The Princess and the Kaiser

by UnknownError

The Duchess of Strawberry

Once he was certain none were looking, Grover slowly raised his left wing. He raised his right claw to his beak as if he was stifling a yawn while his left claw snaked under his feathers to grab the small knight. Talons touched metal and he pulled it into his palm, keeping it hidden. He lowered his claw and wing to lean his head back. The Reichstone’s golden filigree clinked on the back of the throne.

Commander Benito’s ears twitched and the dog looked back. For a moment, his brown-eyed stare was deeply intense and serious, but it collapsed into a warm look of concern. The dog spoke over his shoulder. “Are you alright, my Kaiser?”

“I am tired,” Grover squeaked in his reedy voice. “Apologies, Lord Commander.” He pitched his head forward and felt the crown press down into his feathers. He raised a claw, his right one, to the mass of padding underneath the frame. Grover poked at it.

“The servants will add more padding, my Kaiser.” The dog turned back.

It is already heavy enough. It did not take a genius to see the crown was meant for a griffon thrice his size and age. His ancestor had it made well into his seventies, forged with the foundation of Griffenheim with gems from every corner of the Reich. Grover the Great had knelt before the Archons after they knelt to him in the conquest, and they placed a crown he commissioned upon his feathered brow.

The throne room still looked like the fortress it once was centuries ago. The pillars were rounded and the wide windows leading to balconies did not quite hide the flying buttresses meant to rain artillery down on a besieging army. And the high, vaulted ceilings lacked rafters for ease of flight, but some of the later stained-glass windows were shaped like the killing holes they were initially designed to be.

Grover looked across the Great Hall of Griffenheim Palace. It was oddly quiet and subdued. Grover had only been there once before, just after the old bird had dried his tears. He was not a stupid griffon; he knew his father was sick. And he knew his history. They would only come to make him Kaiser when his father was dead.

And they did. He was placed atop an oversized throne and listened as a swirl of unending names and titles were read out before adults with strange beaks and gaudy outfits marched forward in a procession and bowed to him. In truth, he did not remember much of it.

I wonder if father did. Grandfather died unexpectedly. Grover prodded the cushion underneath his slacks. He was dressed in his official military uniform befitting the Kaiser of Griffonkind and Supreme Commander of the Reichsarmee. It included a sash over a shirt and buttons and black dress shoes over his paws and Aunt Gabriela had once called him the most adorable Kaiser in history.

Grover cupped the toy knight tighter in his palm. The wings bent. That was okay; they could bend. Unlike most figures, the knight had joints. His armor was made out of steel and silver, not tin. He doubted many had knights like that; his wooden sword seemed cheap in comparison.

There was a clatter at the table below the raised dais. The throne was placed so that the Kaiser could see over the entire throne room, windows and entrance. The back touched a plain wall draped with elegant banners. So no one can sneak up on you.

His eyes slid to the side. There was a loose brick somewhere to the right that opened up a small passage. Grover had found it on accident one day. The palace was full of them, only the Barkingian Guard had a complete list.

“The course of action is clear,” the old bird’s voice rang out. It was deep and sonorous, though with a hint of rasp. Grover returned to the table before his throne. He had to shuffle forward to look down to him.

Archon Eros VII sat in the middle of a trio of terribly mismatched griffons. The old bird was probably the oldest griffon in the Griffonian Reich; his feathers had turned a stormy white. They matched his simple vestments beneath red robes, and he drummed a claw on the table. Weary brown eyes regarded the griffon to his left with exasperation.

“Are we in agreement?” Eros asked again with a clacking brown beak.

A thud rattled the table as Archon Proteus III slapped down his other gauntlet. He had removed them from his claws and left his helmet at the door, but was otherwise fully encased in plate mail. He ran a claw through pale white head feathers, flicking sweat away from his brow.

“It remains to be seen,” the knight growled. His voice was deeper than Eros’, but it lacked the warmth or comfort. The Archon of Arcturius served a god of war, and Grover was terrified of him. His toy knight had eyes had promised protection, but Proteus had a cold, vivid stare with haunting blue eyes. For now, he had turned it on the old bird.

“I wish to hear their contrition before deciding,” the Warrior-Priest declared. A bare claw drummed along the pommel of the greatsword he had left resting beside his chair.

“You want them to beg,” a sly voice said from the far right, half-ringing with a satisfied chuckle. Archon Erion XII leaned his elbows atop the table and rested his claws under his beak. He was the youngest Archon of Eyr in history, and he always had a smile whenever he spoke with Grover.

“I want to see what they offer the Gods,” Proteus replied. He swept his gauntlets to the side so they rested beside the greatsword. The Archon’s armor was great and gilded, and the lights on the walls illuminated a few pockmarks on one of his hind legs. He limped when he entered, Grover thought.

“Can you offer me a knife?” Erion asked with another laugh. “I have something caught in my talons. He made a show of inspecting a claw with a critical laughing eye.

“Use your own,” Proteus said tonelessly.

Erion lifted his arms and showed off his priestly garb. Unlike Eros, his robes had brighter colors and a golden trim along the edges. His sleeves were loose and he wiggled his claws. “Do I look armed?”

“That is how I know you are,” Proteus answered.

Erion sighed and rolled his eyes, but removed a dragonbone dagger from his left sleeve and picked at the end of his talons. “I have guests,” he commented idly. “They are running late. Do not begin without them.”

The old bird hunched lower in the chair and swung his head over to the younger Archon. “They have no business here.”

“Considering it was their armored rush out of my Romau that broke the Feathisian front, I have every reason to invite them,” Erion returned lightly. “I agreed to forward a message of thanks to the Queen-”

“That will be seen as an act of encouragement!” Eros whispered with a strangled hiss. “Denied, fool. Their presence here is damaging enough.”

“You do not get to sit out most of the war and make concessions,” Proteus agreed.

Erion clacked his beak languidly. “Consider it like this: They could ask for much more. Instead, the former Hive Marshal is eager to prove his mettle while his successor tears into Equestria. The armor brigade tore through Gerlach’s meager knights in exchange for a piece of paper and a participation award.”

The griffon flipped the knife around with his wrist. “Fair trade.”

“This victory belongs to the Reich,” Eros said with finality. “I will review the message.”

“That is all I ask,” Erion mewled.

Grover did not like him. The Archon of Arcturius was scary, but direct. The Archon of Eyr could smile while sliding the knife out of his robe. Grover had eavesdropped on one of his maids speaking about how Erion had seized power in the city of Romau, but had spoken out against Eros. She was certain he would side with Auntie Gabriela; Romau was a small city with barely a militia.

It is obvious none of them truly like each other. Grover had not seen them together very often before this. His palm was sweaty. Grover set the knight back down and slid it under his wing. He sat on the throne atop a pile of cushions, claws and paws together on his haunches. His tail batted at one of the tasseled pillows.

There was a loud knock at the doors. One of the elite Ironpaws entered first and knelt at the doorway. The brown dog next to Grover descended from the throne and crossed the lonely, vacant hall.

It only appeared vacant because the crowds were gone. Griffonian knights lined the balconies and walls behind the pillars. Sometimes Grover thought they were toys like his knights; they moved so very little. He had to squint and push his glasses up to his eyes to see the rustling of their wings or the slight flick of their tail.

None of them ever look at me. The helmets blocked their eyes. Grover could tell most were the Arcturian Order from the pauldrons at their shoulders, but some were from the Borean Order and a few were Eyr’s Own. The Reichsarmee regulars had been stationed beyond the palace ever since that stupid mad griff had tried to revolt.

Grover closed his eyes. The crown was very heavy; it was meant to be. It symbolized the weight of the task to be the Kaiser of Griffonkind. A sigh escaped his beak.

“Are you alright, my Kaiser?” The old bird had spoken up, having turned around to watch Commander Benito. Eros did not leave the chair, but pushed it to the side to get a better look up at Kaiser Grover VI.

“What…” Grover’s voice cracked and his feathers flushed. He clenched his wings to his sides; the feathers had just begun to turn slightly brown, but his fur was still a little fluffy at his neck. The griffon grit his beak and he carefully enunciated, “What will happen to Auntie Gabriela?”

“Do not worry about that,” Eros said in a warm, reassuring voice. “We will discuss it later.” He pointed a claw down the hall. “This will not take long, my Kaiser.”

Grover nodded and felt the Reichstone slip. He leaned his head back. “Okay, old bird.”

Erion suppressed a chuckle. “Do we not get nicknames, my Kaiser?”

Chicken because you are yellow like one. Grover looked to the side. “Young bird?”

“I suppose that would make Proteus the ‘war bird,’ then,” Erion said. “Appropriate. You are quite gifted, my Kaiser. I am indeed the youngest Archon of Eyr.”

Proteus clacked his beak. “I knew your predecessor. He was a gifted swimmer. Odd for him to drown.”

“He was old,” Erion sighed with sadness. “He should not have tried swimming drunk.”

“Enough,” Eros whispered.

The double doors were slowly pushed open. They were embossed with iconography of the great conquest and made out of solid metal. The centerpiece was Grover the Great leading his army across the Creeper Mountains to advance into the Evi Valley. The picture book back in his room said that Grover had flown through the snowstorms himself to find the route, but that seemed a little silly. He had scouts, right?

However it had happened, Grover the Great fought a battle against three armies in three days, crushing the Lushians then the Brodfledians then the Minotaurs of Asterion when they attacked his rear for crossing over their mainland territory. At the end of it, he had pushed Asterion off of Griffonia and back to their islands.

The doors stopped, and Grover the Great was raising a sword on one side with his following knights separated by an open gap. The doors closed again with a resounding clang. Grover was so focused on the picture that he missed who entered.

He blinked at the pistols floating over to Commander Benito glowing with green magic. The dog collected them and passed them to another Ironpaw standing beside the doors. Two figures in black uniforms stood on all fours, shorter than all the griffons and knights. They were as black as the leather coats they wore.

Grover had heard about the Changelings. He was the Kaiser, and they were technically here on his invitation. Well, father’s. He knew very little about them. They were not here the last time.

One wore a fez and marched ahead of the other. He had red lapels on his coat collar and high black boots under his sleeves. They stomped on the long red carpet running the length of the hall. Grover’s tail tucked against his leg at the fangs; they were bright and gleaming white in the lights.

It took him a moment to realize the Changeling was smiling, cheeks pulled wide under ecstatic purple eyes. His horn flashed and he removed the fez, carrying it in his magic along with him. Grover had heard the Changelings called ‘bugs’ by one of the dogs, and it seemed appropriate. They had no mane or tail or feathers or fur. Grover glanced down at his claws and back at their chitin.

The one trailing behind did so with a slight limp. A hind leg dragged stiffly every other step. Like Proteus. His uniform was not as grand as the other’s, and the sleeves were rolled up. Grover flinched away at the gaping wounds in the legs. He felt queasy and the breakfast pancakes bubbled up in his beak.

No one else seemed to notice. Erion stabbed his knife down into the tablecloth and stood with flared wings. He extended open claws to the Changelings. “Friends! We were just speaking of you!”

“Archon Erion,” the one carrying the fez replied with a dipped horn. The horn was gnarled and crooked; it did not look like how a horn should look. Not that I have many as an example. The Changeling’s accent was odd; his vowels buzzed.

Erion waved his claws with a flourish to the table. “Marshal Synovial, Colonel Thranx, you of course know Archon Eros.”

“Lord Regent,” the one with the fez answered. Grover guessed it was Marshal Synovial. The Changeling paused. “Apologies. Do you prefer your religious title or your temporal one?”

