Early the next morning, Salvador set off to Carcino with three war galleys that held the five hundred men under his command. He said his farewells to Gerard, Angelica, and Inejgo.

"You'll do great," Gerard had said to him as they were bidding each other farewell.

"I have half a mind to burn Carcino to the ground," Salvador had growled.

Salvador's forces consisted of one hundred mounted knights, archers, and two hundred-fifty men-at-arms. All of them were under his command. Salvador met up with the five captains before boarding the galleys. They all seemed to be decent men and accepted Salvador's command readily, for he was well renowned in Veroña.

The galleys set off from the port, oarsmen rowing vigorously until they were out to sea. They raised the sail and set off to Carcino across the Veroña Strait.

A couple of days later, they landed at the port town of Ashcalon. They then proceeded to follow an offshoot of the high road all the way to Carcino.

It took them the better part of a week to travel on foot to Carcino. When they arrived, Salvador saw how puny the castle was compared to Fiorá. Carcino lands composed of the castle, a village and a couple of mills. It led Salvador to question why she married her daughter to this lord.

The castle had short walls of bland, grey stone. Its doors were wooden and studded with iron. The castle held no defensive advantages and seemed to be in need of maintenance. It was quite an unimpressive sight.

He saw a peculiar sight at the castle: a small host encamped outside their pathetic walls waving the royal sigil, a turquoise sea serpent blazoned a sea-green field. He turned to his right to make a jape to Gerard. . . then he remembered that there was no one there. He turned to his left and said to Captain Tomas, "Looks like the king decided he wanted to do something other than sit upon his throne drinking and eating."

"Or it may be one of his sons," the captain replied.

Salvador shrugged. "Guess that seems more likely."

Trumpets sounded on the walls of Carcino as they spotted the banners of House Florjes flying above Salvador's small host. His men set about making camp as the gates opened for Salvador, who entered alone. In the inside, Salvador took note of the Carcino banners draping the walls; a colorful parakeet displayed on a divided field with the blossom on the other side.

Salvador demanded to be taken straight to Lord Álavar. They granted him his wish and soon he appeared in front of Lord Estevan Álavar, who sat upon a small wooden chair. In the hall were only his brothers, sisters, a herald, a man he took to be the lord's steward, and a young man not much older than Salvador who bore no resemblance to the Álavars. Estevan himself was a man in his fifties with common brown hair with streaks of white shooting through his beard.

"You stand before Lord Estevan Álavar, Lord of Carcino!" the herald announced.

Salvador began right away. "My lord, I am Salvador Castellano, here by the command of Her Grace, Duchess Lilliana of House Florjes. Outside your walls, I brought five hundred troops to aid your cause in the case that conflict breaks out. However, I have also been sent here to mediate between you and Lord Eusebio Herreran."

Lord Estevan frowned. "Why it appears I already have another boy who was sent to do that job."

"Whom?" Salvador asked, although his gaze fell upon the young man that did not seem to be a Álavar.

Lord Estevan gestured to the young man. "Here stands Prince Benedict Navíste, second in line to the Serpent Crown," he announced.

Salvador felt his lips tug into a smile. "Prince Benedict; The Prince Who Could Have Been!"

"That is what some call me," the prince said solemnly. He had chestnut hair and shamrock green eyes flecked with bits of pure gold that marked him as of the royal lineage. He was of average height, but Salvador could see he had a strength to him. Not as broad-chested as the king or his firstborn instead taking slightly more after his mother in build. Salvador had not seen him when he visited Navitium. "And you are the Peasant."

"That is what some call me," Salvador replied.

"The Peasant," Lord Estevan growled. "Would it have been too much to send me one of her knights?"

Salvador had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.

He was about to reply when Benedict intervened. "No, my lord. It would have too little."

The lord stared at Benedict in surprise. "Forgive me, Your Highness, but are you mad?"

Benedict's face became a stony expression. "No, my lord. Salvador Castellano's achievements have been overshadowed by that of his companion, Sir Gerard Elwyn, the Freelancer. But the Peasant of Fíora is a great warrior himself, in some ways, not even the Freelancer can match him in ruthlessness and cunning."

"And a lowborn nonetheless," Estevan insisted.

"This lowborn has brought you five hundred soldiers but can just as easily take them away," Salvador threatened before Benedict could respond. He liked the respect the prince held for him, but Salvador could fight his own battles.

Estevan's face turned bright red, but he said nothing.

Salvador addressed the prince, "Has His Majesty finally found it in him to set right the kingdom?"

"Yes," the prince answered. His stony expression remaining. . . at least so he thought. Salvador could see the little fragments breaking off. But he simply nodded.

"What are the numbers on your men," Salvador asked Lord Estevan.

"Two scores of knights, twice that in crossbows, and eighty men-at-arms. We have swollen our numbers with an extra hundred levies from the countryside and the village."

