"Rest assured on that point, esteemed Queen of Megonian," King Noland Lister Russbinder of Arisindra said with transparent insincerity. "Should an alliance form, we would never burden you with tasks beyond your capabilities."

  Shirley Farland met his gaze with arctic disdain. "So you're saying you want me to do the few things I'm good for?"

  "Indeed. I suspect he also desires a night in your bed," King Porchet Malen Owen of Popodovis snorted derisively. "Enough of this useless talk! You rejected the alliance, and you don't want me to send troops to Cynthia. So what do you want? What's the point of this meeting? We're supposed to be talking about how to save Cynthia and beat back those southerners, not discussing pointless what-ifs!"

  "Temper yourself, King Porchet," Princess Angela said, reclining in her chair with deliberate composure. "We are indeed discussing Cynthia's salvation. This extends beyond Cynthia's interests alone; it's inextricably linked to the North's survival. Our enemy's power is formidable, and none present here can remain untouched by this conflict."

  "Oh? So we should just sit here drinking wine and eating slugs while we wait to die?" Porchet countered sharply. "Or maybe have more of these happy little parties?"

  "No one prevents you from rushing to Cynthia's aid, dear Porchet," King Royce Paul Sain of Brigar replied, his voice glacial. "Go ahead and lead your best men through the 200,000 soldiers surrounding Cynthia. But are you aware how many additional troops have yet to arrive from Crividsylvan?" His gaze bore into Porchet with imperious intensity. "No fewer than 100,000." The King of Popodovis visibly blanched at this figure. "In other words, the Godma Empire intends to commit 300,000 soldiers solely to besiege and conquer Cynthia. And their lightning campaign through Crividsylvan utilized merely one-third that number."

  "But—"

  "There are no 'buts,' Porchet," Royce cut him off flatly. "We must wait. Even if we formed an alliance, our combined military strength might not equal Godma's, let alone match their superior armaments and disciplined forces."

  "Then... what precisely are we waiting for?" Princess Angela's knuckles whitened as she clenched her fists. "Squandering our opportunity could yield catastrophic consequences... Remember Crividsylvan, remember King Herbert, and do not forget... Queen Margaret."

  "Crivi's fall occurred with such devastating swiftness..." Queen Shirley lamented softly. "A single spark that destroyed two kings and a queen's life."

  King Richard Grace of Duviliel spoke for only the second time during the council. "Margaret... is not dead."

  "What?!" Every head turned toward the young monarch in stunned silence.

  "She... she..."

  "Indeed, noble sovereigns, Queen Margaret lives," the goblin Einington Vis Avifesh completed the king's thought, as had become their custom. "Cynthian reinforcements rescued her during Crivi's fall. She currently resides in Cynthia. However..."

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  "Continue," several voices urged simultaneously.

  "Her trauma has been so profound that her mind has fractured. She has remained unconscious for an extended period."

  Shirley Farland covered her mouth with both hands. "That unfortunate woman. Losing both husband and kingdom must be beyond endurance."

  "And her child," Einington added grimly. "Prince Havill of Crividsylvan also perished during the siege. He was but five years old."

  Porchet Malen Owen's fist crashed down upon the table. "Those bastards! Those fucking animals! I'm going to kill them all with my own hands—no trials, just death!"

  "That would make you no better than those southern barbarians," King Moore Byron Lawrence of Dud remarked with a sardonic smile. "Royce, cease this suspense. Reveal what ingenious strategy your clever mind has devised." He positioned the woman he'd brought alongside him to recline across his lap, kneading her breasts with both hands as if working dough. "I await with bated breath."

  "Very well," Royce Paul Sain acknowledged with a knowing glance toward Moore. "Allow me to articulate my perspective on this conflict. Though Princess Angela attends merely as her father's proxy, her insights and inquiries have proven remarkably incisive, penetrating to the heart of our dilemma. She's shown more brains than most of the men in this room." His contemptuous gaze swept over Porchet and Noland. "As the princess astutely observed, Crivi and Cynthia represent mere appetizers for Godma, while we northern kingdoms constitute the main course. Yet the overwhelming military disparity compels us to exercise patience. When, then, should we act?" Royce fixed Angela with a steady gaze. "We should wait until winter's end, when spring first stirs."

  "You propose delaying our intervention until then?" Porchet challenged, tilting his head back defiantly. "If conflict is inevitable, what advantage does postponement offer?" King Noland, demonstrating rare wisdom, maintained his silence.

  "I comprehend your reasoning now, King Royce," Angela acknowledged with a slight nod.

  "You and I are both men, Porchet, but the similarity ends there," Royce remarked with cutting derision. "Similarly, Princess, your admonition to remember Crividsylvan deserves attention. Crivi fell not only because Herbert failed to anticipate southern aggression, but also because its predominantly wooden architecture hastened its destruction. Cynthia, conversely, is constructed primarily of stone, its magnificent walls encircling both capital and much of the city beyond the outskirts—fundamentally different from Crivi's vulnerability. The fact that southern forces have besieged Cynthia for over a month without fully securing even the outlying districts demonstrates that conquering Cynthia presents an extraordinary challenge—perhaps an impossibility. This is why I advocate patience until winter's conclusion. By then, only two outcomes remain possible."

  "Either Godma will have taken Cynthia, or—" Queen Shirley rested her chin atop her clenched fist, regarding Royce intently. "Their siege will have failed."

  "Precisely, my brilliant and beautiful queen," Royce continued, his voice gathering momentum. "Winter represents the critical juncture in this conflict. For Godma, the optimal scenario involves breaching Cynthia's walls before winter's onset. But this probability approaches zero. If winter finds southern troops still freezing outside Cynthia's walls, they must choose: endure or retreat. Should they withdraw, this presents the ideal outcome for both Cynthia and ourselves. We—everyone present—would conserve every soldier. Naturally, we cannot dismiss the possibility that Godma might retreat to Crivi, regroup, and launch a renewed offensive, but that warrants separate discussion. Returning to our immediate concerns: if Godma fails to breach Cynthia yet refuses to withdraw, enduring winter's brutal toll to maintain their siege—that precise moment marks when we should forge our alliance and formally declare war against Godma."