The white-stone Great Cathedral outside Changge City, its dome soaring into the clouds.
Before the altar, mottled sunset light filters through stained glass, falling across the long negotiation table, casting the faces of both delegations half in light, half in shadow.
Armand tapped his fingertips against the tabletop, the wooden table giving a dull thud.
He wore the Holy Alliance's standard navy-blue uniform, a sun-gear badge pinned at his collar, his expression hovering between a smile and a sneer: "We've already backed down once—five years cut to three.
Three years, the prisoners released in three batches, each batch twelve months apart.
Our only condition is a ceasefire for these three years. That's an extremely generous offer."
Sitting opposite him, the Royal Court's Minister of Foreign Affairs, Malebaz, let out a derisive snort: "His Excellency Armand, are you joking? Our Royal Court's army numbers in the millions, you think we care about fifty thousand?"
