How To Love Your Archnemesis [Romance/Drama/Fantasy - Completed]

Cassien rapped his fist against the beautifully crafted wooden entrance that led to Prince Aryn's private study. Several days had passed since he and Naomi began testing their theories, and felt it was finally safe enough to be separated for some time so that they could have their own privacy. He didn't mind, though - it gave them chances to be more casual, more relaxed in their interactions, even with their boundaries in place. It had been good timing on Aryn's part to request for a meeting after the worst had been sorted out.

Muffled drawers closing shut was heard on the inside, the squeaking sound of wheels approaching. Slowly, the doors pulled inwards to reveal Prince Aryn, who wheeled himself back slightly. The prince's pale face held the faintest shadow of a smile when he saw Cassien, relief flickering in his eyes.

"Cassien," Aryn greeted, genuine delight at the sight of the dark haired duke. "It's good to see you up and walking."

"Your Highness," Cassien regarded him with a bow of his head. "Thank you. How is your leg faring?"

"I can walk for small periods of time now, but I prefer the chair whenever I can. Unfortunately my healing does not prove to be quite as accelerated as yourself," Aryn chuckled as he waved for Cassien to enter. "And please, I think we're quite past using formalities now."

Cassien nodded as he entered, brow furrowing at the disorganization of the prince's usually immaculate study room. Parchments, ledgers, half-finished alliances and treaties scattered across a grand oaken desk in uneven piles. Open books were haphazardly tossed to the ground, pages wrinkled and etched with heavy markings. Multiple abandoned cups of half-drank teas sat in various places throughout the room. This most certainly was not typical of Prince Aryn - a man known for not even having a single stray hair out of place at any given time.

Aryn wheeled himself towards the seating area, motioning for Cassien to take a seat. "I apologize for the mess. It's been… a rough few weeks, to say the least."

"There's no need to apologize. You're doing the best that you can." His eyes flickered to Aryn. "How is the princess?"

Aryn's hands tightened on his lap briefly before clasping them together. "No changes. Which, you know, is technically a good thing because she's not getting worse…"

"...But also not better," Cassien finished.

Aryn's usual calm composure cracked ever so slightly, an exceptionally rare streak of anger in his silvery eyes . "Alistair cannot get away with what he did." His fists clenched against the wheels of his chair. "But I should've seen it coming. There were warning bells in my head when they offered to guard the shard, but I couldn't tell if it had just been an over exhaustion of my power from the Accord, or genuine malice."

His jaw clenched as the silver of his eyes burned brightly. "Now we know. My sister is lying in that bed because of my incompetence."

"Blaming yourself will not change what's happened, only stop you from making the same mistakes," Cassien said not unkindly. He looked Aryn square in the eye, a glint of cold determination flickering in his golden depths. "The only thing we should be discussing is how to make Alistair answer for his crimes. Say the word, and I will personally see to his defeat."

Aryn exhaled slowly, calming himself. "Do you have any suggestions?"

Cassien leaned back, a hundred tactical plans running through his mind at once. "Navy fleets would be a bad choice - it would take weeks to coordinate the amount of resources needed for that long of a voyage. Not to mention, they'd shoot down half the ships before we could even reach their shores."

"We could take a roundabout way to the lower deserts, away from the main city," Aryn said, though he didn't sound convinced.

"That would be a major detour to even reach the south coast. Soldiers would die from heat exhaustion before they could even finish crossing the desert."

Cassien tapped the coffee table impatiently. "Any inside contacts within Seraveth?"

"The last informant died during the plague, and we haven't been able to secure another yet. Too risky."

Cassien's eyes narrowed as he traced through the map. "An infiltration team could work, but it'd take weeks, months to gather enough intelligence while avoiding detection, especially if they can't travel through the main route."

Aryn's eyes darkened once more, and even Cassien could feel the aura of rage seeping from the prince's magic. "Even my patience cannot wait that long."

The two continued their discussion, shooting down every idea as soon as a crack was spotted in the plan. The prince smoothed out several large parchments and maps, recording the tactics and information in as much detail as he could. They poured over the hand drawn outlines of Seraveth's continent - the main city, Redgorn, would prove great difficulty in reaching. The coasts were notoriously jagged, like a maze of rocky shoals and winding bottlenecked rivers that only allowed a handful of ships to enter at once. The only alternative was to take a month-long detour around to the southern edge where the coasts were less perilous, but required grueling weeks of travel on foot through the scorching desert. After several hours, an inch deep of discarded plans lay at their feet, their minds burnt on ideas.

