"..."

The man stood by the window of his private quarters, gazing longingly at the green fields of Saint-Montipelier. His eyes wandered far beyond the meadows, far beyond the forest and the hills, far beyond...

"If you're just going to stand there without saying anything, I suggest you leave this instant."

Warren clenched his fist behind his back. He knows much to well the gossips spreading around the city; that the marshal had betrayed his dear empire in favor of a small patch of land in the Strait of Imperator - Rozales. Although the Services Médicaux did not hesitate to pull the injured marshal out of the battle to treat his wounds, the Montepelian Parliament did not take this so-called 'truce' so kindly.

"...Bernadotte's aching to take my head off my shoulders. Sadly, he'll have to wait."

He sighed, turning ever-so-slightly to the person standing by the door.