Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

While Alpheo led his campaign in hostile territory, Princess Jasmine adeptly managed the governance of Yarzat,dealing with matters of governance alone. The palace bustled with activity as courtiers and officials sought her guidance on various matters.

Among the most pressing issues were reports of coastal villages being raided by pirates. Without the royal army to respond, Jasmine’s options were limited, forcing her to focus on providing immediate relief to the affected areas. As effectively she had no way to military prevent those without the return of the elitè army commanded by her husband.

Not everything was bad however , as during this period came the arrival of Doria, an envoy representing the Romelian regent who governed on behalf of the young emperor. Yarzat had cultivated a close trade relationship where in exchange for their prodocuts, the princedom received not only payment in coin but also high-quality weapons or armor, which were vital to maintaining its defenses, especially given the absence of iron mines in Yarzat’s territory.It would not be wrong to say that half the campaign was paid from the empire’s coffer.

The reason for Doria’s arrival, was to express the regent’s desire to increase its monthly purchases from Yarzat. Recognizing the mutual benefit of such an arrangement, Jasmine promptly accepted the proposal, maintaining the previously agreed-upon fixed prices.

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Away from the boring tasks of governance and court Princess Jasmine reclined against the plush pillows of her bed, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders like a silken curtain. The chamber was bathed in soft afternoon light filtering through the intricately embroidered curtains. Beside her, an elderly physicist, draped in a long robe of muted grey, meticulously examined her wrist, his fingers gentle but firm as they sought her pulse. His weathered face bore the calm confidence of years of practice.

”How are you feeling, Your Grace?” the physicist inquired, his voice measured and kindly, though tinged with professional detachment.

Jasmine offered a faint smile, her emerald-green eyes betraying both her weariness and resolve. ”Apart from the bouts of nausea and the occasional... ungraceful vomiting,” she admitted with a slight chuckle, ”I feel generally good. Tired at times, but nothing unbearable.”

The old man nodded thoughtfully, his movements deliberate as he set down her wrist. ”The sickness, unpleasant though it may be, is a sign of health in this case. It suggests that the child is thriving,” he said reassuringly, a warm note in his voice.

Jasmine exhaled softly, her smile deepening, though a flicker of relief passed across her features. ”That is good to hear.”

”Indeed,” the physicist replied, folding his hands neatly before him. ”You are in good health, Your Grace, though there are precautions you must take to ensure the child’s continued well-being. Avoid alcohol entirely, as it would harm the child. And most importantly, you must prioritize rest. Overexerting yourself could jeopardize the child’s growth.”

Jasmine nodded solemnly, her gaze distant for a moment as she considered his words. ”Thank you for your counsel. I will do my best to heed it.”

The old man bowed his head respectfully, gathering his tools into a small leather satchel. ”You are most welcome, Your Grace. I will return in a tomorrow to check on you again. Until then, take care of yourself—and the little one.”

With a final, gentle smile, he excused himself, leaving the princess alone with her mother.

Rosalind sat in a cushioned chair beside her daughter’s bed.Her auburn hair, streaked with threads of silver, framed a face that, despite its age, retained a timeless elegance. In her hand, she held a goblet of honeyed cider, the golden liquid glinting softly in the afternoon light. She sipped from it with an air of practiced nonchalance.

The younger woman’s emerald eyes narrowed slightly as she looked pointedly at her mother. ”Mother,” Jasmine said with faint exasperation.

Rosalind sighed theatrically, setting the goblet down on a nearby table with an exaggerated gesture. ”Fine, fine,” she said, raising her hands in mock surrender. ”No cider while in the company of the virtuous. You’ve made your point.”

Jasmine smiled faintly before her expression grew pensive. ”Is this what it feels like,every time one is with child?”

Rosalind’s lips curled into a fond smile, and she reached out to tuck a stray strand of Jasmine’s dark hair behind her ear. ”Oh, my dear, this is only the beginning. When the child grows, it becomes much worse,” she said with a mischievous glint in her eye. ”By the end of it, you’ll feel as though you’re carrying a pack mule.”

