B50

Reykjavik was a massive city, one that could fit the entire population of New Ålborg inside it one and a half times over and still have room for more people. My Grand Duchy, for all the planets it had, was sparsely populated enough for that. I thought my own capital at Ny Roskilde was impressive since I'd built it up to be the equal of Butte Hold when I'd reconquered it from Redjack Ryan. Five-hundred-Thousand people in an Industrial City that produced anything you could want. Ny Roskilde had nothing on Reykjavik.

The City of Reykjavik contained nine million people, making it the size of Tokyo from that other life on twenty-first-century Terra that I'd seen in my dreams. Tall spires of steel and chrome stretched up into the sky like spears, as factories chugged along and people moved to and fro between workplaces, hab-blocks, and shops. A multitude of people as the lifeblood being pumped through the veins of Reykjavik, the beating heart of the Economy of Rasalhague.

Mind you, Reykjavik wasn't the only massive city on Rasalhague. The Planet had over four billion people after all. No, it was just the largest, as most of the other cities struggled to breach past the three million population mark. That was still very impressive and it meant this whole planet could swallow up my Grand Duchy without a single problem, much less the Principality as a whole. It was a humbling thought as I made my way through Reykjavik by aircar toward the Rådssal, the Council Hall where the Regentskapsråd would be meeting and which would function as the meeting place of the Parliament after my election.

The Rådssal itself was situated in the city center, in what seemed like the middle of a park, along with the Prince's Palace. In stark contrast to the futuristic city that surrounded the park, the park was filled with copses of trees, meadows, ponds, and fountains. Meanwhile, the Baroque Architecture of the Prince's Palace and Rådssal were an interesting sight. Likely, they'd been built to harken back to ancient Terran Dynasties of Central, Northern, and Eastern Europe, where the majority of Rasalhague's population had drawn settlers from. Honestly, I found the whole thing rather interesting architecturally.

The aircar stopped in front of the Rådssal and let me exit, as I mounted the stone steps up toward the front door of the Rådssal, flanked by Columns with an elaborately carved edifice. As I entered inside, however, I was met with my first challenge by the guards. A trio of Grim-Faced Men in blue armored uniforms with Buccaneer Arms Rifles stepped forth to check my identification. I gave it to them gladly and they waited for a few moments to see if anything was amiss before waving me through.

"Sorry, My Lord. Can't be too careful with the Regentskapsråd in-session." Admitted the leader, a man with a Löjtnant's Gold Bars pinned onto his armored uniform.

"Are tensions that high, Löjtnant?" I questioned, trailing off.

"Sjöberg, My Lord, Linus Sjöberg." Supplied the Löjtnant.

"Well, Löjtnant Sjöberg, are tensions truly that high?" I queried.

"The Regentskapsråd's been in a deadlock for over half a year since independence, My Lord. Tempers are running hot as we continue to not have a Prince. The Kapten says we'll likely need to start confiscating sidearms soon just to ensure that nobody starts a duel on the Chamber Floor." Admitted Löjtnant Sjöberg.

"Hopefully it won't come to that, Löjtnant. I'm here to try and break the deadlock." I nodded.

"Good luck, My Lord. Truly, the sooner this detail is wrapped up, the happier everyone will be." Sighed Löjtnant Sjöberg before waving me through the checkpoint and into the Foyer of the Rådssal.

The Foyer itself was a masterpiece of polished marble. Columns lined the walls, leading to various corridors and meeting chambers, while up above balustrades looked out over the foyer via balconies. The ceiling was painted with various scenes, from angels looking out over the hall surrounding the gold and crystal chandelier to reproductions of paintings from old Terra, including the Reply of the Zaporizhian Cossacks, with the principal actors in Rasalhague's Liberation being cast as the Cossacks, likely sending the letter to the Coordinator instead of the Ottoman Sultan. Looking up, had to wonder how they managed to get all this done in a few months.

As I did that, I almost was blindsided by the approach of a Man in a Gray Suit with a Red Tie, Stubbly Beard, and Brown Hair. Jarl Cory Andrews, one of the men I needed to convince to come to my side. He cut an impressive frame, and I had little doubt that he was a soldier himself underneath his politician's exterior.

"It's an impressive sight, isn't it?" He asked, voice carrying just a hint of a Scottish accent, even after all these years of his family being in Rasalhague.

"It is indeed. How did they manage to get it all done in such a short amount of time? I doubt that painting up there was from before independence." I pointed out.

"The Building is from before independence, they only had to paint over what was already here." Admitted Jarl Andrews.

"Is that so?" I questioned.

"It is. The Sorensons who the Combine left in charge of Rasalhague liked building Palaces, the Russian Bastards. The Prince's Palace was the most recent, built by Richard Sorenson around thirty years ago, completed about a year before his death in Thirty-Oh-Seven." Shrugged Jarl Andrews.

