The End of The Cursed
Chapter 7: Indiscrete Proposals

‘The marriage of a royal by proxy, should be considered binding, even if neither of the bound parties are present. If the proxies are killed, or the contract is destroyed, the proxy marriage is void.’ Royal Marriage – An Exploration

The Duke very much wanted to see what the curse looked like with his own eyes. However, he had been forbidden to enter the Prince’s chambers. Even so, the Prince had no guards, no attendants, and no retinue. He was defenseless aside from his unearthly nature. If his memories were correct-this would be all he needed. Therefore, he was hesitant.

Goran had been the chosen boyhood companion of Prince Freyr’s Grandfather Grigor. He had been a few years younger, and was therefore harmless. The two of them had remained friends even into adulthood, astonishingly, even after Grigor had become King and been cursed. But King Freyr Grigor Ardwith had never allowed his friend to see him as a monster. He did not wish to risk his longtime confidant’s safety. So Goran had never seen what monstrous form the curse actually took. He knew it was a bear…but was it wholly a bear? Or just something similar to a bear?

Their current King, King Freyr Krystian Ardwith, had never allowed him the opportunity to see it either. That seemed particularly unfair since he was rumored to be non-violent as an animal. Grigor had been utterly murderous as a beast, but supposedly Krystian retained his humanity. Did this young Prince keep his humanity as well? Would it be safe to enter his chambers? Or should he visit the young bride first? No. If the bear was unsafe, visiting his bride would certainly cause an attack. Real, wild bears were notoriously territorial of their mates, even going so far as to kill sons from previous summers if they came too close to a new female. It would be better if he tried the bear first. He nodded to himself as he unlocked the door, which had been locked from the outside, and entered the room.

It was just after midday, but the creature in the bed was still asleep. It was remarkable. Remarkable more than anything that the bed was still standing. The Prince was indeed a bear, but larger than one ought to be. Was it perspective? Did the bear seem larger because it was inside a room designed for humans? No. This bear was enormous, nearly black, and with claws so long they were bigger than fingers. The claws resembled the blades of a scythe. The bear’s shape was elongated, more bipedal than an average bear, which gave it height, and an unnatural appearance. The Duke considered running out of the room, but that would be cowardly. Figuratively speaking, at this moment, he had the upper hand. Freyr would be ashamed to be caught in this form. Such embarrassment could be used to his advantage, and he would need what advantage he could glean, when dealing with such a monster.

He was only slightly surprised that the creature hadn’t awoken when he had come into the room. The Prince supposedly had the heightened senses of an animal, but he was not expecting anyone to enter his room, and he must be exhausted. The household servants were in quite a titter over the rather loud and lengthy exploits of the Prince and his witch the night before. Most of them tried not to be caught gossiping, but such an oddity was hard not to discuss. He had accidentally walked in on more than one such hushed, blushing conversation that morning. Yet another piece of leverage to use against the young man. The Duke cleared his throat.

The animal leapt up to a fighting crouch on the bed, finally breaking it. It stood up calmly onto two legs, stepping off of the still creaking wreckage and regarded him with its disturbingly human eyes. Its gait, and manner of movement were wholly human, while it’s body was nearly fully animal.

“That will need to be replaced. I do not intend to sleep on a broken piece of furniture for a further few weeks here whilst assisting you with the forthcoming army. Or while gathering supplies for my journey to my father’s castle.” The bear said in a calm, clipped tone. It spoke perfectly intelligibly despite being an animal and having an animal’s mouth. It made no logical sense. The sight of the animal tongue crossing animal teeth in order to speak made him ill. The Duke nodded nervously.

“Yes. Yes of course. While we are all at dinner, I will have it replaced. As it appears that your nights are fairly active, you will require somewhere to recover your strength.” The Duke said pointedly. Freyr met his eyes in surprise. He seemed shocked that the Duke would be referencing something so intimate.

“But, I would never speak of such Princely duties at length, but your kingdom will be relieved that you are at least endeavoring to give them an heir. I am relieved, of course. It will be hard to explain though. I understand that no one could blame you for wedding the girl if they saw her, but those who have not, will wonder why you did not wait until your return, in order to marry the Princess of Vale.” Goran said plainly. Freyr made a rumbling sound in his throat.