Cassien was silent for some time, frustration simmering just beneath the surface. "So what does that leave us?"

Aryn's lips pressed into a thin line. "There's one way left. Risky, and not exactly… sanctioned."

"So approve it, if it proves to be viable," Cassien said, raising a brow. "You are the only one with the authority to do so. And it's not like we have many options left."

Aryn hesitated. "It's not that simple. The method I'm thinking of… it breaks an old pact my family made, long before I was born. There's a family in Tudor's lower regions who are descendants of a bloodline tied to an artifact known as the Ghost Ship: a vessel that could move us through the sea completely undetected."

Cassien's eyes narrowed. "Why didn't you mention it sooner?"

"Because the agreement was that they could keep it, as long as it was never used against Calypsa, and never sold to anyone else. Only that family's bloodline knows the secret to activating it, so if we tried to seize it by force, the artifact's secret is lost for good. My ancestors judged it better to honor the pact rather than risk losing a relic of magic."

"You are a part of that pact now," Cassien said firmly. "There's nothing against trying to change the terms of the agreement. Besides, taking down Seraveth would be in Calypsa's best interests, which also extends to all its citizens."

Aryn nodded, slowly at first, then resolutely. "You're right. As long as we remain respectful and explain the circumstances, there is no harm in trying."

"We should have a bargaining chip ready," Cassien said, leaning back. "Offer them protection, gold, an imperial favor, whatever it takes. But we won't leave without that ship."

Aryn's gaze sharpened. "This can't turn into bloodshed. If we force their hand, we lose everything. Not to mention, I will not intimidate my own people if I can help it."

Cassien's mouth twitched. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

**

Cassien allowed himself a final glance in Naomi's direction as she was distracted by the ruckus of the festival before slipping into the shadows of an alley, pulling up his hood. The sounds of music and laughter faded with each step as he descended further into the lower labyrinth of the city - not quite the slums, but not so posh as the rest - searching for Aryn's rendezvous point. Soon enough, he spotted a narrow crossroad of brickwork buildings with a marked green door, the paint faded and peeling. He didn't have to wait long before the rhythmic tap of a cane approached down the uneven stone paths, and Cassien looked up to see Aryn. The prince was dressed in a plain travel-worn cloak that pulled over his distinctive silver hair, his usual royal blues replaced with a dark tunic.

Aryn walked towards him slowly, cane tapping. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting."

Cassien shook his head. "We need to make this quick before I'm expected back at the festival." He did not want to elaborate on the fact that the pain would be settling in soon if he didn't return in time.

The prince's eyes gleamed with silver sheen, his senses sharpening. "You're anxious."

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

"What-"

"Ah, I see. You must be accompanying the duchess," Aryn gave him a genuine smile. "I didn't take you for a festival go-er anyway, it would make sense you took this as a double opportunity."

Before Cassien could even respond, the prince gestured down the alley with his cane. "Come on. The sooner we're done here, the sooner you can get back to your lady."

Cassien felt heat rise to his cheeks, grateful for the cover of his hood. Without another word, he fell in behind Aryn as they continued deeper into the narrowing curves of the lower city. Eventually they reached a residence where the front steps were littered with cracked flower pots and dirt, a ratty welcome mat, and a crooked wooden door with the words 'KAVLIER' roughly etched into it.

"This is it," Aryn said as he rapped his cane sharply against the door. The men waited in silence before Cassien stepped up, his fist impatient and firm against the door. At last, a tiny slot slid open at eye level, and they could see the milky whites of cataracts peering out suspiciously.

"How many times do I have to tell you kids!" the voice snapped. "I don't want your damn newspapers! And I don't have a damn coin to donate, so unless you're here to give me charity, beat it!"

Cassien stepped back. "We're here on urgent Imperial business. Open the door."

The voice snorted. "That's what the taxmen said last week, and they ended up breaking my flower pots! Take your business and shove it up your ass!"

Aryn cleared his throat, his voice measured and diplomatic. "Please, Mister Kavlier, we're not here to cause trouble. I apologize for not providing you with sooner notice; I am Prince Aryn, here to speak on an old pact regarding the Ghost Ship-"

The slot clicked shut, though the voice still barked through the old wood. "The prince, eh? It's not good enough that your great-grandpappy screwed us over, and now you're here to extort me too?! Forget it! Take your pact and stick it where the sun don't-"

Cassien's patience snapped as he stepped forward wordlessly, gripping the door handle. Frost instantly blossomed beneath his gloved grip, crackling the brittle metal as ice began to creep into the wood itself. Webs of white cold began to splinter through the wood, groaning under the pressure.