“They are one and the same,” Eros responded kindly. “The light of Boreas guides the Reich in these trying times. Welcome, honored guests of the Great Queen.”

“The Changeling Hegemony greets you,” Synovial said happily. Two fin-like ears twitched and his head swung around the room. Grover had trouble telling where he was looking; his purple eyes seemed to lack pupils.

“This is just the quick formality,” Erion said smoothly. “There will be pictures afterwards.”

Synovial nodded. “Of course.”

“And beer,” Erion added to the other Changeling.

The other simply nodded. The Changeling tugged back a high-ridged, black cap with a twist of his horn. Grover assumed he was Colonel Thranx. His muzzle was pressed taut and only the tips of his fangs escaped his lips. Like Synovial, his eyes lacked pupils, but they were bright blue.

“I assume,” Erion continued, “you have met Archon Proteus from the battlefield if nothing else.”

“Briefly,” Synovial deferred.

“The Arcturian Order fought well,” the other Changeling said. His voice was higher, and Grover noticed he spoke oddly in an imitation of a Griffenheim accent. He is trying to control the buzzing vowels. Or he is hurt.

Proteus accept the complement with a slight bob of his head, saying nothing. Archon Eros shifted his head as if to glare at Proteus, but reconsidered. “As my fellow Archon said, there will be a grander celebration after this. You are welcome to attend as guests of honor for your contribution. You had no duty to assist us in Eagleclaw’s folly.”

“A chance to show Trimmel how a true Blitzkrieg looks is reward enough,” Synovial laughed. His voice chirped. “You have not seen what passes for an armored tank in Equestria.”

“I can only imagine,” Erion sniffed. He sat back down. “We have no table for you, friends, but you are free to wait and watch beside the pillars.”

“Desperation has a poor taste,” Synovial smiled.

Proteus spoke. “Keep your sense to yourself. The Gods will judge them justly.”

“I’m sure they will,” Synovial agreed. He stopped. It took Grover a moment to realize he had looked past Eros and upwards to him and froze. The trick is to follow the horn.

Synovial, despite lacking a beak, smiled the exact same way as Erion and bowed with a flourish. “I greet you, Kaiser of Griffonkind.” His fez swirled around his horn in a jaunty dance.

“Do not address the Kaiser,” Commander Benito growled, “unless you have permission.”

“I humbly apologize,” Synovial said, rising from the bow.

Eros stood from the chair and turned around. For a split second, something flitted across his brown eyes while his back was turned to the Changelings, but he blinked slowly and pressed his beak to the floor. “Kaiser Grover VI, may I introduce Field Marshal Synovial of House Vesali of Vesalipolis, cousin to the Great Queen Chrysalis.”

“And this is Colonel Thranx Elias zu Eisland,” Synovial said of the Changeling behind him. He stood and twisted his head over a gossamer wing.

Thranx bowed stiffly. “I greet you, Kaiser of Griffonkind.” His right hind leg was still straight; he had to shuffle it to the side.

Grover licked the tip of his broad beak. “I…greet you, honored guests.” What else should I say? He glanced at the holes and swallowed again. “We…have medical staff.”

Synovial tracked his stare, or felt his discomfort, and chittered. “Roll your sleeves down,” he said behind him. “I assure you, gentle Kaiser, he is not wounded.” The fez landed just behind his horn and a green aura tugged the Field Marshal’s leather sleeve up. There was a hole just above his hoof. Now that Grover looked closely, he could see the indents from depressions higher up in the sleeves.

Grover flushed with embarrassment. “I a-apologize, sir.”

“None needed, Kaiser,” Synovial said as if it did not matter. “Come along, Colonel.” Thranx stood and followed, still with a limp. They took up a position along the pillars, disappearing into the shadows and the knights.

Grover was watching their black chitin and coats blend into the darkness for too long. He jumped on the cushion when Archon Eros clacked his beak. The old bird had stood and turned around, leaving his chair behind. He gazed up to the throne with a calm, flat expression.

A maid had once groused that the Archon was the oldest bird in the Reich, and Grover believed it. He was so old that even his brown eyes had seemingly become tinged with gray; his robes were long, flowing, and loose. But despite all of that, his voice was gravelly and strong. “Kaiser Grover VI,” he intoned. “May we begin the proceedings?”

What was I supposed to say? Grover looked over his small glasses to the Lord Commander. Benito raised a paw and bent two fingers in a sweeping gesture. When Erion turned his beak to look at the dog, the Lord Commander scratched his nose and folded his arms behind his back.

“You may begin,” Grover announced. “In my name.” His voice squeaked.

Archon Eros bowed and dipped wings so gray with age they were nearly white. A chorus of clangs resounded on each side of the hall as the dogs and griffons standing guard bowed with him. The other Archons bent their heads at the table, and Proteus clasped his claws before his beak and prayed. Erion mirrored him after a moment, though he rolled his head to the side.

The Lord Commander turned his head and shouted across the hall, “Bring them, Loudbark,” before striding up to the throne and standing beside it. Grover squinted up at the dog, watching his whiskers twitch.

“This will not be long, my Kaiser,” the dog whispered. He barely moved his muzzle.

That is what the old bird said, but the stupid crown is heavy. Grover leaned his head back against the throne and resisted closing his eyes. He shifted the toy knight under his wing, using the little sword to poke him in the side. Proteus’ voice rang out as the massive iron doors swung open at the end of the hall.

“Prelate Michael, announce the accused and their charges.”

Grover watched a griffon step forward into the light spilling from a balcony window and unroll an antiquated scroll. He reared onto his haunches, priestly robe spilling over his paws. The prelate of Arcturius had a sonorous voice more fitting a choir than a trial.

“Gerlach Weijermars, fourth of his name, Grand Duke of Feathisia. Accused of treason and blasphemy against the Trinity.”

With the pronouncement, his wings flapped behind him. Clacking began to emanate from the desks lining the wall beside the balcony. Several students from the colleges in Yale worked typewriters, hunched over with reams of paper stacked beside them. One griffoness reset the stylus after it dinged and waited. Their claws moved faster than a knight swinging a sword.

Two dogs in full plate dragged a tall dark gray griffon with his wings, paws, and claws in chains from the doorway and deposited him on the rug. One put his greave upon the griffon’s back and forced him to kneel to the floor with his beak stabbing into the carpet. The walk took time, and the hall was silent.

Grover recalled his history lessons.

Grand Duke Gerlach IV. Known as “The Silent” for saying few words. Feathisia is your…my…port of trade and only navy since the loss of Skyfall. Gerlach, true to the nickname, said nothing. Grover stared through his thick lenses down at the griffon staring unblinkingly back at him. One of his eyes was milky white and blinded. Fought against the rebellion at sixteen and struck by shrapnel outside his family’s estate.

“Ignatius Bronzefur, first of his name, Count of Bronzehill. Accused of treason and blasphemy against the Trinity.”

A growl went up along both sides of the hall. The next occupant was dragged in, staggering on two paws and half-held up by two knights. Another dog in dark brown fur stalked behind the trio. Grover picked up a low, whimpering whine. The chained dog was all gray with a short muzzle, wider now due to the bruising and bandages around his jaw. His breath came in rapid, short gasps through his nose, and his eyes were wild. The dog did not need to be forced to kneel. He collapsed onto the floor willingly and groveled, trying to clasp his paws together.

The Hound of Bronzekreuz was your father’s friend, ever since his coronation. Your father went to his wedding, and rose from his sickbed to attend the naming of his pups. He was beside your father when the news came from the nurses about your mother.

The dog worked his jaw. “Mer-”

The brown dog in black armor stomped on his tail savagely and cut off the word into a yelp. “Be silent, traitor.”

Bronzehill was given unto the escaped slaves of Diamond Mountain by your ancestor, and your honor guard is formed of the strongest, smartest, and most loyal descendants. Your father fled to them when the revolutionaries stormed Griffenheim, and they fought savagely in their mountains and hills to restore him to his throne.

“Testimony might be hard to hear with that jaw,” Erion commented drolly to Eros. He tipped his beak up to make sure his words carried beyond the table, though he spoke in a tone that suggested the was trying to whisper.

The dog and the griffon had been left with a large space between them, kneeling at the edges of the rug in the center of the hall. Benito waved his arm down to the black-armored dog. “General Loudbark?”

“Aye, Lord Commander,” the dog grunted. He stomped back to the doors and vanished around a corner. The hall was silent for several minutes. Grover rolled the knight between a few feathers and pinched his eyes shut.

“Archon,” a voice called out.

Grover opened his eyes.

A knight stood in the open doorway, holding his helmet in his claws. “She is rending her dress to shreds. She wishes to walk herself.”

“Allow it,” Archon Eros crowed back. He snapped his beak. “Tell Loudbark to quiet her if she speaks. Gently, as befitting her nature.”

The knight nodded and replaced his helmet. The griffon lowered the scroll and waited, looking to Archon Proteus. He unrolled it fully at the echo of clanking chains, and took a deep breath.

“Gabriela Eagleclaw, first of her name, the Duchess of Strawberry.”

Grover’s aunt entered before the charges could be read, forcing the dogs escorting her to step quickly to match her pace. Grover stared down at her, but her purple eyes were pinned somewhere below him. She was strawberry-pink; feathers and fur stuck out from tears in a flowing green dress stained with dirt at the frills. Chains across her wings kept her from preening, and her steps were jittery. She stretched the chains on her yellow claws to the limit and moved as if she was on the ballroom floor.

Prelate Michael did not read the charges. He stared over the top of the scroll at her, and the noise of her chains filled the hall. She stopped short of the other two, standing behind them, then sniffed and turned her head to the prelate.

“Accused of treason, Maar worship, blasphemy, sabotage, murder, fornication out of wedlock, and conspiracy to commit regicide,” the prelate read aloud in his sing-song. He snapped the scroll shut.

Gabriela Eagleclaw remained standing, and the dogs at her wings hesitated to force her down. She regarded them coolly and raised an eyebrow, swiveling her cool eyes to the table. “You want to add ‘steals candy from orphans,’ Eros?”

General Loudbark stepped around the other dogs from behind her and raised his gauntlet. Gabriela swiveled her head to him and opened her beak. He slapped her across the face before she could say another word. Grover flinched as the strike sent her reeling and she tripped over her chains to the floor. She cried out with a long, low shriek.

He closed his eyes again and pinched the knight against his side.

Gabriela Eagleclaw is your father’s cousin…not quite your Aunt, my Kaiser. The Eagleclaws have always been your strongest supporters. Their vineyards made the Herzland rich for centuries, and they have never wavered in their loyalty since Grover the Great.

Auntie Gabriela sobbed again on the floor. “Is that how you treat a griffoness?”

“How I treat a whor-” the dog cut himself off with a bark.

“Let them stand,” Eros sighed.

There was another keening sob underneath the clanking of chains. With his eyes closed, Grover listened as the prisoners were steadied on their limbs and the guards stepped back. Swords and leather holsters rustled along the walls, and there was low murmuring. There was also a strange, hissing chitter in an unfamiliar tongue coming from near the pillars.

Auntie Gabriela sobbed again and drowned it out. The wide doors clanged shut at the end of the hall, and the murmurs subsided. Only the crying carried.

“Enough, Gabby,” Erion chuckled. “Save them for the actual event. There are no cameras here.”