"Interesting. Well, it seems at least something the Sorensons did can be turned toward non-self-aggrandizing aims." I nodded.

"Aye, they can at that. Cory Andrews, Jarl of Radsdadt." Introduced Jarl Andrews, extending a hand for a shake.

"Jozef Poniatwoski, Grand Duke of New Ålborg. Hopefully soon to be Ksiaze of Krakow and Predlitz as well." I responded, shaking his hand.

"Aye, and gunning for Prince of Rasalhague as well. Your reputation precedes you, though somehow I thought you'd be older. Most people don't have the combat record you do till they're a few years older." Smirked Jarl Andrews.

"Yes well, most people don't live in the Periphery." I chuckled.

"Aye, and you've done an admirable job of cleaning up the Pirates and other scum in that stretch of the Periphery, Lad. So I've heard anyway." Complimented Jarl Andrews.

"Likewise, your own accomplishments are well known. You led the Caithness Fusiliers to victory in the First and Second Battles of Tybalt in Thirty-Ten and Thirty-Eleven. The Ambush you planned for the Eighth and Eighteenth Sian Dragoons was masterful. They had to disband the entire Brigade afterward." I praised.

"Aye, well, they didn't help their case acting like they did. The Bastards looted an entire town during their advance forward. Bloody Capellans." Huffed Jarl Andrews.

"I'd love to stay here and trade war stories, but I don't want to keep you from any important business." I sighed.

"Aye, the Recess is about done. I ought to be getting back to the chamber." Agreed Jarl Andrews.

"Perhaps tonight you might consider going for drinks? We can swap tales then?" I tried.

"Aye, do you know the Herring Club?" Queried Jarl Andrews.

"Can't say that I do." I frowned.

"It's a Private Dining Club, one of a number of them in Reykjavik. It's on the Klaraven River Waterfront in the North Part of the City. I like to go there some nights and have dinner and a few drinks. If you'll join me as my guest tonight, I can get you in and we can swap stories." Answered Jarl Andrews.

"Sounds like a good deal." I grinned.

"Then I'll see you tonight." Nodded Jarl Andrews.

And like that, I'd already secured an in with one of the four men I would have to impress and bring over to my side in order to seize the throne of the Second Principality of Rasalhague. Hopefully, the others would be just as simple to get a meeting with. Somehow, however, I doubted it. As I looked around, I spotted a Goateed Man with a Lined Face talking with a Big-Nosed, Fat, Man. Haakon Magnusson and Armand Rochefort were scheming. I had to wonder just what they were up to.

Unfortunately, before I could sidle over to attempt to eavesdrop on the conversation between the two men the Combine was trying to back, a Guard in a blue armored uniform with a Kapten's Silver Bars pinned to his uniform announced that the Recess was ending. All the various Lords and Politicians straightened at that and began making their way through a set of wooden, carved, double doors and into a chamber.

I followed the group and found myself in a large assembly hall with a number of benches fronting onto a podium where a Sharp-Boned Man with Blonde Hair and a Stubbly Beard in a Gray Suit and Black Tie sat on a chair with a silk cushion. That was Marek Kolowrat, the Speaker of the Regentskapsråd. The Chamber was no less elaborate than the Foyer, painted with scenes of mythology and history and with another gold and crystal chandelier providing light.

As the benches filled with the various Voivodes, Szlachta, Hertigs, Jarls, and Valdherren of the Second Principality of Rasalhague, I took a spot at the rear of the Chamber, standing. I was not yet permitted to take my seat until formally acknowledged by the Regentskapsråd as Ksiaze of Krakow and Predlitz, a member of the Szlachta of the Second Principality. As I looked around, I noticed that not only were the benches on the floor taken, but so too were the seats on the various balconies overlooking the floor. It seemed the Regentskapsråd would be fully attended today.

As soon as everyone had taken their seats, Marek Kolowrat took up a gavel of Endosteel chased in brass and pounded it on a marble slab, producing a loud banging noise that cut through the hushed, whispering, conversations that inevitably broke out in situations where large amounts of politicians and lords were seated next to each other. That was likely its intended purpose, mind you, to cut through the din and grab everyone's attention so the Speaker of the Regentskapsråd could Speak.

"Now that I have everyone's attention, let us call this session of the Regentskapsråd of Rasalhague to order. I understand we have a new face among us hoping to claim ancestral lands via the decrees of the Regentskapsråd? Let him step forth and be recognized!" Called out Marek Kolowrat from the Speaker's Chair and Podium.

