Hiram would find Augustus in the atrium of the library, which he’d set up as a base of operations—part office, part faux-throne room. His actual office felt too confining. Though it would matter very little if he had to face an Eldouir if he were in a large space or a small one, there was something instinctually inhibiting about confinement when predators were about.

So, when Hiram found him, he’d find the well-guarded royal seated at a desk. When Hiram approached he’d look up. Though his heartbeat quickened in fear, it did not show on his face. Augustus crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair.

He offered the man no greeting.

It didn’t matter that Augustus wore a poker face. Hiram was acutely aware of the man’s pulsing blood. It widened his smile. The response was appropriate. Even Hiram didn’t know what he might do.

“You know,” Hiram began, in bothered by the lack of greeting, “I didn’t know who you were initially. You’ve a rather forgetful face and unimpressive demeanor. But,” he raised a finger, his approach as carefree as his tone, closing the gap between them, “now I know. You’re Eleanor’s son. The eldest. A prince.” He nodded, still smiling, pleased with himself for gaining this information, however he might have done that.

The sound of his mother’s name on the Eldouir’s tongue soured his stomach. Augustus’s relationship had been laced with bitterness right up to the very end. The choices she’d made, after all, had robbed him of a chance at the throne. But still…the reminder that once Hiram had bed her was enough to send a flash of defensive ire through him. Anger was useful enough to steady his nerves. He’d go with it.

“I wouldn’t expect you to remember me. I’ve been in Arynn Frey for many a year, only recently returned. As you’ve discovered for yourself, a Lorendaler cannot be kept from his homeland for too long.” Augustus was cordial. His manner did not have the same warmth that it usually did, but it was at ease. He’d indicate to the chair across from his desk, offering for the Eldouir to sit. Just because they were barbarians didn’t mean he would behave the same.

Hiram chuckled, the sound hearty, his agreement coming through without needing to be spoken. Lorendale did indeed call back its people. Always.

“I take it I can rightly conclude our Queen will be returning, then.” He said, choosing to sit at the corner of Augustus’ desk rather than in the chair. “And I take it you know what is wrong with my cousin.” Both said as statements, but both questions.

Though there was no blood present, a vague stench of iron seemed to cling to the Eldouir like macabre cologne. It was repulsive—but also, perhaps, the prince’s imagination. Hiram opted to sit on the prince’s desk, and so the royal leaned back a little further in his chair with his fingers laced together. He was trying to find Hiram’s rhythm. To seek whatever twisted common ground he could find.

“Whatever happened to your cousin was by neither my order or acceptance,” the prince answered honestly, “The Arynnites are guarded about their magic, so I cannot claim to understand the mechanics of how your cousin came to be in such a state—or how to return her. I will do my best, however, to seek answers.” A commitment that cost him nothing.

“As for Her Majesty,” Augustus continued, scratching his beard, “The recent upset has caused her to fall ill. She will return when she is well and on her feet once again. Until then, I will represent her.”

Hiram listened, pursing his lips as a child considering his options might. It might have been a simple game of politics if not for the looming reality that Hiram was an evil murderer.

“I’ll hold you to it.” He brought his hand down to the desk to tap a firm finger against it rather loudly. “In fact, I’ll hold you to her returning as well.” He raised the finger. “You have one week. One week to tell me what happened to my cousin and how to fix her, and one week to get the queen back…or you will cease to represent anyone.” Hiram felt it was fair enough.

One week.

Augustus did not flinch, despite the summersaults his mind was doing. The queen’s presence he could, to some extent, control. But Elenea…

Still, the prince smiled and sighed.

“Well, that’s thoroughly motivating,” Augustus reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of brandy and two glasses. He poured one for himself and one for Hiram before setting the bottle back on the desk. He pushed the glass to Hiram, drinking from his.

Hiram grinned at Augustus, deciding he liked the man’s pace.

“It should be.” He agreed, threatening the man’s life as casually as one might threaten to take a copper coin. “You’d be astounded at how effective people can be when their life is on the line.” He pursed his lips, picking up the glass. “Their own life, or the life of someone they love. But I needn’t go there, hmm?” He threw back the glass, draining its contents in a gulp, groaning in satisfaction after.

“You don’t seem stupid.”

“No, the image is vivid enough without added color, thank you,” Augustus joked, refilling Hiram’s glass. It was, in the prince’s opinion, too fine a liquor to be tossed back so casually, but he supposed it was on brand—considering the man perched on his desk as if it were a barstool. He sipped his own slowly, snorting at Hiram’s observation.

“I’ve been in politics of one sort or another long enough to see my share of fantasists and fools. I do my best not to follow their example.” Augustus said, propping his foot up on his opposite knee, trying to match the man’s energy, “You’ve been in Lorendale’s court and cabinet—so you’re no stranger to them either.”

Hiram threw back the second cup, groaning for a second time, grimacing too. He didn’t care for the drink so much, there was something rich and quality about it that he didn’t prefer in his alcohol. Nevertheless, far be it from him to reject a drink.

“Unfortunately.” Hiram confirmed, stretching out his glass for more. It took a lot to even get a buzz. “And I won’t go back to it. Not in the traditional sense, anyway. I’m done playing the game.” He titled his head a little, considering Augustus, perhaps fooled by the prince’s demeanor enough to ask, “And what of you? Are you done playing the game?”

Augustus snorted, pouring the Eldouir another full glass. He idly contemplated whether a drunk or sober Hiram was the more dangerous creature, and could not decide either way. Augustus shrugged, also pouring himself more liquor. In for a penny…

“Oh, the game…” Augustus chuckled, sipping away, “I think I’ve stopped seeing where it ends and where it begins. I know what I want, I suppose. I want to see Lorendale stable, not to see it become another feather in the Nevermere’s cap. But all I see is a populace without a sense of duty. Without order. Identity.” He shook his head. “Maybe the game is all any of us have.” He tossed back a little more liquor.

Hiram listened to Augustus' words, tonguing his cheek as his blundering brain sought to keep up with what exactly was being said, or what was possibly being implied. Hiram was twice the average man physically, but mentally he was as common as they came. He huffed deliberately when the duke was finished speaking and actually sipped his drink this time before pointing a thick finger towards the other man,

"Play the game with me, and you'll lose. Because I'll kill you." He grinned the way a sailor might share a joke with one of his mates, only Hiram wasn't joking, of course. He didn't have anything intelligent to say about the other things Augustus had said. He didn't care. He couldn't. No capacity for it. Hiram was a simple guy.

"Nevermere won't dare anything with Eldouir in the palace." That observation was simple enough. "You and your shitshow better work with us instead of plotting to drive us out."

And Augustus grinned back. A chameleon to the end, not by nature but by presentation. To meet someone where they were was the mark of any good politician, was it not? Or at least, that’s what he mused on as he took another sip of his drink alongside Lorendale’s most wanted.

“A little less of a shitshow is what I’d like it to be,” Augustus said with a shrug, “I’m a practical man who wishes my heart to keep beating just a little while longer. You want my niece back, but what then? If I know how to best advise her when she returns, it’ll make things easier on the both of us.”