His voice was flat and dangerous. "The next thing about to be 'screwed over' is your door, so I suggest you open it. Now."

An incredulous sputter burst from behind the door, followed by a string of explicit curses. Several clinks of metals clattered in succession before the door cracked open - just enough for Cassien and Aryn to see a scowling old man peering back at them. His white beard was littered with crumbs, head shining with only a few strands of wiry hair.

Aryn leaned in close to Cassien, his whisper almost a disapproving hiss. "What happened to respect?"

"Clearly it wasn't working," Cassien muttered back.

The old man stepped aside with a grunt as he grumpily ushered them into the cramped entryway, rubbing ice off the handle with his stained shirt before shutting the door. The house was dim and cramped, lit by a single sputtering oil lamp that hung from the ceiling. The air was thick with the scent of stale alcohol and discarded dishes still stuck with food. A splotchy yellow couch with a heavy indent sat in the room, surrounded by piles of unwashed laundry. Amidst the clutter on the walls were several photos of a less bloated looking Polovik holding a young girl with pigtails and large front teeth. Aryn and Cassien remained standing as they tried their best to hold their breaths, while the old man flopped into the nearest chair.

"Well? Speak your business and don't waste my time. And you're replacing that door!"

"Of course," Aryn said, attempting to defuse the animosity. "We'll replace your flower pots as well. Anyway, I take it that you're Geriot Kavlier?"

He grunted, clearly unmoved by Aryn's civility. "Geriot Kavlier was my great-grandfather. I'm Polovik Kavlier - not that it would matter to you." He squinted at them before jabbing a finger towards Cassien. "You said you're the prince, so who the hell is he?"

Cassien didn't flinch. "Duke Rivain."

Polovik snorted, unimpressed. "A Rivain and a Calypsa. Who would've thought two pompous royals would've ever walked through my doorway."

Cassien's jaw tightened, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. He could already feel the faint, familiar ache beginning to pulse behind his eyes - he needed to be quick.

He crossed his arms. "We didn't come here for pleasantries. The sooner we get to the matter of the Ghost Ship, the sooner we'll leave."

Aryn gave a warning glance, but Polovik only scowled deeper, arms still crossed. "Straight to business, then. At least I can respect that. But if you want the ship, then you can start by explaining why I haven't seen a single coin from the Imperial family since the late King Ragen died."

"Ragen was my great-grandfather, but I'll admit I wasn't aware that the bargain had been neglected since then," Aryn said, remorse evident in his eyes. "That fault lies with us. I should've been more diligent in ensuring you received your dues."

Polovik's scowl deepened. "Generations of Kavliers holding up our end of the bargain, and nothin' from you folk. You royal doofuses always forget about us until you need something."

As Aryn tried his best to smooth things over with his diplomatic skills, Cassien's eyes wandered around the cramped space of Polovik's living area. Most of what he could see was nothing but junk - discarded children's toys, rusted pots and pans, decades of hoarded trinkets and knick knacks scattered about. But on the crooked mantle of a small hearth, a glint of silver caught his eye from behind a stack of wilted books: a delicate figurine of a sword and shield, unmistakably Rivainese in its design. Cassien recognized it as an identical ceremonial piece that he had sitting back at his own study - only a few had ever been crafted a century ago, and each one worth a small fortune. It was more than enough to bring Polovik out of this squalor and then some.

Cassien picked it up, the figurine heavy and cold in its hands. Polovik's attention immediately snapped to him. "Hey! That's a family heirloom you got your clammy hands on, put that down right now!"

The duke ignored him, turning the piece over as he observed sharply. "This is a pretty gold piece for a family heirloom. How does a family struggling for coin come by something like this, I wonder?"

The old man's face flushed with irritation as he stood. "How would I know!? My great ancestors probably found it before you were even born!"

Cassien's eyes hardened as he swiftly pointed two gloved fingers at Polovik. Frost crackled along his hand, a long, thin icicle protruding from his fingers - ready to fire at any movement.

"Sit down." His tone was low, clipped, and completely out of patience.

Polovik froze, eyes darting to the thin icicle gleaming at Cassien's fingertips, sweat beading down his bald head. He looked quickly to Aryn. "You can't let him do this! This is intimidation of a Tudor citizen!"

