The Noble's Gathering

September 25th, 1689.

Inside the grand estate of House Vallier, one of the most prominent noble families in Corse, a gathering of influential landowners and aristocrats convened in secrecy. The room was filled with the scent of burning candles and aged wood, the dim lighting casting long shadows over the tense faces of the attendees.

Lord Vallier, a man in his fifties with sharp features and a commanding presence, stood at the head of the long oak table. 

"This cannot continue," Vallier began, his tone laced with frustration. "This so-called governor has imposed reforms that strip us of our privileges and diminish our influence. What are we if not the guardians of Corse's traditions?"

A murmur of agreement rippled through the room.

Count Duval, a stout man with a ruddy complexion, leaned forward, his fist pounding lightly on the table. "He's treating us like peasants! Taxing our lands, restricting our authority over our own estates, and now this… nonsense about arming the locals. Locals, mind you, who should be working our fields, not training with rifles."

Lady Genevieve, a shrewd and calculating figure, raised an eyebrow. "And yet, none of us have acted. Words will do nothing to stop him."

"Then what do you propose?" Vallier asked, his eyes narrowing. "Do we march against the Elysean army stationed here? Or perhaps align ourselves with the rebels who lurk in the shadows?"

The room fell silent for a moment as the weight of the suggestion hung in the air. Some nobles shifted uncomfortably in their chairs, while others exchanged knowing glances.

A younger noble, Lord Renard, spoke hesitantly. "Joining the rebels… is it truly wise? If this rebellion fails, any association with them would mark us as traitors to the Elysean crown. Our titles, our lands—everything would be forfeit."

"And if we do nothing?" Duval countered, his voice rising. "Do you truly believe this prince will stop at his reforms? No. He seeks to dismantle the very foundation of our authority. He'll leave us as figureheads, powerless and irrelevant."

"I'm not suggesting we align with the rebels," Genevieve interjected. "But perhaps… we let them weaken the prince's position. If his forces are stretched thin, we may have an opportunity to negotiate from a position of strength."

"Negotiate?" Duval sneered. "With a man who refuses to acknowledge our rightful place? You're a fool if you think he'll listen."

Another voice cut through the argument—a calm tone from Baron Lavigne, a middle-aged noble. 

"We must tread carefully. An outright rebellion will bring nothing but ruin. If we act too boldly, the crown itself will intervene, and we'll face the wrath of Elysea."

Vallier nodded slowly, acknowledging Lavigne's point. "Then what do you suggest, Baron?"

"We wait," Lavigne replied. "We observe the prince's moves and gauge his strength. For now, we maintain our neutrality. If his reforms falter, we'll have our chance to assert ourselves."

"That's cowardice," Duval spat. "We're allowing him to consolidate power while we sit idle."

"It's strategy," Lavigne shot back, his tone unyielding. "Charging blindly into conflict will only hasten our downfall."

At the far end of the table, a previously silent figure stirred. Marquis Adrien. 

"What if we played both sides?"

The room turned to him, curious and wary.

Adrien continued. "We support the prince outwardly, attending his gatherings, complying with his reforms… but we keep channels open with the rebels. That way, whichever side prevails, we ensure our survival."

"Deceitful," Vallier muttered, though he didn't dismiss the idea outright.

"Practical," Adrien corrected. "The prince is no fool. He'll know we resent him, but if we appear cooperative, we can buy ourselves time."

"And what of those who refuse to take a side?" Renard asked, glancing around the room. "There are those among us who are content to let the prince rule, so long as he doesn't threaten their immediate interests."

"Cowards," Duval growled.

"Or survivors," Lavigne countered. "Not everyone is willing to risk everything. And also, I assumed that you all received a letter of invitation to His Highness's estate?"

The room fell silent as Baron Lavigne's question hung in the air. One by one, the nobles exchanged wary glances.

"Yes, I received it," Count Duval admitted begrudgingly, tossing the parchment onto the table as if it offended him. "Arrived this morning. An invitation to a formal gathering, as if we're expected to fawn over his reforms like loyal subjects."

Marquis Adrien smirked, leaning back in his chair. "I received mine as well. Charming wording, isn't it? A chance for dialogue and unity, he says. How very diplomatic of him."