The crying stopped. Grover opened his eyes. His aunt sniffled again, standing straight and craning her neck around the room. Her eyes swept over the guards impassively before she turned her head to the Archons. Her fur was matted under her eyes, smudging old mascara. Her stare was cold and disdainful; she cocked her head.

“Are you the judge and jury?” she said to Erion.

“The Gods shall judge you,” Proteus answered instead. “As we are their representatives on this world, we shall judge you in their stead.”

“Do they not judge a liar?” Gabriela asked. She jerked her head at Erion. “We had an agreement.”

“I did warn you not to trust me,” Erion said slyly. He picked at a talon with his knife, then shook the blade at her. “I am sorry that your boytoy overextended his lines. It was just too tempting an opportunity.”

Auntie Gabriela exhaled through her nostrils and clacked her beak. “May I request clarification on the charges?”

“You may not,” Eros stated flatly. He folded his claws on the table. “This is a formality. Your guilt is plain.”

“My guilt?” Gabriela asked. “What of yours?” She looked around. “I see no nobility here, only thugs in armor and sniveling sycophants in robes. You have destroyed the Reich. Where is Baron Leer of Angriver? Or even Diellza?”

“The Mad Monarch of Katerin would have already lobbed off your head to make a friend for that skull she carried around!” Erion screeched. “Poor show, Gabby.”

“She is dead, then?” Gabriela asked. “Such is the fate of those who capitulated quietly to you.”

“Baron Leer still rules,” Eros said, “under the guidance of the Trinity and the Archonate. As does Erebus, though he is now a Duke for his loyalty.”

“You have no moral standing here,” Proteus snarled. “Look to your own sins before you cast a stone. All of you waged war against good griffons, and dragged more good griffons into your madness.”

“It should be said,” Eros interrupted, “you are standing for your entire family.” There was a pause. “All of you.”

“Read, Prelate Michael,” Proteus ordered.

“Regina Eagleclaw, Gavin Reijemars, Barnaby Bronzefur, Margaret Bronzefur-”

“My nephew had nothing to do with this,” Gerlach forced out. His voice was heavy and broken. “Leave the boy be.” Ignatius whined and mumbled and agreement. The dog fell to his knees again to plead, but was hauled up with a stumble.

“They have all been arrested and charged with treason,” Eros continued. “We are not without mercy. They live under house arrest, not the Black Cells.”

Gabriela’s eyes were hooded and she gazed at the rug. “You are low, Eros. Unworthy of a name to do with love.”

“And yet I am still higher than you, Gabriela,” Eros snarled. The old bird stood in his chair and extended his wings. “You, who brought murder and war and death to our homes, carried on a swift wind.”

Gabriela looked up, and looked past Eros. Grover blinked and stared at her enlarged expression. Her eyes shimmered as she stared up at him, and her cheeks pulled into a sad frown. “Grover…”

“Do not speak to the Kaiser,” Benito snarled in warning.

“Everything I did, I did for you,” Auntie Gabriela pleaded. “Please, know that. No matter-”

Loudbark punched her in the back of the head, and this time the cry of pain was all to real, as was the blood on his gauntlet. Red droplets speckled the fringes of her head feathers. The hall descended into snarls, screeches, and shouts.

“Stop!” Grover screamed out. His voice cracked again, high and reedy. He leaned too far forward on the throne and titled his beak down to the dog. “Stop it!”

Loudbark hesitated and stepped back.

Grover took too deep a breath and clutched the toy knight in his claws. Even with his glasses, his eyesight was blurry. His head lolled to the side too far.

Grover felt the Reichstone’s padding slip past his feathers. He scrabbled his claws upwards, dropping the toy knight. It plinked on the stairs and tumbled downwards. The Reichstone bounced against his grasping talons, and the stupid slick jewels slid away. The crown fell and tumbled down the stairs with a series of padded thuds as it impacted the carpet. It rolled to a stop behind the old bird’s chair.

He stared at his dumb clumsy claws and tried not to cry in front of everyone. A shadow crested his beak and the Lord Commander gently pushed him back into the throne. “It’s alright, my Kaiser,” the dog whispered.

“I dropped it,” Grover said stupidly.

“No harm,” the dog assured him. “It was reinforced with Bronzehill metal long ago.” The dog opened his coat and fished out a square cloth. He rubbed it against Grover’s glasses and cleared them. Grover frowned at the strange, boxy pistol hanging beside a standard-issue Reichsarmee sidearm in one of his large pockets. The dog pulled back and folded his coat closed.

Grover VI realized the hall was staring at him. He licked the end of his beak. “I apologize,” he said to no one in particular. The old bird, Archon Eros, had stood and retrieved the crown. He held it in his claws, turning it over to see a gash in the padding beneath the edge.

“There is nothing to forgive,” the old bird said in a loud voice.

Erion leaned back in his chair to eye the crown. “Lazy servants,” he crowed. “Make the crown fit the Kaiser, as they say.”

As who says?

“Lord Commander Benito, return the Kaiser his crown,” Eros ordered. He held it out with both claws. The dog stepped down from the throne to accept it, pausing at a faint clattering as he stepped down.

Grover sniffled and watched the toy knight sail down the steps, kicked by the Lord Commander’s boot. It skittered under the table and stopped against a leg, finally rolling out of sight. The dog’s ears twitched and he ignored the noise before taking the crown from Eros’ claws.

Lord Commander Benito set it back upon Grover’s head then stood beside the throne with his paws crossed behind his back. His brown muzzle was raised high with utter solemnity. Eros bowed his head to Grover. “May we resume, my Kaiser?”

He turned back around before Grover could respond and settled back into his chair. Auntie Gabriela had stood again, head twitched to the side. She rubbed at her wrists and the manacles shackling her claws together. A pink feather fell from her head, broken quill red at the very end.

“General Loudbark,” Eros called out, “enough discipline.” The dog nodded with his tail tucked between his legs and slunk towards one of the pillars.

Auntie Gabriela exhaled with a croon. “You dishonor yourself, dog.”

“Do not speak of honor, Eagleclaw,” Proteus chided. “You forsook yours when you raised your banner against your sovereign.”

“I raised it against Eros,” Gabriela retorted.

“Ah,” Erion sighed. “Against the griffon chosen to be Boreas’ representative on this world? That is so much better.”

“Is that your defense?” Eros asked.

“Is this a trial?” Gabriela responded with a squawk. “There are no noble houses here. There are boys in robes and metal plate.” She turned a purple eye back to Loudbark. “And dogs.”

“This is not a civil matter,” Eros deadpanned. “This is an inquisition to assess the guilt of those accused of crimes against the Gods.”

Gabriela lowered her head and mouthed something to the carpet.

“Speak louder, Gabby,” Erion requested with a smile in his voice. “I wish to hear your heresy.”

The pink griffon ran a few talons over her green dress, then looked to the griffon and dog beside her. Her head stayed down. Duke Gerlach had moved towards her after the strike, but the other Ironpaws had restrained him by the wings. Count Ignatius remained on the floor in a quivering bow. Auntie Gabriela raised her cold purple eyes from the floor to the old bird.

“I made war against you, Peter. Not the Gods. Or the Kaiser.” Her wings strained against the chains wrapped around her sides, so she cast her head about the hall. “To avoid this.”

Grover frowned. Peter? The old bird was technically the seventh to be called ‘Eros.’ Archons took on a new name when they were chosen to be the representative of the Trinity.

Eros chuckled with a creaky voice. “You say it like a curse. You were not even a seed when I left that name behind. All of you made war against the Griffonian Reich. That cannot be denied. We had hoped that time would make you reflect on the reasons for your heretical actions.”

“Time in the Black Cells?” Gabriela asked with clear disdain. “We are not common thugs.”

“You are,” Erion replied. “Your titles and assets have been stripped while you languished in the dark. The temples have the power now, dear Gabby.”

Gabriela rolled her eyes. “Given to the Orders? The Duchy of Strawberry was named by drunken ‘knights’ of that caliber, but nobles were what made it great. Carefully curated bloodlines like the vineyards they stewarded.”

She raised her manacled claws together and the chain pulled taut. “I saw your path in the regency. You stirred the commongriff with empty promises of belief and bread while empowering your church and zealots. Look to the east. Hellquill and Longsword have fallen apart under your ‘pious’ orders. You think it will be different in the Herzland?”

Eros cocked his head. “Words are wind. What did you promise the commongriff, Gabriela? Strawberries and wine?”

“I cared,” Gabriela snarled. “That is the role of the nobility. To guide-”

“No.” Eros pounded the table. The other Archons startled. “No lies! Do not dare stand there and claim you loved your people. Not after all that you have done to them.”

“I did nothing!” Gabriela crowed back. “You would have them pray away their rights and fear the shadows in the corners of your precious temples!”

“Nothing?” Eros threw his head back and clacked his beak. “Is that what you call the bombs in our factories? The blockade of Griffenheim? The famine in the streets that you crowed was my fault?”

“You cast us out of the regency council,” Gerlach finally said. His voice was slow and somber.

“I recall you stormed out chasing Gabby’s tail,” Erion waved his dagger at the Grand Duke. “Couldn’t stand having to bow to some priests?”

“I do not care for your maneuvers,” Proteus rumbled. The Archon tapped the pommel of his resting greatsword with a talon. “We knew this war was coming.”

“I prayed it would not,” Eros said to the other Archon. He turned back to Auntie Gabriela. “I prayed for Boreas to give you sense.”

“You would have done the same,” Gabriela scoffed.

Eros leaned back in the chair. Grover could not longer see the top of his head when the old bird slouched down. The hall grew very silent. “You were little more than a cub the last time an army marched towards Griffenheim.” The old bird’s voice was a hiss that carried through the hall, a harsh whisper. “I was here. The Temple of Boreas had already been closed due to the riots.”

“I know history,” Gabriela responded in a flat voice.

“Do not speak again unless I allow it,” Eros answered her. “This is your last warning.”

Auntie Gabriela opened her beak again, but whatever she saw in the old bird made her close it with a clack. She looked to the side. From the throne, Grover could not see Archon Eros and was too afraid of knocking his crown off to scooch forward.

“The first to breach the palace did not expect to get in. Whatever plan they had, it fell apart. They tore the gilded frames off paintings, seized silverware, dragged out nobles and servants alike to be lynched from the balconies. Some guards turned on each other as a show of loyalty to the ‘Griffonian Republic.’ I carried our Kaiser through the tunnels with only a single cadet at my side.”

A claw raised from the chair and gestured up to the throne. “Lord Commander Benito and I made it to your father’s relief force. Had the Kaiser been taken that day, a little body would have swung from a rope, no matter what Kemerskai crows in the north now. You grew up in the shadow of what nearly was.”

Eros leaned forward in his seat again. “Tell me, Gabriela Eagleclaw, have you never imagined yourself upon the throne?”

Auntie Gabriela snapped her head up to the throne with cold eyes. Grover flinched at the expression. Benito shifted forward and stood him. He held one paw backwards and gestured for the griffon to lean further back.

“I would have never hurt him,” Gabriela strangled out.

“Your army would have,” Eros replied with absolute certainty. “Storming through the city, flying over the bastion and overwhelming the flying buttresses. Seeing friends fall all around.”

“Or one of your household knights with whispered orders?” Erion guessed. “Your negotiator in Romau assured me Eros could be dealt with discreetly. He is old, after all.”

“That is not what was meant,” Gabriela said. “The conclave could have chosen another due to his advanced age. That is all. There is precedent.”

“One of your liking?” Proteus leaned forward with anger. “You would pervert the will of the Gods? Your father would spit on you, Eagleclaw. Your ancestors look upon your sins in awe.”