“You cannot seriously be attempting to converse with me about such a matter? How on earth do you expect to remain breathing if you anger me while I am in this form?” He demanded. The hair on the back of his ursine neck was standing up slightly. The Duke swallowed. He had wanted to cause shame…not anger. Shame made a man biddable. He wanted the Prince cooperative, so that he would not be forced to kill him.

“It is not my intention to be disrespectful. I am only attempting to make sense of why you would be so dutiful to your country in some respects, while so lacking in others. Finding a witch to be your bride is only helpful if you are willing to use her. If not, an alliance with a neighboring kingdom should have been preferable.” He finished quietly. Freyr snarled.

“The young woman is my bride because she appealed to me as a woman, not as a witch. I will not use her as a weapon.” The Duke shrugged.

“She would appeal to anyone as a woman I imagine. More so though because of what you are. Your grandfather, a personal friend of mine, did enjoy a few of the side effects of his curse. Before the death of his wife, he used to close down a whorehouse on a given evening with his appetites.” Anger and shock was growing in the face of the terrifying animal. Its teeth were bared, and its eyes were slightly wild. The Duke did have a point to his line of questioning, but he had not gotten to it yet, so he continued.

“Yet, you spent all night with the same woman…and I have reports from my servants that she is still alive, and by all accounts, well. Is her exceptional fortitude because she is a witch? She must be nigh indestructible!? And if so, why do you refuse to use her to end a war?” He asked. He had to discover the talents and the limitations of the girl before deciding whether or not to dispense with her master. She might even be grateful to be rescued from this half-man with its insatiable appetites. His wife had certainly been relieved to replace that she had no bedroom duties. The bear curled its lip, exposing its curved fangs, each the length of a man’s little finger.

“The well-being of my wife is my concern alone. You will not ask after her health or her abilities ever again.” He took a single step toward the Duke. “Are you going to return to appropriate topics of conversation, now that you have disobeyed my express wishes, and insulted my wife…or shall I assist you in exiting through this window?” Freyr asked gesturing with a large furred arm to the one window in the room, which was three stories above the ground. The Duke raised an eyebrow.

The girl was a sensitive subject to him. He was protective, and he did not like her honor impugned. Enough rope and he had no doubt that the Prince would hang himself.

“Forgive me majesty. Your Grandfather used to enjoy the opportunity to boast about his various conquests and prowess. I merely fell into an old habit.” He bowed enough to cause his aging back to creak distressingly. The bear sighed.

“I do not require such discussions. What I do require is breakfast, and a war table with correct troop positioning brought to the Princess consort’s room. She will convey them through the adjoining door to me. I will discuss strategy for Twyle’s planned invasion with you after dinner this evening, when my physical appearance is less likely to frighten your military advisors.” The animal said, still politely, logically and calmly. He had fully restrained himself again. It was almost more unnerving to watch an animal behave this way. The Duke nodded.

“Anything you wish.” He said. “But may I ask…the guard…his companions claimed he was essentially dead, beyond help when your witch attended him. Has she done something like this before?” The Duke asked curiously. The girl’s grandmother had had similarly powerful healing gifts, it therefor followed suit that she had the reverse talents as well. The Bear looked down at his own chest momentarily before meeting Goran’s eyes.

“Yes. She is a gifted healer. But that is all.” He said emphatically. The Duke nodded and made preparations to leave the room.

“Of course. Please, Majesty, forgive a curious old man.” He said as he bowed from the doorway.

“One more thing.” The bear asked, before the Duke could open the door. He stopped and nodded.

“Yes majesty?” He asked.

“Has there been any additional communication from my father regarding the situation with Twyle?” Freyr asked. The Duke shook his head.

“Not yet. I assume it will arrive today. He would have heard about the situation several days ago. He has spies on the border, and we sent out our own messengers as well.” Freyr nodded.

“As you are apparently immune to the fear that generally accompanies the sight of me in this state, you may return, ALONE, to bring me the information the minute it should arrive. I will be informed of my father’s plans as soon as they are known.” Freyr finished, his voice solemn and authoritative. The Duke bowed.

“Yes, Majesty.” He gave a deferential dip of his head. Freyr made a low growling noise again, which sent the Duke backing out of the room at last, shutting the door behind him. Freyr sat down on the ruined bed. Why had the man attacked him so lasciviously? What did he hope to accomplish with such ribald behavior?