Jasmine chuckled softly, but Rosalind wasn’t finished. ”When I was carrying Lysandra,” she continued with a knowing smile, ”she was the more spirited of the two. It was as though I had a horse trotting inside me—relentless and impossible to ignore.”

At that, Jasmine broke into genuine laughter, the sound brightening the room. ”Lysandra?” she said, shaking her head at the notion. ”And how was I, then?”

Rosalind’s smile softened into something more nostalgic as she leaned back in her chair. ”You, my darling, were as meek as a squirrel,” she said. ”So quiet and gentle, I sometimes wondered if you were even still there.”

Jasmine laughed again, her cheeks coloring faintly as her mother exempted herself from telling her how many of her pregnancies carried stillborns, brothers and sisters that she would have had.

Rosalind leaned back in her chair, her keen eyes studying her daughter ”So,” she began, her voice warm yet probing, ”when is my dear son in law returning, my dear?”

Jasmine glanced up from the folds of her blanket, her emerald eyes brightening. ”He sent word just yesterday. The campaign is over, and he’s returning home—victorious.”

Rosalind’s brow arched, a pleased expression crossing her face. ”Happy to have your war hero back?”

Jasmine chuckled softly, shifting slightly in her bed. ”Extremely,” she said, a touch of humor in her voice. ” Ruling alone is... tiring, and the reports in my desks are piling up, I will have him deal with them once he returns.”

Rosalind laughed lightly.

Jasmine’s smile deepened, in truth, she was deeply satisfied with the current state of affairs. Alpheo, from the day they married, had kept his promises—every single one. He had never once acted without her permission or interfered with the matters she deemed most important. Instead, his role had been one of support , taking on tasks that she had little interest in or had outright chosen to discard.

In many ways, their arrangement suited her perfectly. She had the final say in matters of governance and diplomacy, while Alpheo handled the tedious, practical aspects of rulership that she found burdensome.

The only area in which she had no say was the military, a domain Alpheo commanded entirely. Yet, Jasmine found no issue with this. Her upbringing as a noblewoman had left her utterly unprepared to deal with strategies, troop movements, or sieges. She viewed such things as foreign and inscrutable, and she was more than happy to leave them in the capable hands of her husband.

”Do you want to know more about the war? About what Alpheo has accomplished?” She asked her mother

Rosalind waved her hand dismissively, leaning back in her chair with a faint smile. ”Oh, you know I have neither the taste nor the mind for such things. It’s enough to know that we’re winning, is it not?”

Jasmine gave a faint chuckle at her mother’s predictably disinterested response. Yet, inwardly, her thoughts swirled with the enormity of what had been achieved. Winning? she thought. We’ve done far more than merely winning.

The reports she had received from Alpheo over the past weeks painted a vivid picture of complete devastation wrought upon their enemy. Prince Lechlian’s forces lay in ruin, his once-vaunted army shattered and fed to the crows. His lands had been set aflame, left desolate and unproductive, a haunting reminder of his overreach. Even more significant were the fates of his two strongest vassals: one executed for his crime, his corpse left in the dust, and the other forced to kneel, now a tool in Yarzat’s expanding influence.

As Jasmine considered these accomplishments, she couldn’t help but admire Alpheo’s vision. The war, brutal as it was, had become precisely what they needed to solidify her position as sovereign. She had not missed the subtle shift in attitude from some of the kingdom’s more skeptical nobles. Those who had once eyed the crown with doubts now seemed invigorated, their allegiance bolstered by the tales of glory and strength emanating from the frontlines.

For example, when she announced the pregnancy to the realm, many nobles sent their congratulations and gifts. Perhaps she was the one who overthought them, but she believed that many used the event to diplomatically convey their alignment with the crown.

She allowed herself a small, satisfied smile, her thoughts quiet but resolute. Yes, she mused, this war has done more than humiliate our enemies. It has strengthened the crown, silenced the whispers, just as he had told me before he marched.

She in fact believed that everything that happened during the war was what her husband had planned, and as a consequence believed that everything had been under control.

Not knowing that the general in question had suffered a small mental break-down the day after the victory in the field against the Lechlain, for he knew how close they were to total defeat.