Count Ignatius whined on the floor.

“Be silent!” the Lord Commander barked. Grover flinched at the iron in his voice. “You made dog kill dog as in Diamond Mountain! You are not worthy of breathing the same air as our Kaiser!”

“I was misled!” the count howled on the floor. “Forgive me, my Kaiser!”

“Do not speak!” Benito snarled. His tail curled with bristled fur, and his knuckles turned white around the hilt of his sheathed sword.

“You will have your chance,” Eros waved a claw to the prone dog. “Help him back to his paws, General Loudbark.”

The dog stomped back over and hauled Ignatius up by the collar of his dirty tunic. His lips curled. “You are even more pathetic than you were when I stormed into the Bronze Council.”

“I thank you for it,” Ignatius wept.

“Many more dogs would have died if not for General Loudbark and the Knights of the Bronze Cross,” Proteus added. “Prelate Gunhild still calms Bronzehill.”

“Your coup was appreciated, Rufus,” Erion said to Loudbark. The dog gave him a withering glare, but checked himself with a snort and shoved Ignatius upright before stalking away. “We should ask the Grand Duke,” Erion continued. “He was Duchess Eagleclaw’s field commander.”

“Gerlach,” Proteus called out, “you fought against the rebellion under your father.”

The storm-gray griffon did not verbally respond, but nodded with resignation.

“You took shrapnel to the eye outside Ravensburg. You know how terrible war is, and there is no war more terrible than a war against kin.” His claw gripped the pommel of his greatsword and he raised it onto the table with one claw, clanging it against the wood. “Your army was three days from Griffenheim before…” Proteus ground his beak. “Bah, say it.”

“Before Field Marshal Synovial rather brilliantly stormed out of Romau and encircled the mass of your infantry with the eager support of the Knights of Eyr,” Erion added teasingly.

“Had that not occurred,” Proteus picked up, “your army would have reached Griffenheim. How would you have taken the city?”

Duke Gerlach looked away with his good eye. “We would have besieged it from the west with artillery to clear the lower sectors and defensive hardpoints. We would have stormed the central section afterwards to take the palace before any escape like the last time.”

“You would have murdered many of the civilians you claim to love so dearly in Feathisia,” Eros observed.

“You did not evacuate them,” Gerlach said.

“To where?” Erion smirked. “Angriver and the forsaken forest? Or the swamps of Katerin?”

“Was Duchess Gabriela aware of this plan?” Eros asked again. Gerlach did not move or reply for several heartbeats, but nodded his head when an Ironpaw stepped forward.

“You know your griffons,” Proteus continued. “And you know the griffons of the capital that your…machinations…were denying food for months. Had the city fell, do you believe you could restore order and secure the palace in time to ensure the safety of the Kaiser?”

“You could have surrendered,” Gerlach countered. “The palace has an internal bastion resistant to sieges. The chances were low.”

“Chances,” Proetus scoffed. “When Grover the Great flew north from Griffenheim, he fell upon the Herzland like holy fire. The Kingdom of Katerin was fat and dissolute, its armies lazy. But the greatest sins were in the temples where the so-called nobles bought their piety and gambled before the Trinity. Boreas charged him to restore the faith of Griffonkind. They were driven out to be hanged from the trees. Do not speak of chance.”

Duke Gerlach’s chains clinked as he tried to flex his wings. He fell silent again and looked down at the floor. Proteus made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat.

“The things we do for love,” Erion trilled. He leaned over to Eros and poorly whispered, “We could consider it an extenuating factor.”

Eros shook his head. “The Duke acted of his own accord, unless he wishes to claim otherwise.” The clacking of the typewriters fell silent as the hall waited.

“Both your families are old and noble,” Proteus told Gerlach. “Did she offer you role as consort in a play for the throne?”

“She asked,” the Duke answered flatly.

“No magic?” Erion wiggled his talons. “No spells? Count Ignatius is one more night in the Black Cells away from claiming dear Gabby danced naked in the moonlight for Maar.” The dog flinched and looked away.

“I would challenge you to combat,” Gerlach said, swinging his eye to the youngest Archon. “You were too much a coward to take the field yourself. Let the Gods prove my innocence.”

“Alas,” Erion rested his beak atop his claws, “I am a priest. You must suffer my cutting jabs with no chance of making me silent.” His head rolled to the typewriters. “Do record that the Grand Duke testified to acting under his own power and threatened the Archon of Eyr, please.”

“Enough about the Gods,” Gabriela sighed. “I do not see them in this hall. I see you, Peter, and I know you would have done the same.”

“I have done the same,” the old bird snarled in a low voice, “to end your madness. The famine that may come will not be blamed on the throne. It was not our forces that burned your vineyards and orchards.”

“How quickly one returns to the barbarians you claim to be beyond,” Erion added.

“I will not see my family’s land be divvied by your theocracy,” Gabriela spat. “Katerin’s fortunes fell low, but not low enough to be split between marauding bands of knights.”

“You speak of ordained griffons,” Proteus warned.

“Hector is good at championing lost causes,” Auntie Gabriela lectured, “not ruling; his attention will be too divided. Erik Grimclaw can only swing a sword. You scorched out the rot and smeared mud atop the burn. Griffons will suffer.”

“And all those poor commongriffs...” Eros' voice pitched upwards with sorrow. “The ones you claim to love. They spoke so highly of you in Strawberry until you burned their homes and villages. Now they stumble through the ashes to our altars seeking a helping claw. And we offer one unto them, as we should.”

“The future of the Reichsarmee,” Gabriela sighed. “You use them far worse than I ever dreamed of.”

“Enrollment is up,” Erion chuckled. “The wolves are at the door.” He flicked out a claw to the chained dog. “Speaking of mutts, Ignatius Bronzefur. What say you to the charges?”

The dog slowly bent his knees and knelt on the floor with his head low. “I was misled. I beg your forgiveness, my Kaiser.” Loudbark snarled before looking to the table.

The Lord Commander’s tail stiffed in front of Grover’s throne. He could look over the tops of his glasses to see the fur bristle and flex. The dog stepped down from the throne towards the desk. “Did you expect us to join in your treason?” Benito asked. The Count’s chains rattled as he shook his head.

“You do not dispute it was treason?” Eros asked in confirmation.

“I grieved him.”

Grover had to cock his head to hear the dog’s whisper. The Reichstone chafed against his feathers. He swung his head back and the bones in his neck popped.

“All dogs grieved the Kaiser,” Loudbark swallowed. “We did not resort to raising our paws against his son.”

Ignatius’ head turned to the pink griffoness, but his eyes were pointed at the floor. “She came to Bronzehill. She whispered in our ears in our grief. Our eyes were too blurry with tears to see the truth. The Bronze Council voted; it was not unanimous.”

Grover frowned for a moment. Un-ani-mous. Not…together? Some voted no. His language tutor was not present, and all his lessons had been cancelled for the week.

Erion was inspecting his talons again. “Do you believe she cast spells?”

Auntie Gabriela sighed. “The only spell I would cast would be one for your silence.”

“You were not supposed to talk out of turn,” Erion quipped back.

Eros waved a wing in dismissal. “I would hear your answer for the record.”

Ignatius swallowed and his whiskers twitched along his muzzle. The dog looked very tired, and very afraid, but something in his eyes hardened. “I…I would ask what happened with the crown our smiths made. We poured our grief and heartbreak into it. It was meant for the Kaiser.”

Grover reached up and poked at one of the emeralds on the Reichstone. Was it going to be heavier? If the dogs poured their tears into it, it would certainly be heavier. Bronzehill always entered a period of Great Mourning with the death of every Kaiser.

“It was sold.” Eros folded his claws on the table. “Disassembled into the jewels. Is that what Gabriela Eagleclaw told you to sway you to her side? That I disrespected Bronzehill’s grief while lining the coffers of our temples?”

Ignatius swung his head between the Archon and Auntie Gabriela. His muzzle creased deeply and his whiskers drooped. “It was delivered to the Temple of Boreas at the funeral…” he trailed off.

“Delivered to an agent of Gabriela Eagleclaw herself. Dismantled and auctioned to fund her war.” Erion’s voice was sad, but there was a mocking lilt at the end of his sentences.

“That is a lie!” Gabriela screeched. Her voice echoed across the hall. Her wings strained against her chains. “I would never! It was in the claws of your priests, Peter!”

“And we have established that some priests can be bought,” Eros remarked. “We have written orders and receipts. Found at your estate.”

Gerlach and Ignatius looked to the griffoness between them, just for a moment, before looking away. Gabriela’s beak twisted and she raised her head to the domed ceiling. She took a ragged breath. “And these priests? The ones…under my employ?”

“We will hear their testimony shortly,” Eros answered. “They have fallen to their knees before the Gods and begged for mercy. You may receive the same, Gabriela.”

“The Gods are just,” Proteus intoned.

“And merciful,” Erion said from the other side. “We have not yet asked Regina what she knows of your schemes. We may.”

“Are you willing to receive their forgiveness?” Eros questioned. “Do you acknowledge your sins, Gabriela Eagleclaw?” His voice tightened and Grover was unsure why. “Do you acknowledge all your sins?”

Auntie Gabriela, Duke Gerlach, and Count Ignatius were silent.

“This is your legacy, Gabriela Eagleclaw,” Eros began. “Kemerskai in the north, the Aquileian Republic returned to the south, Ghislain’s niece controlling Skyfall at the coast. All of them,” the Archon spat, “crows circling to feast upon all our corpses while you play for the throne like the petulant cub you are! You saw all of this and still you persisted! What else could you call it but blasphemy?”

“Hubris,” Proteus agreed, “but perhaps a series of small steps leading to a great fall. You could rise again if you accept the supremacy of the Gods.”

“As the gathered Archons of the Trinity,” Erion picked up, “we stand as their representatives upon this world. Will you let Eyr, Arcturius, and Boreas into your heart? Will you prostrate yourself before the Gods?”

Ignatius, already on his knees, fell forward silently. He clasped his chained paws above his head. “I ask for mercy, though I deserve none.” The dog’s voice was utterly broken.

Gerlach shuffled his claws. He finally made eye contact with Gabriela, fully turning his head. She stared back, then shut her eyes and bowed her head. She remained standing while he knelt, then bowed.

“I ask for mercy, though I deserve none,” Grand Duke Gerlach sighed. His voice caught. “I…I plead for the soul of Gabriela Eagleclaw.”

“That is up to her own repentance,” the old bird responded.

Auntie Gabriela opened her eyes and stared blankly across the hall at Eros. Her beak was expressionless with no hint of movement on her cheeks. She stood like a statue with even her wings and tail still. Her eyes flicked up, and Grover tried to meet her pupils, but she was staring above him.

The crown. Grover sniffled and leaned back. He swung his tail up between his paws and pinched the puffball at the end. No one reacted to the seven-year-old Kaiser playing with his tail like a newborn cub.

“I am guilty of all you claim,” Gabriela said in a toneless cadence. “I’ll speak slowly so your scribes can keep up.” She waited until a few typewriters dinged. “I flashed my tail to the Grand Duke and I danced naked in the moonlight in my vineyards. I prayed to Maar and drew a sigil in my bedroom. Whatever else you found in my estate, I plead no contest to. I whispered lies to the Kaiser’s loyal dogs. I ordered bombings in factories. I ordered the assassination of priests.

