"You're right, Vratislav," Bořivoj said, sliding the parchment across the table. "We need this alliance. In fact, I want you to lead the embassy to Budapest. Take the mountain pass. It’s faster."
The flickering torchlight of the Great Hall in Prague cast long, dancing shadows against the stone walls. Duke Bořivoj sat at the head of the heavy oak table, staring at a small, wax-sealed parchment. To his left sat his Chancellor, a man who had served his father; to his right, his ambitious younger brother, Vratislav. Take the mountain pass
Suddenly, a notification seemed to chime in the air—a . To his left sat his Chancellor, a man
Bořivoj grunted. He looked at his icon in the corner of his mind—or rather, the bond he felt with his Chancellor. The old man shook his head. "The King of Hungary is 'Ambitious' and 'Deceitful,' my Liege. He doesn't want a partner; he wants a claim on your throne. Once your daughter is in his court, she is a hostage, not a bridge." He doesn't want a partner