The Court of Morea
For years, the familiar sight of the palace had brought a sense of comfort. The plain and practical architecture, to the point of seeming empty, still exuded a somber atmosphere.
In this silence, the prince often found himself deep in thought.
Walking alone through the corridor, having dismissed Francisco and the rest of his attendants, he pondered over the responsibilities that weighed heavily on him.
Honouring the fallen, compensating their families, the long-delayed institutional reforms, and even the restructuring of the military—all these burdens would never leave his shoulders.
But these were not the most pressing concerns at the moment.
His determined walk came to a halt. Without hesitation, he lifted his gaze.
A woman stood before him, her long black hair falling smoothly down her back as she brushed it aside.
Her dark eyes, filled with confidence, met his own.
She had brought along a few attendants, likely to greet him.
With a gentle smile, she welcomed him.
“You must have gone through much hardship, Your Highness.”
Sophia Lazarević.
A woman who led an independent intelligence network supported by the often-overlooked Jewish community, amassing considerable influence.
At the same time, she was a Serbian princess and, above all, a persistent source of trouble for the prince.
From their very first meeting, their relationship had been strained.
A woman whose influence could pose a threat—it was only natural for him to keep her in check and prepare for the day he would cast her aside.
“It seems you, too, have made great efforts.”
Yet, there was no reason he couldn’t endure her presence.
The prince had long learned patience in his struggle to halt the Ottoman advance. He would not falter over a single woman.
More importantly, both he and Sophia understood that their relationship needed to improve, no matter how much it displeased him.
For the sake of their homelands.
And so, while Sophia greeted him with a smile, the prince responded with patience.
Even knowing this, sometimes, time was still necessary.
This was one such moment.
Neither of them moved.
Only one of Sophia’s attendants, eyes darting about, broke the silence with a nervous twitch of her lips.
“Uh, um… Something feels off between you two.”
And with that, an unpleasant silence fell.
Sophia continued to smile, though her gaze occasionally sharpened. The prince maintained his indifferent expression.
It was he who eventually broke the silence.
Wasting time here was pointless.
Every moment was precious.
“It seems we have much to discuss. Would you care to join me for a conversation?”
“My, I never expected Your Highness to take the initiative.”
“Let us go to my office.”
This time, Sophia did not respond with words. Instead, she nodded.
Indeed, they had much to discuss.
And these were not matters for others to overhear.
Lowering her gaze to her attendants, Sophia wordlessly signaled for them to withdraw.
The sharp-eyed servants understood at once and retreated without hesitation.
Even the naive maid, who had been gawking at the tension, was dragged away.
“Ah, but it seemed like it would be fun to watch…!”
“This girl again! My apologies, Your Highness, I will see to her education immediately.”
An elderly servant bowed repeatedly as she swiftly pulled the clueless maid away.
The prince let out a small, involuntary chuckle.
Sophia was caught off guard.
How many times had she seen him laugh—truly laugh?
“So, Your Highness does smile, after all?”
“When one has little reason to, one must force it.”
His words, though spoken lightly, carried weight.
A truth painful for both him and the empire.
There were fewer and fewer reasons to smile.
The war, hailed by many as the Virgin’s miracle, was proof of that.
While the people celebrated the reclamation of lost lands, those who sought true victory could not do the same.
Though his strategies had delayed the Ottoman rise, it was only a postponement.
Inevitably, a capable Ottoman force would regain strength and once more threaten the empire.
Sophia understood this all too well.
And not only for the empire—Serbia, too, would eventually fall and become nothing more than a stepping stone for the Ottomans.
A shadow crossed her face as these thoughts took hold.
The prince noticed her change but said nothing.
Instead, he resumed walking.
Sophia, shaking off her thoughts, lengthened her walk to keep pace with him.
After a while, the prince suddenly spoke.
“You need not worry about an alliance with Serbia.”
“…And what do you mean by that?”
“Though my actions may have caused doubt, I have never deliberately shunned Serbia.”
“Then let me ask—do you truly believe others will see it that way?”
Now, it was his turn to fall silent.
She was right.
For the sake of Morea and the empire’s stability, he had deliberately ignored Serbia’s struggles.