“I spoke to Erion so he would betray you. I promised him riches and Romau. I coveted the throne. I would have locked my rightful Kaiser away in a tower until he grew weak and addled, then crowned myself Kaiserin and had any griffon I please as consort.”

The typewriters stopped. Auntie Gabriela remained standing with her blank expression. Grover heard the words. Words are wind. He repeated the saying a hundred times until it did not hurt.

“Come on, Gabby,” Erion groaned. He sounded annoyed for the first time. “Bend that stiff neck.”

“You mock this court with a false confession,” Proteus rumbled. “You believe none of it.”

“Do you?” Gabriela asked him back.

“The Gods know your heart,” Proteus answered. “We are griffons, imperfect vessels all.”

“You have your confession to be printed,” Gabriela shook her head. “That is all you need. You have no cameras here. You should have had us bow before them.”

“There will be a public display of penance after this,” Eros said. He had to pause to take a breath and suppressed a cough. “This is, as you say, a formality.”

“Then may I ask a question without your infernal scribes?” Gabriela said. “Just a single one. One scrap of honesty in this hall.”

“The Gods do not answer to you,” Eros said with amusement, “no matter how badly you might wish them to.” He snapped his talons. “Prelate Michael, cease.”

The white-robed priest signaled the desks along the wall to lift their claws and wait. Benito shifted beside Eros’s chair and whispered something, but Eros waved him away. “Ask, Duchess.”

“Would it matter if I bowed?” Auntie Gabriela said to the old bird. She cocked her head and waited.

Eros laughed. It was a dark, cold laugh, and it cut off suddenly. He turned in his chair, beak twisting back to Grover, then his head snapped forward again to face the griffoness. “I judged that you would still preen your wings above the Gods when you walked into this hall. And you do. So, I suppose it does not.”

Auntie Gabriela smiled and bowed on the floor, looking up to the old bird. “I will see you in Maar’s Hell, Peter.”

The old bird did not laugh this time; he sighed and fanned a wing to the typewriters. The other two griffon seated beside him straightened in their chairs and clasped their claws before them. It struck Grover as odd, like they had become statues or paintings and ceased to be the griffons they were a moment ago.

“Gabriela Eagleclaw, Gerlach Weijermars, and Ignatius Bronzefur,” the old bird stated, “you are guilty of treason against the throne of Griffonkind. Your titles and privileges are forfeit. We, the Archons of the Trinity before the Kaiser of Griffonkind, judge you guilty of heresy.”

The griffon, griffoness, and dog looked up from the floor to the three seated representatives of the Trinity. Grover flinched at the utter despair in Ignatius’ eyes.

“The light of Boreas does not shine upon you,” Archon Eros stated.

“The winds of Arcturius do not lift your wings,” Archon Proteus continued.

“The rain of Eyr does not fall upon your beak,” Archon Erion finished with an audible smirk. “Gabriela Eagleclaw, Gerlach Weijermars, and Ignatius Bronzefur: You are excommunicated. Your public penance will commence shortly.”

“Remove them from this hall,” Eros ordered Loudbark. “If she speaks, bind her beak.”

“Gladly,” the dark dog huffed. He motioned for the Ironpaws to haul the prisoners up from their bows. The armored dogs closed in around them.

Grand Duke Gerlach pushed himself to his paws and leaned to the side towards the griffoness. Before Auntie Gabriela could turn, a dog stepped between them and another hauled on the griffon’s wing. Gerlach stumbled back and away from her.

Gabriela Eagleclaw looked up to the throne, and Grover looked away. He exhaled through his nose. She invoked Maar, he thought. He is evil. Maar was the reason all things bad in the world happened, like the day his father died or his mother never recovered. There were other reasons, more worldly ones, but the ill winds were blown from his realm.

Loudbark planted a paw on the nape of Auntie Gabriela’s neck and forced her head down. “You are unworthy,” the dog growled. “Test me, witch.”

Grover focused on one of the balcony windows with blurry lenses while they were led from the room. The stained glass depicted the Battle of Azincork on the Aquileian periphery. Grover the Great stood surrounded on all sides, commanding a square tercio while holding the Idol of Boreas aloft in one claw. In the hall, many of the knights went with the dogs, and the far tables clattered as the scribes gathered the papers together.

“She is banking on our reluctance to punish a griffoness,” Erion drawled.

“Your commentary was unneeded,” Eros snapped back in a low voice.

“As if the transcripts will not pass your diligent claws,” Erion replied with casual confidence. His voice perked up and the chair legs screeched as he stood. “Please! I am sure you grow tired of standing!”

A dual-toned voice laughed back in strange Herzlander. “Reminds me of home.”

Grover looked back to see the changeling with the fez approaching the Archons with clacking hooves. His purple eyes were bright and seemed to glow when the light caught them. “I daresay Eagleclaw could be quite the queen back home,” the changeling continued. “Not the heights of my cousin, of course, but her ambition oozes from her feathers.”

“She certainly tried to be,” Erion agreed. Grover folded his arms and slouched further into the throne. It is already too big. Maybe I can just disappear.

“My knights were among the first to reach her estate,” Proteus interrupted. “We found no evidence you claim.”

“Arcturians aren’t known for their reading comprehension,” Erion quipped back. He raised a claw preemptively. “Peace, friend. Eros’ agents found all the evidence we need.”

Proteus ground his beak together and tapped the pommel of the greatsword atop the table. “There were grounds for their punishment regardless.” He purred. “And penance.”

“They might be more useful…” Erion trailed off with a roll of his eyes to the throne. “Well, as they are now instead of a little shorter or with new necklaces.”

Proteus flexed his wings. “You advocated the opposite earlier.”

“They still have too much support and too much knowledge,” Erion defended. “I consider all angles before making a decision.”

“Is that why it took you so long during the war?”

“You fight one battle in front of you.” Erion waved a claw. “I fight every battle, everywhere. It is probably best that we proceed as planned. We could even go further and make a new Bronzehill out of Strawberry.”

“You overreach,” Eros said to him. “This is not done lightly.”

“Come now,” the younger griffon chided. He walked around the table to stand beside the changeling. “I have Republican agents hanging in Romau’s square without all this farce.”

“When history looks back at this moment,” Eros answered in a stern, hard squawk, “it will not be the church stamping on the nobility’s wings. It will be treason and heresy, and it will be done with the laws of Gods and griffons.” His beak swung to the changeling, but he said nothing.

Field Marshal Synovial’s horn glowed and he bumped his fez against his horn, scratching the felt on one of the jagged edges like he was removing an itchy feather. His smile was wide and easy as he faced the table. “If there is any issue with extracting confessions again, we stand ready-”

“Unneeded,” Proteus growled.

Synovial flashed his fangs in a wide smile. “As you wish, Archon. My changelings tell me the knights fought well and hardly needed any assistance.”

“Pride is a sin as well,” the white-furred griffon replied.

“It tastes rather spicy to us.”

Erion laughed, high and squawking. “That’s enough, friend. Step out of reach from Proteus’ little toothpick.” The other Archon still had his claw on the pommel of the greatsword. Erion nudged the changeling aside. “Your scathing commentary is best saved for the soiree. You are my guest of honor.”

Synovial nodded; he brushed the tassel of his fez to the other side of the red cap with a flick of his horn. “I will await you at the doors, Archon.” He stalked across the hall alone, pausing once to regard the murals on the iron doors from afar. Grover wasn’t sure and had to squint, but his muzzle seemed to curl in a suppressed laugh.

Erion leaned on the table. “I can soothe his prickly pride,” he said in a lower voice without the gaiety. “Constrain yours and channel less of Arcturius, hmm?” The knife reappeared from the swirl of his robes and he twirled the blade before it plunged back into his sleeves. “We remain in agreement?”

“Just so,” Eros clacked his beak.

“I am considering their testimony,” Proteus replied. “Their desire for repentance was genuine.”

Erion rolled his eyes. “The Bronze Council feared the loss of privileges just as the Feathisian Parliament. Ignatius weighed his friendship and found it wonting, just as the Grand Duke. They are attempting to dodge responsibility, and poorly. Besides, she damned us to Maar’s Hell. What more do you want?”

“They could make up their sin on the battlefield,” Proteus answered in a contemplative tone. “The Arcturian Order began that way according to the tales.”

Erion cocked his head. “We can hold Margaret, Regina, and Gavin here while they administer their land under the guidance of the temples, true. Or we give them the resources to plot and scheme. But…it is not as if the criticisms of our little theocracy are baseless. My lovely Romau struggles despite my diligence.”

“You advocated otherwise most strongly in our prior deliberations,” the old bird huffed.

“You flit with the wind,” Proteus insulted Erion more directly. “Is this why it took you so long to choose a side?”

“I consider all options,” Erion drawled. A talon poked the tip of the sword on the table and he shook his claw. "And the victory wrought by the changeling’s pride was worth it, no? They will win their Great War, and an alliance could be found in the future. Speaking of which, I need to chaperone him. Their ridiculous names are hard on the beak.”

Erion pushed himself off the table without bowing and met the changeling at the doors. They walked out together after the Field Marshal retrieved his pistol from the guards. The Archon of Eyr said something that caused a hissing laugh to echo before they vanished.

Proteus stood and slowly sheathed the greatsword between his wings. He twisted his beak to Eros and his blue eyes were dark. “You understand he moves against us?”

“I am old,” Eros snapped with a dry voice, “not blind. I’ll sate his ambition by restoring the old borders, let him play in Romau for the upcoming years. Nothing lasts forever.”

“He will certainly outlast you,” Proteus hummed. “I have no desire for these games. I do not have the mind for it.”

“Are we in agreement?” the old bird asked.

“No,” the other said simply. A blue eye rolled up to the throne and Grover flinched at the searching gaze. “There are other options. Ones less damaging to the soul.”

“Examples must be made at the highest-”

The Lord Commander cleared his throat. Grover blinked and looked to the dog beside the throne, then followed his pointing paw. “Perhaps this is best discussed in private, honored Archons?” the dog suggested.

The other changeling had limped across the rug and waited a good distance away from the table. He had folded his cap into a hole on his leg like it was a pocket, blinking solid blue eyes at the griffons. Grover could not tell where exactly the changeling was staring without pupils. The changeling bent into an awkward bow at the attention.

“Colonel…” Benito paused and his whiskers twitched. “Elias?”

“Thranx Elias zu Eisland,” the changeling repeated. “Thranx is fine, Lord Commander.”

“Approach,” Proteus snapped. His beak swung to the small amount of remaining guards. Many of the staff had departed through side doors, leaving only the Barkingian Guards and a few gold-plated knights along the balconies.

The Arcturian Order, Grover thought. They traded glares with the dogs. None of them look like they were thieves or cut-throats. He imagined Auntie Gabriela in golden armor and shook the image out of his head.

“I apologize for the intrusion,” the changeling repeated. “I wished a word.”

“Your commander has already left,” Eros said patiently. “I have agreed to relocate the attaché back to Griffenheim if that is what the Field Marshal wishes.”

“I wished a word with the Archon of Arcturius,” the changeling elaborated. Grover caught the light in his eyes swiveling to Proteus. Perhaps they do have pupils of a sort. The jagged horn atop his head glowed and a square sheet of paper levitated out of a pocket.

The Archon stared at it blankly until the changeling set it down atop the table and the magic faded. He palmed the paper with a claw and unfolded it. His frowned and wings rustled against his armor. “Explain.”

“It is my understanding that candles are lit for those fallen in war,” the changeling said slowly. A few words caught in Herzlander, and it sounded rehearsed. “It falls under the domain of Arcturius?”