The Duke exited into the hall feeling as though the meeting had been a partial success. The Bear was taking more interest in the war, but not in the way he had hoped. By demeaning the girl, and intimating that he should have married for political security he had sought to make the bear defensive. He wanted the Prince to assert the usefulness of his witch as something other than a bedmate, in order to defend her honor. The Prince had not. If pleading with him to use her to dispel the army did not work, and belittling her worth did not make him want to allow her to prove herself…what would? If he could not replace it soon, he would be forced to take another approach.

Freya was sleeping. At least, she thought she was sleeping. The dream she was having was entirely too real. She was in a garden that was lush and verdant and reminiscent of the one she had enjoyed as a child. The brief summer at the Keep yielded the greenest and most gorgeous plants as though the garden had been lying dormant for nine long months, positively yearning to burst into life. She reached out to touch the soft leaves of one of the trees. It bruised easily to her touch, staining her fingers a bright green color. She plucked a needle from one of the pine boughs. It felt waxy, and smelled pungent and fresh. No dream was ever so real or so enticing.

“I hope you do not mind me bringing you here.” A woman’s voice said from behind her. Freya spun around, still clutching the pine needles in her fingertips. “I understand that you enjoyed this garden very much as a young girl. Pity you were never able to enjoy it, like this.” The tall woman, with the nearly white hair said in a low, quiet voice. Freya looked down at herself. She was human, but the sun was shining in the garden, gleaming on every dewy surface. It glittered in the misty air, creating shafts of diamonds as it trickled through the thick clouds above.

“What is this?” Freya asked, perplexed. “And who are you?” The woman smiled and bowed her head.

“I am your Aunt, born to your Grandfather before he was cursed. I am your father’s half-sister…the child of the original witch. Though I bear the blood of his line, I am spared the curse by an accident of fate and 11 months of time.” She answered. Freya was surprised. She had never heard of having an Aunt, or of the witch having borne a child. None of it matched the history she knew.

“I was not told that I had an Aunt.” She kept her voice calm, and considering. Why should her Grandfather have told her father the truth? It was possible that the story she knew, was indeed fiction. The woman took her hand and led her to the bench under the willow tree where Freya had sat numerous times as a child.

“Please, sit.” The woman said with a fluid gesture. Her motions were liquid, seductive, and impossible to disobey. Freya sat down across from the woman. “I am not surprised that you do not know of me. My father went to elaborate lengths to hide my existence.” Fairlight shuddered involuntarily when she remembered her supposed death and burial. “But I do exist. And, I am a witch. My powers are mostly in visions of the future, echoes of the past, and the ability to share another’s mind. I hope you do not mind the intrusion.” Fairlight continued in her odd cold voice. The very sound of it, her intonations, made Freya feel as if a winter wind was blowing on her.

“You are in my mind?” She asked, somewhat incredulous. The woman nodded.

“In a memory. This is beautiful. The garden looks different now, things are bigger, there are different plants…but I like this one. It is all green…no flowers, just plush moss and trees. Your memories are so vivid and distinct, it was hard to choose one to visit. I thought this one could use the sun, I hope you do not mind the alteration.” Fairlight smiled at her. “I did intrude thusly upon you, for a reason, however.” Her voice was respectful, quiet, but intent.

“And what is that?” Freya asked. The whole experience was unsettling, but it was oddly comforting to be back in the castle garden, and wonderful to see it in the sunlight.

“I am here to tell you of a duty that your father needs you to fulfill. He is aware that you are returning, and is eager to see you again. Unfortunately we are soon to go to war with Twyle. It threatens all the people of Gyllene, including your father, unless we can form an alliance with them.” Fairlight spoke slowly, allowing Freya to draw conclusions on her own. Freya ran her hand across her forehead.

“The alliance I was supposed to fulfill, when I was affianced as a baby? Or do you mean an alliance involving Frederick? Freyr, if he is to be found…is already married.” Did the Seer know what had become of Freyr and Gilda? Surely this woman could not be asking her, by a dream, to marry a man she had never met? It had been 11 years past their intended wedding date, surely the King of Twyle was wed already?