Three hundred-forty soldiers in total, if what the lord was saying was true and not an attempt to exaggerate his numbers. Almost three-and-a-half companies of men.

"And House Herreran?"

"Themselves they can only field two hundred men in total," Lord Estevan informed with a mocking edge to his tone.

Salvador pressed, "Themselves?"

Estevan's expression was foul. "They have called in an alliance made with House Canova granting them another four hundred-fifty men consisting of knights, men-at-arms, and crossbows."

"We still outnumber them," his steward noted.

"But that will not matter," Benedict exclaimed suddenly, "you have no right to go to war without the king's permission."

Estevan gave out a short and ugly bark of laughter. "And the other one hundred wars currently being waged between the individual lords of Sersalvon?" Estevan scoffed. "Will the king send an army to subdue any one of them? Last I checked, His Majesty cared naught for troubles of the realm."

But Benedict was stubborn. "Well he sent me, didn't he?"

One of Lord Estevan's brothers spoke up, "With all due respect, Your Highness, we have already discussed that unless Lord Herreran cedes Highbridge, we will go to war."

"My brother is right," Estevan agreed. "The king has no need to get into our quarrels. He never has, so why should he know?"

"Perhaps the king has had a change of heart," Benedict persisted. "He sent me to bring order to his kingdom! He sent me to unify us!"

"Against what? And why in the name of the Angel King would he send his secondborn son to bring justice among us?" Estevan shot back.

"How can you invoke the name of Him Up Above?" Benedict seethed. "You send men to their deaths only to gain a few meters of land that you wish for yourself, for your own benefit. You invoke your wrath upon Lord Herreran for the pettiest of reasons, yet you have the balls to invoke the name of the Angel King against me when what you do goes against everything he stands for."

"I don't plan on arguing theology, Your Highness," Estevan snapped. "I plan on taking Highbridge from Lord Herreran, whether he cedes it peacefully or I take it by force. That's final."

Salvador could see that all of Benedict's muscles had gone rigid. "Very well, my lord," he growled, turning sharply on his heel, he left the room.

The hall was quiet for a bit before Salvador said, "I will take my leave now." And followed Benedict outside.

He caught up to Benedict walking down the hall. "What is it you want?" the prince said sourly.

"What happened to respecting the Peasant of Fíora?" Salvador asked with a small smile on his face.

Benedict stopped and turned around. "Forgive me. . . I'm just a little upset."

"You have plenty reason to be," Salvador assured. "But I have a question. . ." He leaned in to whisper in his ear. "Was it really the king who sent you?"

Benedict stared at him. . . contemplating.

"No." Was his answer.

Salvador knew it. He slowly nodded his head.

"Are you going to tell me why you followed me now?" the prince inquired.

"I asked you a question already, didn't I?" Salvador responded.

Benedict just waited.

Salvador sighed. "How. . . how is it you. . . know about me?"

"Because you're a lot like me," Benedict answered.

"I'm no prince," Salvador snorted.

"No," Benedict agreed, "but you live in the shadow of another. As do I."

"Your brother?"

"Who else," the prince said. "Francisco takes after our Father."

"Constantly in his cups and not caring about whatever the hell is going on in the realm?"

A small smile appeared on Benedict's face. "That. . . is not the way I would have put it, but yes. The only reason my father still sits upon the Serpent Throne and wears the Serpent Crown is that all the dukes and duchesses of Sersalvon enjoy the freedom given to them by my father's weak reign." Scorn was dripping from Benedict's voice. "So they let him set upon his throne and wear his Serpent Crown, but this―" He pointed back to the great hall. "―is what happens."

"And why did you come to Carcino?"

Benedict swallowed. "I came to put an end to this madness."

"Good." Maybe there is some hope for this kingdom after all.

Salvador turned around without saying another word and walked away.

"Wait!" Benedict cried.

Salvador stopped in his tracks. He looked at Benedict through his peripheral vision. "Yes?"

"You have five hundred troops and I have five hundred. Combine them and we outnumber both Lord Estevan and Lord Herreran together."

"By ten men!" Salvador scoffed.

"But our troops are better disciplined and train."

"What are you suggesting?" Salvador asked, suddenly suspicious.

"You know damn well what I'm suggesting."

"What makes you think that I am willing to help you?"

"Because I saw the way you entered the hall, your eyes blazing with scorn for the lords and ladies in that hall. You hate them. . . you hate all nobility, don't you?"

Salvador remained silent for a long time. "I suffered at the hands of highborns once. They took something from me. . . something invaluable."

"Then help me," Benedict urged. "Help me end this squabbling. This kingdom is shattered. . . help me put it back together. It's your kingdom as much as mine."

Salvador's lip curled into a snarl. "I am sworn to no one. I may be Sersalvonian by birth but this is not my kingdom."

Benedict sighed in defeat.

"But too many commoners have suffered under these lords and ladies. I accept." And he walked away.