“The temple in Yale,” the griffon said absently. He unfolded the paper and flipped it over. “These are changeling names.”

A gossamer wing buzzed. “Yes. The initial push from Romau was very successful, but…” the changeling trailed off and bit his lip with the left fang. “We lost a few crews closing the pocket.”

“The Trinity are not your Gods,” Proteus said. His voice sounded slightly more comforting. “We respect your rites.”

“There are no rites.” The changeling looked to the side. “I understand, Archon.”

“Hold.” The griffon raised a white wing and set the paper down. “You imply your commander dishonors the fallen?”

The changeling shook his head. “It’s…” A wing buzzed. “It isn’t our way. But they died far from home.”

Proteus tilted his head in consideration, looking at one of the balconies. “Is ‘Elias’ a common name for the Changeling Lands?”

“I am the youngest of seven siblings, and the Great Queen has always been fond of the Griffonian Reich.” The changeling pulled his cap out and toyed with it. Something on the floor caught his attention and he placed it back on his head. “My parents began to run out of names.”

“One of our officers has the name,” Eros cut in. “Benito will be happy to introduce you.” The dog beside Grover nodded and stepped back down from the throne. “If there is anything we can do, we will be happy to discuss it further after the official pronouncements.”

The changeling nodded shallowly and his horn glowed. The paper slowly slid across the table to him. Proteus leaned out and stabbed a talon down, spearing through the edge and pinning it to the table. He did not look to the changeling, but across to Eros.

“There is precedent. One does not have to be a griffon to die in service to the Trinity.” He did not break eye contact with Eros and pulled the paper free with a slight tear. Proteus took a deep breath. “Prelate!”

The white-robed griffon squawked near the typewriters and fumbled with a stack of transcripts. He set them down on a table and rushed over quickly enough that his hat nearly fell from his head. “Honored Archon?”

Proteus held the paper out without breaking his stare. “Telegram Yale, Prelate Michael. Be sure not to misspell the names. The candles at the base of the main altar, if there is room. I wish them lit before tomorrow’s antiphon.”

The prelate accepted the paper with a worried glance between the two Archons. “Just so. Will there be anything else?”

Eros opened his beak, but Proteus answered first. “No.” He replaced his gauntlets, broke eye contact, and stood. The tall armored griffon rounded the table to stand before the throne.

The changeling shuffled to the side with a limp.

“I would not wish offense on our ally,” Eros stressed.

“What offense?” Proteus shrugged his wings. “We honor their sacrifice as if it was our own who fell. I am sure the Field Marshal will be honored.” He swung around and circled his tail in the air. A knight began to walk the great hall with the Archon’s helmet under a wing. “Or perhaps he will not care and make japes with Erion. It matters not.”

“Perhaps we should not flaunt our ally’s suffering dead as a political move,” Eros said. His voice was cold. “We can discuss this later.”

Proteus took the helmet and held it in his claws. “I doubt the Great Queen’s cousin thinks much of their suffering, if he thinks of them at all. I made my decision; matters such as this are my concern, not yours, Archon of Boreas. Their names will not be sung. A few candles join the others already burning. Most will never notice.”

“Then the display has no purpose,” Eros snarled. His voice was raspy.

The changeling near the Archon of Arcturius shuffled his hooves closer to the table. “I do not wish to cause a disturbance.”

“How badly were you hit?” Proteus asked him. "Your limp is noticeable."

The changeling’s ears wiggled under the cap, pressing back and against the fin atop his head. “Passed through a hole and grazed it. Leg injuries tend to heal slowly.”

The Archon loosed a rumbling purr. He looked to the old bird, the last one at the table. “You refer to honoring the dead as a ‘display.’ I find that I have no patience for more 'displays' today. Do what thou wilt, Archon of Boreas.” The griffon placed his helmet atop his head and signaled his knights with both wings. They marched out with a clank of steel beside him, and the dogs let them pass.

The old bird rested his beak in his claws. Grover shuffled in his throne, barely able to hear a muttered series of words. It did not sound like a prayer. The throne and hall were now only guarded by a few dogs. The balconies were closed off and the hour was late. The sunset filtering through the windows tapered away and cast half the hall in gloom.

“If there was nothing else,” the old bird raised his beak, “there is much to be done.”

“I apologize,” the changeling cringed. "I will take my leave." His horn glowed. The little toy knight landed on the table encased in green magic. “I suppose this is not yours, honored Archon?”

Eros stared at the toy for a moment, then turned around and looked up at the throne.

Although the throne was too large, Grover could not hide in it. He wrung his claws together and played with his sash. A wing lifted in front of his beak. It was beyond childish, and Grover knew it. Idiot. You want everyone to think you are a cub?

“I am not mad, my Kaiser,” the old bird said. “I understand such things are boring.” Claws padded on the rug and up the steps. Grover lowered his wing to see Eros before the throne with a smile.

“Toys are best left in the toy chest,” the old bird said in a kind voice. He offered the knight back with one claw, holding it upright upon his palm. “You wouldn’t want to lose such a fine knight as this, yes?”

“Just so,” Grover said quietly. He took Auntie Gabriela’s birthday gift and tucked it back under his wing. “I am sorry, Archon Eros.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Eros insisted. “Come, the servants prepared a meal in your chambers. That is enough for today.” He lifted his wing and waited.

There is another announcement.

Grover was not stupid.

Auntie Gabriela was sent away.

His tutors crowed that he already read books for twice his age.

They are going to kill her like that other griffon.

“You can’t kill her,” Grover said aloud in the most authoritative voice he could muster. It cracked. He sat up straighter on the throne and the Reichstone tilted precariously.

Eros’ smile strained and his plumage flattened atop his head. “My Kaiser…”

“I wish for her pardon,” Grover continued. “And Uncle Gerlach and Uncle Ignatius.”

“They are not your uncles,” the old bird said in a shorter voice. “Did Gabriela tell you they were? Look how much they cared for you. For your empire.”

“Kinslaying is a sin,” Grover replied, and felt very proud at the blink from the old bird. I paid attention.

“My Kaiser,” Eros tried again.

“It will be done in my name,” Grover answered before he could say more. “I will take them under my wing-”

“No,” Eros glared. “That is enough, my Kaiser.”

Grover shut his beak and shuffled back on the throne.

The old bird took a deep breath and sat on his haunches. When he opened his eyes again, he seemed calmer. “They have been excommunicated and denied the light of Boreas. They are kin to none. My Kaiser, this is no different than Ferdinand Dawnclaw. They wished you harm just the same.”

Grover twitched and looked down to the Lord Commander. Benito’s fur bristled and he tapped the hilt of his sword with a troubled look. “Had they breached the palace, I would have faced them just as I faced the albino traitor,” the dog announced. "The dogs of Bronzehill had no stomach for this, it is true, but Gerlach led his forces towards Griffenheim just as Kemerskai. And Dawnclaw reached the palace himself."

“And he was hanged with his one remaining wing, excommunicated and alone,” Eros finished. “He wanted you dead just the same as they wanted you dead.”

Grover’s wing tightened against the toy and he shook his head. “No…”

“Yes,” Eros’ voice lingered. “I am sorry, my Kaiser.”

Grover said the first thing to come to mind. “Auntie Gabriela wouldn’t hurt me.”

“Perhaps not now, not in a year, not in five,” Eros calmly began, “but when you turned older? Her line is old and established, as is Gerlach’s. I knew your father’s regency council. Not all began as the proud, arrogant griffons that brought your empire from the sky to the ground. They began as good griffons."

The old bird clasped his claws together. “But they were tempted, and they did not offer their temptations to the Gods and pray for forgiveness. It grew in them like a sickness, and it consumed them from the inside out. They brought suffering and death, and griffons blamed your father for it. What they brought upon us cannot be forgiven in this world. Only the Gods may grant them solace.”

Like father? Grover sniffled. A sickness inside? “She wouldn’t hurt me.” His voice was cracked again.

“She already has,” Eros stated softly. “Your empire is bleeding. Thousands of griffons are gone to the Gods like your father. All for her.”

The Kaiser tried to think of a response. He failed. Grover was just a stupid cub and began to cry atop the throne.

Eros laid his claws on his Kaiser’s shoulders and shushed him. “Lord Commander, please see our Kaiser to his quarters.” His voice was soft and warm. “I swear to you, my Kaiser, if there was another path we would fly it. None here desired this.”

Boots padded up the throne, and Grover removed his classes and wiped the frames on his shirt. He sniffled again and gnashed his beak. Kaisers don’t cry. Stupid. Stupid. The little toy knight jabbed his side and he let the tiny sword poke him again.

“Should I,” the dog’s voice was hesitant, “should I escort our guest out first?”

Eros’ eyes clouded and he turned away from the throne. Grover squinted at the blurry black figure standing before the table. The head had turned to the side, staring at a pillar.

“Yes,” Eros ordered the dog. “I am sure Field Marshal Synovial is wondering where you are, Colonel.”

“He tends to forget I’m here,” the changeling replied with a shrug of his forehoof. His head had turned back to the front, though Grover could only make out two blue balls where his eyes were and a mouth.

The Kaiser of Griffonkind hooked his glasses back on and took a shuddering breath. “I am s-sorry, sir.”

The changeling did not respond for a moment. A wing shifted against his uniform. "If I may..." the changeling swallowed and a forked tongue licked his left fang. He continued before the dog or griffon said anything. "Your aunt truly believes she did this for you."

Eros fully turned away from the throne. "And that is a lie," the Archon interrupted.

"Yes," the changeling agreed, "but she believes it. People can believe things that aren't true. And they can lie to themselves. She needs to believe she did this for more than herself."

The old bird and the dog did not respond. For the first time, Grover sensed the changeling was staring directly at him. "But she is not lying about loving you."

Grover looked down to his left wing and the toy knight between his pinions. The crown slid further off his head, and he pushed it back with both claws. Eros descended from the throne. “Thank you,” his voice was strained, “for the assessment. The Lord Commander will see you out.”

“Of course,” the changeling answered in a flat voice. “I meant no offense, honored Archon.”

Eros dipped his head and Benito stepped around the table. He clapped a paw on the changeling’s back, right between his wings and helped turn him around. They took several steps in unison.

Grover licked the edge of his beak. Knight. Toy. Gift… He raised his head. He crowed out, “I wish to thank your Great Queen for her birthday present!”

Benito stopped and removed his paw. Colonel Thranx turned around and looked to the dog. The Lord Commander waved his paw. “The finest steel running roughshod over Equestria, Kaiser Grover!” the changeling called back.

Grover looked to the old bird and saw his squint of dismay, but pressed forward. “I…uh, I had some difficulties driving it. The tank was not designed for paws and claws.”

“It is easier when the entire crew has a horn, Kaiser.” The changeling raised a hoof to step forward back to the throne, but looked to the Archon and did not move further. “I will convey your personal gratitude to Field Marshal Synovial, and from him to the Great Queen.”

“I would like your assistance if you have the time,” Grover suggested.

“I am sure Colonel Thranx is quite busy,” Eros said. He did not turn back to the throne, still looking over the hall and at the changeling.

“He is injured,” Grover said to the old bird. “And if they stay in Griffenheim for now, why not?” He pointed at the Lord Commander and thought about the changeling’s wording. “Please convey my request to Field Marshal Synovial.”

The dog looked between the throne and the priest, then clapped his paw atop the changeling’s back. “As you say, my Kaiser. It will be done.” He turned the changeling back around.

