to inform the guards to check the lord thoroughly for daggers in the future.
Still, he took the sight a bit confused, clearly, before returning to the matter at hand.
This was not merely a man asking for a favor; this was a noble discarding the invisible armor of his class, stripping away the decorum that all lords were expected to uphold.
Kneeling was for emperors only from vassals and for prisoners before victors. But here it was, done in earnest, not from compulsion but choice.
And that choice gave the act its weight.
The truth was, Arnold didn’t need to do this. His father’s sins were his burden, yes, but the new order was not in the habit of humiliating those who had bent the knee. By rights, Arnold could have stood, spoken his request, and left with his pride intact.
Alpheo would have acquiesced all the same.
Alpheo found that he liked it.
The groveling..
Because the two brothers before him were not just any lords, they were among the most symbolically significant in this newly conquered land. They were the last living scions of a dethroned royal house. Their swords might not tip the balance of war, but their bloodline carried weight in the minds of men. Having them stand beside him in a hall was one thing; having them request a favor of him was quite another.
A ruler, after all, had an image to maintain.
The ideal sovereign was both the hammer and the open hand, merciless in war, yet magnanimous in peace. Alpheo was no stranger to the former; the latter was a tool he wielded less often, and thus more carefully. He knew his strengths; he was the sword that had shattered the noble faction, the iron will that had driven enemies into the ground. But he also knew where he lacked skill.
It had not been he who coaxed the hesitant nobles into the royal fold, that had been Jasmine’s work. It was she who had penned the careful missives, granted selective privileges, and answered endless petitions with measured grace. Alpheo had been the steel; Jasmine, the silk.
While Alpheo may have been a master of the big strokes, he was awfully ignorant of the smaller ones.
Yet even he could see the worth in the moment that now presented itself. Here was an opportunity, a chance to show mercy in a way that would be remembered, not just by the man kneeling before him, but by all who heard of it afterward.
And opportunities like that, Alpheo had learned, were not to be squandered.
"Please, my lord, get up," Alpheo said at last, stepping forward and taking Arnold by the arms. His grip was firm, steady, neither forceful nor gentle, and with a single pull he drew the man up from the ground. "I can see plainly enough that you and your father are cut from very different cloth.Which isn’t it the best thing that could have happened to you?"
His eyes narrowed slightly, as if weighing the truth of his own words before he spoke them aloud. "He knelt before me once, too, grovelled like a beaten dog to save his own skin. You kneel not for yourself, but to mend a wrong you had no hand in weaving. That... is a far different thing."
Arnold rose fully now, brushing the dust from his knees, his gaze locked on the prince’s face with a quiet, fragile hope.
"There are few acts I can respect more," Alpheo went on, turning slightly toward the table as he spoke. "One is the sacrifice a man will make for his family. Too often, I have seen men who speak of honor but will not lift a finger when it comes to their kin." He reached for his cup and idly turned it in his hand. "I tend not to judge a son by the sins of his father. In my circle, there are men whose fathers plotted against me, whose houses I have beaten down.
I still wonder how that came to pass truthfully...
Yet it is an easy thing to fall into contempt simply because of the blood a man carries. If we had to consider sinful the acts of our ancestors for our own, then we all ought to burn in all the hells; there would be no more good men but only evil, and the gods’ eyes know how few there are of those already...."
He paused, his gaze sliding back to Arnold with a faint, knowing smile. "This is the second time in my life I have been proved wrong in that regard. And, strangely enough... it doesn’t feel wrong at all.I kinda welcome that"
With that, he tipped his head back and drained the cup of water in a single swallow, setting it back down with a quiet clink.
Arnold took a step forward. "Then you will help me, Your Grace?" he asked carefully, as though fearing that hope might shatter if he spoke too quickly.
Alpheo studied him for a long moment before answering. "You’ve come to me not as a lord seeking coin, nor as a vassal seeking advantage, but as a man wishing to repair what was broken. That is... rare. And rarity has value." He leaned back slightly in his chair. "You have come to me on your knees, and on your foot you will go out.
Yes," Alpheo said at last, his tone smooth and almost casual, as if the matter had been decided all along. "I will help you.Go to your tent write to your wife and your brother-in-law, and tell them to prepare the ceremony quickly. You are going back to your family, my lord. Make sure to prepare kind gifts for them as an apology for what had transpired between you..."
Arnold felt as though months of strain and gnawing dread had been lifted from his shoulders in an instant. His knees nearly buckled, not from weakness, but from the dizzying relief that swept through him. Stepping forward, he took hold of Alpheo’s hand and bent low, pressing his lips to the prince’s signet ring. The words tumbled from him in a rush, gratitude spilling over in a stream of fervent thanks.
The sight of it pleased Alpheo.
"We thank you for your time and generosity, Your Grace," Thalien said at last, breaking his long silence. ’’I am sure my brother more than me, on that regard...’’
Arnold straightened, his face flushed, and spoke again with an almost trembling sincerity. "I swear on my name, on my blood, that I will repay you in coin, service, or whatever else you ask of me."
Alpheo raised a hand, dismissing the offer with a slight shake of his head. "There will be no need to repay me with anything," he said, his voice low but firm. "This is for a noble cause, and a man who kneels for the sake of his family does not owe me coin."
For a moment he was at a loss, unable to find words to match the weight of the gesture. Finally, he bowed again, his voice steady now, heavy with conviction. "Then know this, Your Grace, my loyalty is yours, for as long as I draw breath. You have my sword, my counsel, and my oath, until the end of my days."
Alpheo smiled at that, warmly, yet inside he was quietly elated at how easily it had all come to pass
Arnold had, without even realizing it, handed Alpheo a gift, a fine piece of political theater, wrapped in silk and tied with a bow. It would cost the prince next to nothing to deliver on his promise.
Thanks to Thalien’s tactless but convenient interjection earlier, Alpheo already knew exactly how to handle it: he could lean on the Romelian Regent to smooth over the matter with the High Priest, perhaps greasing the wheels with a few thousand silverii as a "token of appreciation." A trivial expense for him, barely a ripple in his coffers.
Especially consider how much he had taken from them.
But the value? Oh, the value was immeasurable.
The image of the generous prince,the conqueror who reached down to aid the very men who had once stood against him.
How well would it sing in others’ ears? A magnanimous gesture to heal the wounds of war, the lords and the commoners would love it.
And Alpheo fully intended to set that wheel spinning until it sang, though, of course, with certain details carefully omitted. The image of a benevolent prince aiding a former enemy was one thing; the image of that same lord brought to his knees in supplication was another. Better to keep Arnold’s dignity intact, and score more points in his book, for preserving his goodwill might prove useful in the days to come.
Who could say? Such gestures could be the very threads that held Herculia together, the fine line between loyalty and rebellion.
But for now, that was a secondary concern. His immediate focus lay elsewhere,on the campaign ahead, against a prince who had spent the past two years sharpening his sword, fortifying his walls, and preparing for exactly this moment.
And of course, he had to way find a way to jump past what he believed an unbreakable wall, which, fortunately for him , he seems to have already found.