Pе™гўtelг© A Nepе™гўtelг© Crusader Kings Iii-flt Direct

The Duke didn't shout. He didn't call the guards. Instead, he turned to his brother and smiled—the cold, calculated smile of a player who had just checked the .

"I... I would be honored," Vratislav stammered, realizing his scheme had been countered by a superior stat.

"The King of Hungary offers an alliance," Bořivoj muttered, his voice gravelly from a week of fever. "He wants my eldest daughter for his second son." The Duke didn't shout

As his brother backed out of the room, Bořivoj sighed and leaned back. The fever was worsening, his "Stress Level" was rising, and his heir was still a three-year-old child with the "Scaly" trait. But for tonight, the borders were safe, and the internal threats were managed.

A nervous courtier stepped forward, whispering into the Duke’s ear. Vratislav had been seen meeting with a known assassin in the tavern district. The "Loyal Brother" modifier was a lie; Vratislav was currently 95% of the way through a "Murder" scheme targeting Bořivoj. "He wants my eldest daughter for his second son

Vratislav’s face paled. He knew the mountain pass was infested with "Bandits"—the kind of bandits a Duke pays to ensure a tragic accident occurs.

In the world of the Middle Ages, friends are just enemies who haven't found a good reason to betray you yet. staring at a small

The flickering torchlight of the Great Hall in Prague cast long, dancing shadows against the stone walls. Duke Bořivoj sat at the head of the heavy oak table, staring at a small, wax-sealed parchment. To his left sat his Chancellor, a man who had served his father; to his right, his ambitious younger brother, Vratislav.