Archon Eros approached the throne with weary eyes. He stared at Grover, and Grover stared back this time. Just before the little Kaiser flinched, the priest heaved a great sigh and deflated. He called out, “Lord Commander?”

The two paused at the doors. Benito was speaking with a trio of dogs and holding a pistol in a paw. He raised his empty paw to his ears.

“Tell the heralds to hold off on announcements,” the old bird shouted. His voice broke and he coughed. “We may yet make some changes.” He thumped a claw to his breast and cleared his throat.

The dog barked in acknowledgement.

Eros lifted a wing and held it up. “Come, my Kaiser. Let your Reich see you for a moment on the way to your quarters.” Grover shuffled off the throne and tucked the toy knight in a pocket. Despite his frame, he still had to duck the crown under the Archon's white wing. He walked under the Archon’s wing across the hall, feeling his head loll from the crown. The remaining dogs formed a square at the doors and waited.

The changeling and the dog walked out the door. Benito coughed into a paw. “Forgetting something?” The changeling stopped in the marble hallway and buzzed a wing against his empty flank holster.

Thranx laughed, voice echoing against the walls. “Great Queen, I’d forget that damn thing if it wasn’t strapped to my side.” His horn glowed for a moment, then he caught himself. “Do you mind?”

Benito held out the pistol broomhandle first.

It floated across the gulf in a green aura, then the changeling tucked it back under a wing. “Thank you.”

“Old model,” the dog commented.

“I’ve used it since I joined,” the changeling shrugged. “Feels wrong to replace it. I get that we’re all about modernity, but…”

Benito patted his sword. “I understand. How very…Griffonian of you.”

The changeling licked a fang and brushed his cap back with a chime of magic. “You have a beautiful country. I would like to see Bronzehill one day and compare the caves.”

“Tanks can fit through the tunnels. Perhaps once this is settled.”

The changeling whistled and the noise sounded like a cricket. “Thank you.” He smiled and twisted his head back to Grover. “And you as well, Kaiser Grover. I will be honored to show you how the Great Queen’s gift works.” His eyes flicked to the Archon. "Provided the Field Marshal agrees."

Archon Eros did not reply to him except for a nod of his head. He did not seem happy.

But Kaiser Grover VI smiled back for the first time that night. “T-thank you, sir.”

And Grover von Greifenstein awoke in bed; he laid on his side. A pop hummed in his ears, fading like a distant bell. His vision swam for a moment in the darkness. He blinked rapidly to clear his eyes.

The broomhandle grip came into view on the nightstand. It rested atop the Friendship Journal beside his pair of glasses. Grover reached out and grabbed the pistol first, then the lenses. He rolled with a pop of his wing joints and flared the sheets off the mattress with a pump of his wings.

He sat up on all fours, bringing the pistol up to his beak. It was an old, outdated, and inefficient model. It did not take a proper magazine; it required stripper clips to be loaded top-down into the gun. The handle was not as worn as it should be, used more with telekinesis than claws or hooves. Grover placed his glasses on his head feathers, leaving them up.

The pistol was also boxy and sat poorly in most holsters. The wing holster hanging next to his dresser had to be specially designed to account for the boxy body and narrow barrel. He checked the safety near the hammer. Truly a weapon designed by horns. Grover ran his thumb over the grip before placing the pistol back atop the Friendship Journal.

He stared at both of them long enough he lost track of time.

Someone knocked at the door a floor below of the tower. One of the guards inside the room opened the door and spoke quietly, then padded over to the Kaiser’s bedroom. “My Kaiser?” the dog said softly.

Grover snapped his head away from the gun. “Enter.”

The dog merely cracked the door and poked her muzzle through. “There is a situation.”

Grover waited.

The dog also waited.

Yes, Maar-damn you? “What do you have to report?” he said aloud.

“The Princess is atop the roof, my Kaiser,” the dog whispered quietly.

The pop. Grover stood atop the bed and stepped down with a flex of his wings. He slid his nightshirt on from its crumpled spot on the floor. “Dismissed.” He did not bother to fully button it. Bare paws thudded on the tile and he hitched his pajamas higher. Grover shook his head so his glasses fell to his beak. He pushed them back with a wing.

He moved up the circular staircase to the main floor and the empty shelves. The two guards at the balcony were staring upwards with rustling wings against their armor. Another four dogs waited on the interior. All four clasped paws to their chest.

“We are awaiting a unicorn and sent word to the Princess’ forces.”

Grover yawned. “It’s her.” He looked out the windows past the hourglass. The world had begun to lighten as dawn approached. He rubbed his beak together. “Leave.”

“My…my Kaiser?”

“It is her castle and her aunt’s tower. Leave.” Grover considered grabbing the pistol and holster, but looked up to the roof. He waved his wings for the dogs to step aside.

The two knights on the balcony bowed. Grover jerked his crownless head back to the interior. “Wait inside.” The motion felt smooth and normal; he resisted doing it again.

The knights hesitated longer than the dogs, but slowly slunk inside. Grover motioned with a wing for them to pull the doors shut, then flapped upwards. The top of the tower was bulbous and circular. Grover could not imagine anyone standing atop it comfortably.

Flurry Heart was laying on her side at an angle, facing the east. Of course. She sleeps on crystal bedframes. The castle and the lights of Canterlot framed her muzzle from below. Her fur was a darker color across her muzzle, and the ripples faded from her pink fur.

Grover paused. Her tail and mane swirled around her back and her wings sagged at her sides, but she was naked except for her crown. She also wore the strange timepiece around her neck like a necklace. It obscured her heart and the blue pulse Grover had noticed. He wondered if it was still there.

“I’m sorry if I woke you,” the Princess said in her peasant Herzlander. “Told ‘em I couldn’t sleep.”

Grover landed a wingspan away. “I was awake.” He braced his claws on the side, trying to find a good angle. There wasn’t one.

“You gotta come near the top,” Flurry provided. “I won’t be here long.”

Grover glanced up at her and moved closer to be side-by-side. Their wings nearly brushed together. He looked east with her. She was quiet for a time, and the wind whistled around the tower. A few patrols started to circle beneath them. There were taller spires in Canterlot castle, but Grover realized that this one had the best view of the sunset. He could see a dip in the horizon where a forest used to be.

The Princess’ head lolled to the side. Her muzzle brushed against the top of his head. Grover felt that the fur was wet, even with the light gusts of wind blowing her mane back. She rolled her head back east. “Dawn soon.”

Grover twisted his head to look back over the shadow of Mount Canterhorn. Light had begun to peak around the mountaintop, far from the east. It reflected in his glasses. “She still does that job, I suppose.”

The Princess of Equestria and the Crystal Empire did not answer.

Grover looked back east with her. “If she ever comes back-”

“She won’t. They won’t.”

Grover lowered his beak to the city below them. Battle damage was still evident from where the lights did not shine in the darkness. "I am sorry." She shifted a wing as if it did not matter to her.

Neither said anything. The sun continued to creep over the mountain behind them.

“The frontline is pushing forward,” Grover began. “Queen Velvet and Dragonlord Ember will make landfall in Olenia in a week’s time. We are winning this war. They could have won it too.”

“Not the way they wanted to win it,” Flurry sighed. She leaned her head against his beak and Grover froze. The nuzzle turned into her muzzle atop his head. “Sorry. She ruined your kiss.”

“I would have ruined it anyway,” Grover chuckled. Her hum reverberated in his ears.

“Can I ask why you wanted to stay in Twilight’s tower?” Flurry asked.

“Same reason as Luna’s,” Grover answered. “I wanted to see the world as they saw it.”

“They saw the world differently,” Flurry said quietly. She shifted against the top of his head, and Grover felt moisture trail into one of his head feathers.

“They saw the world the way it should be,” he returned. He glanced down out of the corner of his eye to the swirling scar on her left foreleg, where he had grabbed her other hoof on the dock. The griffon reached out a claw, but laid it back on the roof.

The sunrise continued behind them, and the crater in the westward horizon began to glitter in the dawn’s early light. Beyond it, farther to the west, one of the last storm clouds blackened the sky. There was a flash and distant rumble of thunder.

The Princess whispered, "Thank you for staying."

Grover felt her larger wing press into his. Their primaries laced together. With his head against her neck, he picked up the rhymical ticking of her heartbeat. He glanced down and brushed a claw against the timepiece, but the blue spark in her chest was masked by light pink fur that no longer sparkled.

“They saw the same world my ancestor did when he gazed beyond the mountains of Griffonstone,” Grover told her. “And they learned the same lesson: The world does not make sense unless you force it to.”

The Princess shifted her head, but said nothing. Grover looked back east. He spoke to the heartbeat in his ears.

“The Queen shall not grow old in her high tower. That is not the way the world works. There is a price for what she has done, and she will pay it in this life. Not the next.”

The alicorn did not reply, other than exhaling in what Grover hoped was agreement.

“She deserves to die,” he said.

Grover thought of the pistol atop the purple-bound book.

“For everything.”

And the flattened, paint-flecked bullet in the drawer below.

Comments

[UnknownError]

“The tanks they just brought are not as good as the one Chrysalis got for my birthday a few years ago,” Grover added. "Thranx taught me how to drive it. These new tanks look cheap."

The alicorn’s ears twitched. “You trusted a traitor, didn’t you?” Flurry asked slowly. “What was his name again?”

He tossed the bullet up and caught it with a flick of his wrist, then cocked his arm back to fling it into the grass.

He hesitated.

“Yeah,” the alicorn sighed. She rubbed her head against a pillow, feeling the crystal band press into her mane. “That makes more sense. Friendship doesn’t stop bullets. Didn’t stop the tanks. What’s it really worth?”

“Everything.”

Everything...in its right place.

[BenitoEnjoyer]

It's neat that this chapter covering Benito's past also has some bits about the side characters as well.

[Caladis]

I have enjoyed Grover backstory chapters. Looking forward to more romance between the two characters

[EchoWolf31]

So happy to see this update. We got more of Grover's backstory and we learn what exactly happened to Gabriela. And this just might be me having missed something, but I really don't get what's so important about that paint covered bullet that Grover pulled from the tank.

[artofwar77]

It's not exactly what I dared to imagine for a Valentine's Day chapter, but it's still as thoroughly filling and satisfying as you've always delivered.
There wasn't a complete lack of hearts or hooves, either, sooooo...

I've neither played the game nor the mod, so this chapter made me feel like a child in a room full of grown ups whose names and personalities I know of academically but not in-depth, as they all discuss important matters regarding other people of whose names and personalities I have similarly shallow understanding.
Not unlike Grover himself, I imagine, though his academic knowledge is considerably less shallow. And unlike him, I don't have a Sword of Damocles hanging overhead, so I can spectate without the perpetual worry of safety that he has.

I also don't share Grover's personal relationships with any of these names, an aspect which was tied for my favorite part of this chapter.
It's one thing to know all these names and how they relate to events in the story's chronology (after several chapters of study), but it's an even greater revelation to learn what they meant to Grover, personally.

We don't get Grover's POV or inner thoughts every chapter, so it's an enlightening treat any time it happens. And what a treat this was, to glimpse some confirmation of Thranx's place in Grover's heart and understand what Thranx's murder might incite within.
When it comes to Chrysalis and the changeling military, it looks like Flurry isn't the only one whose motives got personal.

[SargeSacker25]

I got to say I can see how much time you spent writing this chapter. Writing politics is hard especially when you’re trying to keep the reader engaged, and you succeeded. All of your build up these past chapters is just making me stirred for what’s coming next.