That was my cue, and I strode forth from the rear of the hall to stand in front of the Speaker's Podium. As I made my way over there, I noticed several hushed whispers break out amongst the assembled nobility. Those who knew my appearance apparently couldn't wait to begin gossiping about my arrival, even if it was considered poor parliamentary form. I couldn't help myself either, breaking out into a crooked, rakish, grin as the gossip began to flow. It felt good somehow to be a big deal. Maybe it was because I was used to being underestimated as just another Periphery Warlord.

Down came the gavel again, cutting through the whispered gossip as Marek Kolowrat took charge of the situation with a cry of, "Order! If you cannot behave like the Lords you are, then I will call another recess until you can!"

Marek Kolowrat's Martial Discipline and Command Authority showed through and he was able to quiet the Chamber just as I reached the spot in front of the Speaker's Podium. Honestly, it was an impressive showing for a job that was not too dissimilar from herding cats. It showed Marek Kolowrat to have been an excellent pick for Speaker of the Regentskapsråd.

"State your name, family, and Ancestral Title and Landholding for the record." Intoned Marek Kolowrat.

"Jozef Poniatowski of the House of Poniatowski. My Ancestors were Ksiaze of Krakow." I stated.

"Krakow, the moon of Predlitz? I see. You are aware, of course, that the Beck Family who ruled Predlitz were all wiped out to a man by the Combine?" Asked Marek Kolowrat.

"I am." I acknowledged.

"And as the ancestral ruler of Predlitz's Moon, you have a claim on the Planet itself due to Proximity and Marriage Ties to House Beck?" Questioned Marek Kolowrat.

"I do." I nodded.

"Will you be pressing such a claim to Predlitz as well?" Queried Marek Kolowrat.

"I will." I answered.

"Then I shall put this to a vote to see if you will be allowed to take your seat among us and whether or not you will be granted your claim on Predlitz as well. We will take fifteen minutes to vote. Please wait there until this chamber has completed its voting." Informed Marek Kolowrat.

The wait was agonizing. Fifteen long minutes of nerve-wracking standing around while the fate of my bid to become Prince of the Second Principality of Rasalhague was decided at the first point of failure. There were a few points of failure for my attempt, mind you. I could fail to be granted my seat on the Regentskapsråd, I could fail to gather the required votes, and I could be assassinated by the Combine or another party while I was here.

Thankfully, it seemed that the Lyrans really had gone to bat for me because when the fifteen minutes were up and the votes were tallied, it seemed that I had been allowed to take my titles by majority vote. Not quite three-fourths of the Chamber had voted yes on both my ability to gain my ancestral landholding and titles from Krakow, but also to grant me the landholdings and titles of House Beck of Predlitz, in the absence of a viable heir from them thanks to Combine shenanigans.

"This Chamber has voted and the will of Rasalhague is clear. The Regentskapsråd formally invests the House of Poniatowski in General, and Jozef Poniatowski in particular, the Titles of Ksiaze of Krakow and Predlitz, as well as the landholdings, privileges, duties, and incomes thereof. Please, take your seat amongst this august body." Spoke Marek Kolowrat, formally.

I bowed and spun on my heel in a textbook military marching maneuver before heading to take my seat amongst the assembled nobility of the Regentskapsråd. As I did, I noticed Armand Rochefort and Haakon Magnusson whispering to each other furiously, the section of benches surrounding them listening in on the conversation. I think I found the Combine's Bloc, no doubt the core of the assembled nobility who had tried to block even my joining the Regentskapsråd. As I took my seat, and the meat of the session was called to order, I realized I would have to keep an eye on those Lords and Ladies.

Especially if I wanted to avoid being assassinated by Combine Ninjas. . .

XXXX

AN: The next chapter is already up on my Patreon, so check the link in the threadmarked post if you guys feel like throwing me a couple bucks to get chapters in advance. Everyone who does is super appreciated and I can't thank my patrons enough.

So, in this chapter, we get our first look at Rasalhague and the Regentskapsråd, the setup for drinks and a sales pitch with Jarl Andrews, and the investment of Jozef and his family with their ancestral titles as well as that of Predlitz. Rasalahague is a lot bigger than Jozef is used to when it comes to cities. Even the cities on Blackjack weren't quite as big. I picture Reykjavik as around the size of Tokyo, for instance.

He's passed his first major hurtle, largely thanks to having a good reputation, his earlier efforts, and the Lyrans lending him their influence amongst the assembled nobility of the Regentskapsråd for his bid to claim the throne of Rasalhague. That was, unfortunately, the easy part. Now he has to actually get the votes and avoid being assassinated by Combine Ninjas. That is easier said than done.

At any rate, the next chapter will be the rest of the Regentskapsråd Session leading into the drinks and sales pitch with and for Jarl Andrews.

Stay tuned. . .