Aryn's expression remained composed, but his voice was firm. "I understand your grievances have caused you much hardship, Mister Kavlier, and I intend to correct that as necessary. However, I suggest you comply with the Duke of Rivain. He is far less patient than I, and right now, your cooperation is the best path forward."

Polovik's mouth popped open and shut before letting out a disgruntled huff, slumping back into his chair. He glared at Cassien but did not move again. "Fine. But you better be careful with it, that thing is worth enough to buy five castles-!"

He clapped his mouth shut the instant the words left him, realizing too late he'd given himself away, face blooming a tomato red.

Cassien arched an eyebrow as a humorless smile tugged at his mouth. "So you do know exactly how much it's worth."

Polovik glared at him. "So what if I do!? That doesn't change the fact that we never got paid for the pact-"

In a quick, deadly accurate motion, Cassien flicked his wrist. The icicle shot from his fingertips and buried itself in the wall beside Polovik's head with a sharp, crystalline thunk. The old man recoiled, eyes wide, words dying instantly in his throat.

Even Aryn blinked, holding up his hand defensively. "Cassien-"

Cassien spoke completely without humour, his eyes glowing slightly. "I don't take kindly to people who waste my time, so let's end this now. Shortly after the Conquest ended, there had been a report that one of these exact figurines had been stolen by a Seraveth immigrant, who fled the continent shortly after. They were never caught."

He stood a single step towards the old man, hand clenched tightly around the silver statue. "You said your great-grandfather's name was Geriot - which makes it all the more coincidental that Rivainese records list a Geriot Kavlier as the sponsor for that very Seraveth immigrant. The same Geriot who left Rivain for Tudor not long after the figurine went missing."

In that moment, Cassien considered how he had never appreciated his parents' constant demands that he master every line of Rivain's tangled histories and every scandal that had touched their nation - until now.

Aryn had been silent as the cogs in his head turned, clicking everything into place. "So the Imperial family had never cheated out on the stipends out of greed, but because of your great-grandfather's deceit. The Crown chose to end the payments as punishment for breaking the pact."

Polovik sputtered, defiance flickering in his gaze. "W-well then, if we're such criminals, then why didn't you just take the ship back?!"

Aryn's expression didn't waver. "Because only your bloodline can activate the Ghost Ship. If the artifact was seized or you were threatened, the secret would die with your family. I trust in my ancestors and my father before me to have weighed the risks: it was better to leave the ship with you, watched and unpaid, than to lose the relic forever."

It was a dead end for Polovik - every new excuse or explanation would only make things worse, but it didn't stop him from trying anyway. Polovik swallowed deeply. "L-look. I was going to sell that thing to pay for my granddaughter's tuition to the Exalted Academy once she turned six. She's a good kid. I-I might've messed up, but you wouldn't punish a child for my mistake, would you?"

"Hmph," Cassien juggled the figurine haphazardly in his hand, Polovik flinching at the motion. "How craven of you to bring a child into this."

Aryn shifted towards Cassien, leaning into his ear in a whisper. "If he's telling the truth, I don't care how badly we need that ship. We're not denying a child a good education and future for our own goals."

The two men glanced back at each other in a silent debate, Polovik nervously fidgeting his fingers as he watched. Finally, the old drunk cleared his throat, interjecting. "So, whaddya say, Mister Rivain-"

"That's Duke Rivain to you," Cassien said in a low tone, not even turning to look at Polovik.

Polovik shook his hands together in a praying motion. "Duke Rivain. That figurine is the only thing that was gonna pay for my Lila's schooling-"

Cassien's eyes glimmered dangerously, cutting him off as he turned to face him once more. "You can keep the figurine and consider it your final payment for everything you think you're owed. But the ship - and the secret to activating it - belong to the Imperial Crown now."

He leaned in just enough for his shadow to loom over Polovik, his entire body misting with frigid cold. "And if you try any more tricks: not only will your Lila never attend a single academy in the entirety of Calypsa, but I'll hunt down every last member of your bloodline down to the ends of the earth. Do you understand me?"

Cassien had no intention of interfering with the child's education, nor breaking Aryn's orders. But with the demeanor of a bloodthirsty black wolf and the trembling presence of a frozen tundra - who would ever dare to call the Duke of Rivain's bluff?

Polovik nodded quickly, hands quivering.

Cassien didn't blink. "Good. Then show us how it's done. Now."