“Freyr is indeed still wed, and he travels with his wife. They are both still in danger, but safe momentarily. The daughters of Twyle are unfortunately already married, so there is nothing that Frederick can do to assist us. It is only the crown King of Twyle who is unwed. In order to avoid war, we will have to offer them one of Gyllene’s heirs. You are the only one who is viable.” She paused regretfully. “A thousand corpses will carpet the lawn of the Keep if this fails. This beautiful garden will be burnt as a mass pyre to prevent the rotting men from causing a plague.” Freya put her fingers to her lips, tasting the astringent oil of the pine. Could she believe any of this? The strange cold woman grasped her hand.

“We need you to get to Gyllene much sooner. We need you as soon as possible.” Fairlight said earnestly. Freya could not process this. So there was to be no pretense, no requests, no pleading. She was expected to do this, and with all haste. She was not being given a choice. She was being told to abandon her hopes, her desires, and to offer herself up as a sacrificial offering in order to avoid war. At least, her brother was safe for now, and with Gilda. She would have to focus on their happiness…it appeared that returning to Gyllene would bring her none of her own.

“There is no other way? To avoid war I mean? I had thought that my infant engagement was over.” Freya asked quietly. Fairlight shook her head.

“No, I’m afraid there is not. Not one without bloodshed. I can kill the men, but your father would like to attempt a peaceful solution.” Fairlight answered. Freya sighed.

“What assurances do I have that any of this is real? Why should I abandon the man that I love, who is traveling with me to a foreign land, on the basis of a dream?” Freya asked.

“You will replace the assurance that you require when you awaken. This is real, and your father did send me to request that you make your way to the Gyllene/Twyle border as soon as possible to present yourself and prove your veracity.” Fairlight took Freya’s hand again opening it and putting a small branch of richly scented pine into it. “The new King of Twyle will assume that this is a trick, possibly an attempt at assignation. You MUST show yourself to him so that he does not doubt our sincerity. If you stop at Estate of the Aliksanders’ an accompaniment of guards and proper clothes can be given to you. I have taken the liberty of asking your brother and Gilda to await you there…in a similarly hallucinatory fashion. Your identity must be believed, in order for this to work, and dressed as you are, you will not impress the King. Freyr and Gilda will be in charge of the Estate by the time you arrive. The ‘caretaking’ of the Aliksanders is over.” Fairlight said gently. Freya would need to be properly situated for presentation to the King of Twyle. A wagon with a few rented horses, a merchant, a boy, and a pregnant prostitute were a poor retinue to accompany a Princess.

“But we cannot travel fast. My brother’s…female companion, she is with child. If we travel too quickly she will miscarry, and the child is of royal blood.” Freya said with concern. She felt as if she could avoid dwelling on her own pain if she kept her focus solidly on her companions.

“Yes. I know. Of course preserving the royal child is of the utmost importance, especially in a time of such internal dissention. While it could never conceivably be legitimized, an heir who is capable of producing offspring will settle the fears of some of the inhabitants. Frederick’s proven virility will be useful, as your father’s more recent efforts have been quite publicly unsuccessful.” Fairlight did not seem embarrassed speaking about her brother’s attempts at procreation. Everything she said was equally dispassionate.

“But if you agree, then why do you suggest….” Fairlight held up her hand to stop Freya from speaking.

“I simply want you to head directly to the Estate, rather than to the Keep. Travel at as fast a pace as is advisable. The Kingdom of Twyle must see that you are real, and with every possible swiftness.” Fairlight finished. Freya sighed inwardly. Her life in Edenhoven had been over when she had been ‘killed’, her life in Gyllene was now over before she had even arrived. Poor Elias. He had accompanied her all this way, and now it would be for nothing. She knew she had no opportunity to refuse. This was her duty, and she was not the type of person to forsake the lives of thousands of others for her own personal happiness.

“Very well. If all of this is somehow real and true, then I will indeed do as you say. We will begin heading in the direction of the Aliksander estate, rather than to the Keep.” Freya answered slowly and with reluctance. For the first time she resented Gilda’s intrusion into their lives. Her heart had almost healed from its first breaking when she had arrived. Now, because of the events she had set in motion, Freya was going to have it be broken again. If Gilda had never come… Fairlight looked saddened.

“I know that this grieves you. I am very sorry. Please, forgive me for this. I did not wish to do this to you. But I am more reluctant to kill so very many men.” Fairlight said gently. Freya stood.

“It is alright.” As always, comforting others was her first concern. “I understand my duty. I have never been one to put my personal happiness before the lives of so many others.” She answered in as calm a voice as she could muster. Fairlight smiled at her as the colors began to fade and the greenery paled.