Not only that, but two years ago, he had pragmatically chosen to align with the Ottomans, Serbia’s enemy, for the sake of political convenience.
That wound was still too fresh to be forgotten.
But his silence did not last long.
“That is precisely why I wished to speak with you.”
“That is your reason?”
“Yes. As you said, despite my marriage to a Serbian princess, I prioritized my role as an Ottoman vassal. And now, Serbia stands between both the Ottomans and Hungary, while I remain bound as a vassal to the Sultan.”
The prince’s need to strengthen cooperation with Serbia was not solely to secure the Crusaders’ advance route.
As Sophia had once assessed, the prince’s true talent lay in his ability to see through the political landscape. He was thinking ahead.
The Ottomans, having quelled their internal rebellion, would undoubtedly seek to disrupt the alliance between Morea and Serbia in some way.
He could not yet discern how, but one thing was certain—preparations had to be made. And there were very few ways to firmly solidify the bond between Serbia and Morea.
“This situation has forced us to hesitate, even when it comes to offering proper aid, lest we draw the attention of the Ottomans. In such a climate, I have found few ways to assure the Serbs of my commitment to their cause.”
At these words, Sophia immediately grasped what the prince was getting at.
She had been prepared for this since the moment she entered their political marriage. If anything, it had taken far longer than expected, likely due to both the prince’s circumstances and his own disposition.
That delay had at least given her time to steady herself.
“Oh my, so we’ll finally have a proper wedding night?”
“Let’s continue this discussion in my office.”
They had been speaking as they walked, and before they knew it, they stood before the prince’s office.
Of course, the office looked no different from the corridors outside.
The prince, who shunned luxury and even avoided flaunting his authority as a ruler, kept his surroundings sparse. The room awaiting them was just as barren—a neatly arranged stack of documents, a few bookshelves, a desk, and some chairs.
Who would believe that the future of Morea and the empire was being decided in such a place?
As Sophia pondered this, the prince carefully seated himself.
His chair was the only luxury in an otherwise bleak room—one could fill an entire book with criticisms of the office’s plainness.
Exhaling a long sigh as he settled into its comfort, he then gestured toward another chair.
“Please, sit.”
“…Truly, Your Highness never ceases to amaze me. Who would have thought a prince could live like this?”
Sophia made the remark as she took her seat.
For the prince, this was a relief. Though he had not yet fully explained himself, he had considered the possibility of Sophia resisting—especially if she already had someone in her heart.
He had even planned how to persuade her.
But she had accepted it without much resistance.
One hurdle, at least, had been cleared.
Determining that Sophia was now prepared to hear the rest, the prince spoke again.
“I originally had no intention of touching my wife. At the very least, I planned to wait until the domestic situation had stabilized before even considering it.”
“You almost sound as if you’re offering me a choice, Your Highness.”
“…That is correct. I am granting you a break.”
“A break… So this requires time?”
“Yes.”
Even now, the prince could not completely lower his guard around Sophia.
It would be too much to expect him to undo his habit of drawing a clear line between ally and enemy. He still sought grounds to cast her aside.
This was the political reasoning behind his proposal to her.
“Three months… No, I will give you half a year. During that time, you may find and love whomever you wish—whether they already reside in your heart or are yet to come.”
“…Are you out of your mind?”
For the first time, Sophia’s carefully maintained mask cracked.
Her face, now mixed with bewilderment and fury, turned toward him. The prince, however, merely nodded.
Yet, Sophia’s objections were not over.
“You’re essentially telling me you’ll acknowledge a bastard who isn’t of your blood as your own child.”
“That is correct. I will acknowledge them.”
“…There must be a reason for this.”
“Of course.”
“Can I hear it?”
“It concerns the future succession of the empire.”
At those words, Sophia found herself shaking her head before she even realized it.
The succession of the empire?
In an era where even the next day was uncertain, he was already contemplating such matters?
Some might call it impatience. Others might dismiss it as an unnecessary worry. It was a concern that seemed far too premature.
Yet, despite how absurd it seemed, the prince’s eyes remained unwavering, burning with resolute determination.
TL/N : Bro, this sht is just maddening.
Leave a Reply