Lady Genevieve's fingers tapped lightly against the polished wood of the table. "Diplomatic, or calculated? He's not summoning us out of goodwill. The question is, what does he intend to achieve by bringing us together?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Duval growled. "It's a trap. He means to corner us, coerce us into supporting his reforms. Perhaps even to humiliate us publicly. The man is consolidating his power, and this gathering is just another move in his game."

"Not everyone is so convinced," Renard interjected cautiously. "It could simply be a gesture of goodwill—a way to familiarize himself with the local aristocracy and extend an olive branch. The Elysean crown wouldn't allow him to act recklessly, not while their reputation is on the line."

Duval scoffed. "Naive. He doesn't need to act recklessly when he can undermine us with a smile and a toast. The reforms aren't even fully implemented yet because we've managed to block them. This gathering is his way of breaking through that barrier."

"Or," Adrien said smoothly, "it's an opportunity. If we attend, we can gauge his intentions more clearly. We'll have the advantage of observing him directly, perhaps even swaying him toward compromises."

"Compromises?" Duval's voice rose, his face reddening. "You think this boy will compromise? He's already shown us he has no respect for our traditions. He'll smile and nod while tightening the noose around our necks."

Lady Genevieve raised a hand, silencing the rising tension. "Enough. Speculation won't get us anywhere. The fact remains: this invitation places us in a precarious position. Refusing it outright would be seen as an act of defiance, perhaps even treasonous. But attending could leave us vulnerable to his manipulations."

Baron Lavigne, who had been quietly observing the debate, finally spoke. "Then we must tread carefully. Those who attend should do so with measured words and guarded intentions. The prince is no fool, but neither are we. If he seeks to force our hand, we'll present a united front and refuse to bow. However, if there is room for negotiation…"

"Negotiate?" Duval cut in sharply. "We have nothing to negotiate. We should remain firm in our opposition."

Genevieve sighed, her patience wearing thin. "Firm opposition will mean little if the crown intervenes. We cannot act in isolation, nor can we afford to appear disloyal to Elysea."

Renard nodded. "She's right. If we overplay our hand, we risk losing everything. Attending the gathering is not an act of submission—it's a strategic move. We gather information, we listen, and we decide our next steps from a position of knowledge."

Adrien's smirk widened. "Finally, a voice of reason. And while we're gathering information, we should also plant seeds of doubt in the prince's mind. Subtle suggestions, carefully placed. Make him question the loyalty of his officers, the stability of his reforms. Keep him on the defensive."

Duval's glare swept across the room, but even he seemed to sense the futility of outright refusal. With a begrudging grunt, he relented. "Fine. But mark my words—this prince isn't to be underestimated. If he thinks he can outmaneuver us, he'll find we're not so easily swayed."

Vallier, who had remained silent for much of the discussion, finally spoke. "Then it's settled. We'll attend the gathering, but we'll do so on our terms. No declarations, no alliances—only observation. And if the prince attempts to coerce us, we'll make it clear that Corse is not his to rule unchallenged."

The nobles nodded in agreement, and the meeting concluded. One by one, the nobles filed out, and those who remained are the nobles who strongly opposed the prince.

"We cannot simply wait and watch, as some of the others suggest. This governor intends to strip us of everything we've built. Sitting idly by will only hasten our demise," Count Duval said, breaking the silence.

Lord Vallier, still seated at the head of the table, nodded. "I agree. The prince's so-called reforms are designed to dismantle our authority. We need leverage—something that forces him to reconsider his position or brings him to his knees."

"And leverage," Lady Genevieve added, her sharp gaze flicking between the others, "does not come from compliance or negotiation. It comes from strength."

Marquis Adrien leaned forward, a sly smile playing at his lips. "Strength… or alliances. The rebels remain active, despite the Elysean forces stationed here. Their numbers grow with each passing month. Desperation is a powerful motivator, and the prince's reforms have only fueled their anger."

"You're suggesting we align with common rabble?" Duval spat, his disdain palpable.

"Not align," Adrien corrected smoothly. "Use them. The rebels are a tool—one we can wield to weaken the prince's position. Let them disrupt his plans, stretch his forces thin. When the time comes, we'll strike decisively."

Baron Lavigne, who had remained quiet thus far, finally spoke. "This conversation, since earlier, is dangerously treading into treason, I will not take part in anything. I will take my leave."