“I know. I know quite a bit about you, and I do love you dearly my niece, regardless of what you must assume.” She said before the vision darkened and Freya found herself awake in the wagon, with a snoring Xanthippe beside her.

She sat up in the dark, disconcerted. Had any of that strange experience been real? Her hand felt somewhat strange, as though something was prickling inside it. Freya opened her hand to see what she was holding. A few small pine needles were crushed in her palm. The scent of the pungent little sprig filled her nose as she stared at incredulous. So, it was real. Her life was over. That was extraordinarily disappointing, her heart sank into an endless void at the bottom of her chest. Freya closed her eyes and put her head back down onto the roll of clothing she used as a pillow. For the first time in 10 years tears spilled from the corners of her eyes, and slid in rivulets down her face.

The messenger waited in the narrow stone pass, as he had been told to do. The pass had been chosen because it forced the army to pause before invading Gyllene. The pass was just on the Twyle side of the border, but it was so narrow that if the King of Twyle entered it, he could not bring his army with him. He could be accompanied only by a line of men standing three across, shoulder to shoulder. The army would have to stop their march long enough for the King to meet with Gyllene’s proxy, and then decide to retreat before marching once more toward the keep. If King Rearden chose to come, he would have to listen to the proposal before invading. During the time in which he listened, he would be at the mercy of the Gyllene army, which waited in the larger portion of the pass. The King of Gyllene knew what a benefit it was to put his enemies in a vulnerable place before he offered them a compromise. It made them more cooperative.

But Prince Rearden had not arrived. Neither had the bird returned during the window of time in which it was supposed to. It seemed likely to the messenger, that Twyle was not interested in peace. They did not even care to replace out what they were being offered in exchange for putting down their arms. The young man who was the King’s proxy felt distressed. He had failed his ruler, and now there would be war. A true Knight would take his own life in such a situation, but this young man did not have the heart. Or rather he had one, and it was blood red with coursing life that refused to submit to such ceremonial gestures. He had buried the handle of his sword in the earth, up to the hilt, testing himself to see if he could do it…but he could not. The young man sat down and put his head in his hands. Night was falling. He had been here two days, two days without flinching, but now there was no point. No one was coming.

“What is your proposal?” A deep voice asked calmly. The young man looked up in surprise. He held his hand above his head to stay the archer’s who were waiting in case Twyle intended to literally kill the messenger. The man who spoke was on horseback, with no weapon. He wore a crown, and most importantly had a twisted spine which forced him to lean slightly to the left. Unless the man was an actor, who did a remarkable job playing a cripple, this was the true King. The proxy jumped to his feet, and bowed just as quickly. The rapid up and down motion nearly caused him to drop to his knees with dizziness, but he remained standing as he straightened slowly, putting his hand on the jagged gray stone wall of the pass to steady himself.

“Your Majesty! I did not expect you to come alone! I heard no foot soldiers approaching, so I…I assumed you had decided not to meet with me.” The Proxy said quietly. The King of Twyle smiled with a glance at the sword, planted like a flag in the ground. The boy blushed. He was embarrassed by his visible lack of conviction. He dared raise his eyes to the face of the Twylish King. The man’s teeth were white and even, his hair shining black, and he seemed very regal for a cripple who was supposedly also a simpleton.

“I did not wish to alarm my men, or to offer the more reluctant of them the opportunity to desist, when they might well need to go to war. I waited until they all fell asleep, and came on my own.” Rearden admitted, sitting a little straighter. The proxy, whose given name was Nathaniel, looked at him in surprise.

“Why on earth would you risk your safety in such a manner Majesty? We mean you absolutely no harm, but there is no way you could have known that for certain.” Nathaniel remarked. King Rearden sighed.

“To show you, that despite the armies I am leveling in your direction, I am eager for peace. Please, let me hear your offer.” He meant every word. The proxy nodded and withdrew the vellum scroll from his bag. He handed it to the King of Twyle. Rearden took it cautiously, leaning over just as slightly as he could in order to take it. He had no desire to unseat himself and need to be lifted back onto his horse by three of his current enemies. He broke the red wax seal with the head of a bear, and read the words written in red ink on the unctuous lamb skin.