[Lurkerer]

I suspect Grover has Thranx to thank for saving his aunt. I wonder how he came to possess the pistol, and what the tank testing and study they did together was like. I hope Erion gets what's coming to him. I having a sneaking suspicion that project Gotterdammerung isn't going to hit a target on Equus. Great update, getting to see more backstory for Grover's regency is a real treat.

[Doge of Venucci]

Good sake, this is good.

[History Student]

The absolute state of the empires internal politics. Despite that, it’s still leagues better than the actually HRE. With the information of the slow unravelling of the empire, even under Grover V, I’m impressed by Eros; it seems like he was able to hold the empire together by sheer force of will.

Any scene of Grover and Flurry becomes an instant favourite to me, the two of them are my favourite characters and I’m actually gunning for them.

[Pogmin]

Hoping Eros annexed Erion's his little rump state cause fuck he is an asshole. Great chapter, the build up of Thranx is tragic for me cause I think I have a pretty good idea as to what exactly happened to him if I'm remembering my Empire playthroughs correctly.

Gabriella... She did a terrible thing starting thay civil war but the worst part is... she's right about Eros. If things didn't go his way, he would have done the exact same thing she did. Her clear bias to nobels and bloodlines directly compares to his bias to the church and clergy. The intentional planting of heretical items to slander her was cold though. I understand the political ideas behind it but man...

With Grover growing up in that clusterfuck I'm starting to get his paranoia. Glad he's starting to cuddle up to Flurry a bit more, I think he's one of the most touch starved people I've seen in fiction.

[iSleep]

Wait so was Gabriela killed? I think I remember seeing her alive in a previous chapter

[CopperTop]

I liked the "you would have done the same" jabs during the tribunal; noting that, in the mod, no matter which of the two primary regent paths you choose, you end up going to war with one half of the empire or the other :P

Thranx was a good 'ling. Which is probably why he didn't live very long :( There probably aren't any 'good' changelings left in the Heer by this point, honestly.

It was nice that these two got to have one last moment together before Flurry headed off to the front again. She doesn't get enough hugs. It could have stood to be a little sappier, given the posting date in question :P *looks at next chapter title* And something tells me that she's going to be in need of a few more hugs in a couple weeks...

[_R_E_D_A_C_T_E_D_]

I can't belive nobody did this already.

In some versions of english griffon is written as griffin.

Which means that with the reveal from this chapter.

Archon Eros is; Peter the Griffin.

[Victor07]

These comments about Thranx and about not having more 'good' changelings in the hegemony it reminded me of a question I had and I don't remember if I asked it and if it was already answered, So how many changelings do we have under Thorax's command? Are there just a few dozen, enough to have a spy network or a few hundred?

[AdamHilt]

11825595
Bro stfu 😂😂😂 💀💀💀

[CopperTop]

11825402
I think I can take a stab at the bullet thing (though I could be way off the mark):

We know from 'The Alircorn and the Griffon' that what the protesting griffons wanted most from Grover was to strip back some of the Kaiser's authority and form a parliament. He notes that, after watching just 14 griffons fail to reach any kind of consensus on what that parliament should look like, he realized that allowing one at all would politically deadlock the Reich. Specifically: they'd never vote to support going to war with the changelings.

They wouldn't let him keep his promise to his friend. His only friend. Who he totally wasn't crushing on or anything!

Now, while Grover does insist that he didn't put down the rioters just for Flurry's sake; I don't think that can't be discounted as not being a major factor in his decision to stop those protests once and for all.

A not insignificant part of why he sent those tanks was to help his friend fight the changelings. Had Chrysalis not invaded Equestria, it's at least conceivable that Grover might have been more willing to give in to those protestors' demands; because what would he have needed supreme executive authority to accomplish at that point? He hasn't come off as any sort of power-hungry megalomaniac in the story for the most part.

No changeling invasion -> no meeting Flurry and promising to help her -> no violent crushing of the revolt -> no tank commander shooting himself in the head to escape the guilt -> no bullet in the tank.

[Jman14102]

Babe, wake up. A new chapter of Princess And The Kaiser just dropped. Peak has returned.

[Xarmar13]

I feel like there should be a horizontal rule to separate the memory of the past from the present. It left me a little disoriented until I realized that the scene shifted to the present without warning.

[UnknownError]

11825565
You are remembering it correctly.
And Gabriela does have a point, but the situation is messier than greedy priests destroying the empire or evil aunt claiming the throne. Erion may be an asshole, but he's great for playing the Greek chorus and dragging motivations out in the open.

11825595
He doesn't have a canon pre-Archon name. Erion was born Lorenz Whitefeather. No one asks Proteus. He's scary.

11825567
Gabriela survived. Eros ends the chapter delaying the announcements at the other, more public event. He reconsidered in the end. Reading between the lines, the entire chapter is a "rehearsal" for the prisoners to get their stories straight for the cameras. With their families as collateral. Maybe he wanted to stay on Grover's good side, or maybe he genuinely realized what he was doing to the little cub.

11825430
I am always happy to see non-players in the audience. I escaped the Hearts of Iron bubble. It only took...uh, a lot of words.

11825453
11825633
In the end, Thranx was the only one that looked up at that throne and saw a kid. Considering all that came afterwards, it might have been better if he just kept his damn mouth shut. It was never really intended as a "reveal;" Grover explained why he was going to help in Bronzetail's letter way back in number eight. Most people forgot, in-story and in the comments. A few realized what the pistol really was and what it meant a long time ago. The "official" reasons for the war are a made-up conspiracy about Hegemony spies causing the riots, cultural posturing for an empire that Grover hates ruling, and a Crusade for the glory of Gods he doesn't truly believe in.

Chrysalis murdered his friend and everyone pretended it never happened and he never even existed.

Grover’s left wing jittered against his coat, feeling the imprint of the holster and the pistol inside it. “Chrysalis dies.”

“Yes,” Flurry agreed.

“If she’s taken alive, I will execute her. She is mine.”

He will kill her for it. No matter what it takes. No matter what he has to do. The war has nothing to do with Flurry......it has everything to do with her. If they had never met, if he had never helped her escape, the attaché would not have fallen apart.

[Isenie]

Whether you like him or not, Eros is the best Regent for Grover

[Isenie]

11825798
So Grover helping Flurry killed Thranx, noted

[Lurkerer]

11825798
I suppose that makes it even worse; losing a friend perhaps your only real friend, and having your teachers, guards, and regent father figure pretend like he never existed. Asking why, and not getting a real answer. I remember his death being brought up, but didn't really consider what that would have meant at Grover's age at the time and his level of social isolation. Damn.

[CopperTop]

11825798
This really makes me sad that we didn't get any flashback scenes with a grinning and cackling cub kaiser being driven around in a tank by his Buncle (Bug Uncle) Thranx :(

I think it's easy for us to overlook how important the changeling was to Grover, emotionally. We don't get to see things from Grover's perspective when Thranx is brought up. We know how close Elias was to the changeling by the way he acted while Thorax was reading the Kaiser's letter; but then Grover goes on to invoke Maar while mentioning Flurry's throne and the changeling's relevance to him gets overlooked. Even a couple chapter's later, when Elias and Flurry are talking, it's about how happy Grover is getting to read Flurry's letters; with no overt mention of how much Grover's been hurting since Thranx died.

Now Grover's anger over Flurry's rejection makes even more sense: his choosing to help her got his only friend killed. Then, maybe after he's finally been able to reconcile that by replacing Thranx's friendship with Flurry's, she rebukes him over some random griffon and leaves him with nothing. There must have been a non-zero moment in that thrashed room, standing over the shredded pieces of her letter, where Grover regretted not handing her to Chrysalis to be killed that day...

[Grover VI]

“They saw the same world my ancestor did when he gazed beyond the mountains of Griffonstone,” Grover told her. “And they learned the same lesson: The world does not make sense unless you force it to.”

That is a really good line.

[N4rwh41]

11825819
Incorect. The Gabreilla-Gerlach Marriage path is the best option for Grover. Wholesome family goodness. And Eros is a Theocratic thug who cares more for his vision of a glorious empire than the Grifs living in it.
cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/514266705287970850/1199856689294348368/657u5r6u56u5u6v4.png?ex=65dfc01e&is=65cd4b1e&hm=6fcc60b2e663691865cd0cb508e892001c96f2b8e9f0fcb00747743162b54814&

[Red_Snuffy]

11825595
Now I can’t imagine any other voice for the dude!

[Grill Master Omegon]

11826111
INCORRECT Grover II is far superior to them both

[N4rwh41]

11826328
While Grover II is undoubtedly the most BASED regent, he is neither the best buerocrat for the Empire, nor thhe best fa5her figure for Grover.

[Grill Master Omegon]

11826331
Who needs to be good at bureaucracy when you can just hit people really hard with a pointy stick instead

[Isenie]

11826111
NO CONTENT NO LORE AND NO EVENTS
I played that path. Eros literally does a land reform, nobility is rotten, the Trinity is real (Herald of Boreas) therefore Peter the Griffin was always right, and while Gabriela raised his nephew who happened to be the Kaiser, Eros raised a Kaiser that ended up being his son

[Just User]

11826331
Me: (Looks at likes and dislikes) Perfectly balanced as all things should be.

[Isenie]

11826556
Perhaps (I won’t spoil)

[Noobblue]

Unironic appreciation for that incredible transition. It should be framed on a wall somewhere.

[Ruckythunder]

Grover after thranx got murdered:

[AlexiTrinune]

These two regents be having bug uncles who is super wholesome hahahaha

[Iron Comet]

Great chapter but I gotta ask, what happened to Gabriela and her co-defendants? Did I miss that somewhere in this exceedingly epic tale?

[Spartanish]

Huh, rare for me to find chapter both disappointing and yet great. Great since it touches quite underdeveloped Grover's POV prior to his second meeting with Flurry, lack of which for me was story's second biggest issue in first few dozens chapters given title. Regarding disappointing part, after last three chapters with similar formula of MC interacting with titular character, Duchess of Strawberry comes off as underwhelming. While it is obviously due to questionable expectations based on mentioned formula, at the end Changeling Attache still felt more appropriate to be used for chapter teased name than Gabriella's title given Thranx clearly made bigger impact here.

11827079
Gabriela is somehow still a duchess and remains in Griffenheim with Archon Erion. Other two pretty sure once or twice appeared to be in Equestria as part of Grover army.

[Sylica telca]

I've finally caught up

[Sylica telca]

11830803
Your forgetting zebrica

[Yaboikindabored]

11826029
If I remember correctly, wasn't that a line from Bruce Wayne/Batman?
I don't remember if it was from a movie or one of the comics
Now that I think about it... Grover and Bruce are both orphans, quite the coincidence.

[Grover VI]

11831975
I haven't watched a batman movie in years so ill believe you. Also I can confirm that I definitely do not have a black bat suit or an underground lair beneath the palace. Trust me, I'm the Kaiser.

[Ruckythunder]

11832213
You are cute,I trust you
(No offense)

[Isenie]

11832213
So Benito is Alfred

[Grover VI]

11832676
If I was batman then yes, but I am definitely not batman, please ignore the rumors that I am him.

[Grover VI]

11832627
It is good that you trust your Kaiser.

[Ruckythunder]

11832716
Thanks......., Now can you forgive my taxes

[Grover VI]

11832851
No.

[N4rwh41]

11833611
Based

[Ruckythunder]

11833611
fffine..... Send me a chest fluff pic then.