If it pleases the King of Twyle, I would like to renew the engagement to my daughter, Princess Freya Ingrid Annalyse of Gyllene, which was made upon her birth. She will be returned to this land in time for a Spring wedding to his Majesty King Rearden Perrigren Gustaf of Twyle.

I, King Freyr Krystian Ardwith of Gyllene am prepared to offer the border city, and corresponding orchards of Yirelad, as well as 1,000 head of sheep, 100 tons of iron ore and the opportunity to launch 20 fishing vessels per annum in perpetuity from the port of Svenyck as dowry for my daughter.

In exchange for this dowry this Kingdom of Twyle promises never to take up arms against Gyllene, and to care for its daughter the Princess, her issue, and the many people of Yirelad.”

Prince Rearden rolled the letter back into a tight scroll. It was not as much as he had expected, but certainly more than a Kingdom which was threatening to steal from another deserved. The border city of Yirelad was situated near several of the strange vapor pockets which produced steam through fissures in the Earth. Their orchards produced year round, every month a different set of trees offered its fruit…more than Yirelad could consume. At current, they shipped the excess, to their King. If he accepted the offer, the food would come to his Kingdom instead.

The 1000 head of sheep was exceedingly generous…depending upon how many males and females they offered. If it were all the males from that year, then it was nearly worthless. If it were a mix of males and females it was of little worth, but if it was ten rams to 90 ewes…it was a fine offer indeed. The ore would be sold almost immediately to cover their debts, and would bear no additional gain. It was negligible. The fishing boats, were the key tidbit to offer. As it was, they had no access to the ocean other than their little inlet. If they were aligned, and could send boat makers and supplies into Gyllene, for 20 launches per year… They could crawl their way out of poverty. A whale oil industry alone would allow their starving farmers to become candle-makers, tanners, makers of salves, even soaps. The resources that meant anything to him were not the ones that gave him a year or two of wealth, but those that would continue to yield prosperity for his people.

“How do I get word to his majesty if I wish to negotiate terms?” Rearden asked the young man. Nathaniel bowed again.

“I am given several different stipulations, and authorized to make alterations with you, provided that they adhere to the advanced mandates of my Lord the King.” Nathaniel said with yet another bow. He was supposed to be as deferent as possible in order to flatter the young King without giving away more than Gyllene wished to part with.

“Very well. I wish to launch more vessels from your ports, and I want to know if sheep will be rams or ewes. I do not care about the ore.” Rearden admitted in a clipped tone. The messenger tilted his head with confusion.

“The ore is to help you with the building of ships. Surely you do not have many already, as you have little access to the Sea in Twyle? The sheep will selected, unsexed, from those recently weaned. They will all be young enough to breed, and you should have a fairly even mix of rams and ewes.” Nathaniel answered. The King of Twyle silently cursed himself. He had forgotten how much more ore they would need in order to build ships. If he was asking for more launches, he was going to need ships. An even mix of rams and ewes was not ideal, most of the rams would end up as mutton…but still, they were not trying to cheat him.

“I see. Then, I would like 25 launches per annum, the ore, the sheep, and the city. In exchange I will sign your agreement promising not to bear arms against Gyllene in perpetuity, and I will wed your Princess. But I need to see her, immediately. I will not send my armies home, when we have the distinct advantage, on the mere promise of a Spring wedding.” The Princess not arriving until Spring was what made this all look like a ruse. Spring was when the King of Gyllene would have no trouble sending as many armies as were required, in order to slaughter his much smaller forces. 20% of the men he had with him now were hired, and he could not afford to pay them forever. Of course he wished to avoid war, but there was a limit to how naïve he could afford to be. If he sent his corsairs away, and returned his farmers to their fields while waiting for his promised Princess, Gyllene could invade and decimate his Kingdom, and even claim it for their own.

“But Majesty, she is still traveling! She is not available for you to see – immediately. I’m sure the additional launches can be approved, but I cannot do a thing about the speed at which the Princess travels!” The messenger nervously wiped his brow. Rearden looked down at him with suspicion and disdain.

“Very well. You have three days. In three days I will return here, to meet my bride, and to sign your documents. If she is not here, we will march on the southern lands of Gyllene within that hour.” The King of Twyle said as he quickly turned his horse around and galloped away. He intended to have the last word, and the limit he had set was reasonable. Unfortunately, it also meant that he was most likely about to go to war, in earnest, in three days.