"You're too much!" The Queen of England resisted the urge to whip the woman hard.

Don't be angry, don't be angry. She was only angry that she was so close to the heart of the kingdom and could not feel the beating of this heart.

Emma almost felt a sense of satisfaction, that power was intoxicating – at least that power would fill the void if there was no love.

"If my brother knew that you threw our land like a piece of wolf blood to Godwin......"

Our homeland? Our? This who doesn't know what to do.

"Your Majesty, the Count of Northumbria has arrived." The squire's voice came from the direction of the high pillar, interrupting an impending quarrel.

"This meeting is over, and now we have to deal with state affairs." Emma deliberately emphasized the word "state", and she was smug at the anger it provoked on Christina's disguised pious face.

However, this small private victory could not hide the fact that the whole was collapsing, and Emma, knowing that she had to keep what was left for her husband and son, arranged her headscarf in the most appropriate position and turned her gaze back to the center of the hall.

The first impression that Volsiov gave the queen was aging, and the Northumbrian warrior with his burly body and broad shoulders was completely gone, and in front of him was an old man with blistered skin. Will he still be able to command a large army? She asked herself.

"Your Majesty, news from Normandy ......" the count's lips fluttered like ghosts, and a single sentence seized the queen's whole spirit.

The two de facto controllers of England secretly discuss the future under the columns of the grand hall, as if it were not the power of the sky overhead that weaves the fate of the kingdom, but two mere mortals.

In the center of the palace on the banks of the Seine, the Frankish king Philip inspected his armored knights with satisfaction, a Gallic Caesar's bee insignia replacing the original rune on the streamlined cuirass, and spears on the top of their helmets thrust into the vault like a grove of iron.

The lost provinces are about to be regained, and the northerners, who call themselves the people of war, will soon be wailing under my whip and restoring their slave nature.

Philip had never been so well informed, and from him, like a baby who had lost his nursing breast, strove into his bosom for new grace, Philip first learned that Woolfnorth had taken Exeter, and that the Norman said that Devon and Cornwall would soon join the Godwin rebellion.

It had been a long time since Philip had heard the name of that family, a clan with only a trace of ashes left, and he looked at the statues of King Merovingian in the palace, the immortal stone statues representing the names that were once powerful, and now there were only the stone pillars in this hall—in the eyes of these cold stone statues, humanity must have been as fleeting as burning coal.

Human life is so short, only blood can be eternal, it is a pity, cousin Edgar, your bones will return to a ruined homeland.

Rouen still hadn't heard back, but Philip had heard of the "accident" on the northern coast, and the English fleet from Dover had encountered resistance from Fécon's castle, and the local Norman lords seemed to have lost faith in Robert and began to retreat. Robert didn't last long, and at best, he could only hide behind the walls of Rouen and watch the royal army sweep through the Saxons, a weak bloodline of a powerful tribe.

The snow and ice were melting, the season of war was about to begin, and Philip hoped that the English king's spaniel had been destroyed by the winter camp, and that the bloodthirsty minions were always feared, but it was still a fierce mastiff after all.

"Yuge, do you think I'm still your brother?"

"Your Majesty......" Hugue, Count of Vimanduwa, bowed his head to his king in fear.

"Look at this letter." Philip handed over a piece of parchment.

Count Hugue looked up, and saw not an ordinary letter, but a note, and he recognized the handwriting on the paper at a glance:

"May God forgive you, for I will never!"

"Sent by Emma." Philip explained absentmindedly.

"Does she know anything?"

"No, she just knows me too well."

A monster of power.

"I'm still her brother, but I'm also your king." Philip's voice trembled a little, "The king is a lion, and lions must eat human flesh. ”

"I understand." Huge lowered his head again, a bunch of braided hair falling from his earlobe.

"After this war is over, no matter whether we win or lose, we will stop, a principality is not easy to digest, and it can kill if you eat too much."

"You mean?"

"I've heard that Emma has imprisoned the princess of Saxony, and it looks like my nephew needs a new bride."

Hug showed an admiring expression, fitting a brilliant move for a brother and a king.

"Whatever the outcome of the war, you have to go to England this year." Then, His Holiness added, "Take Constance with you." ”

The princess is not yet ten years old, but she is enough to be a diplomatic weapon.

"Tell Emma that we will support her rule, and if she is not satisfied with Constance, she can choose to marry Elfwen to Louis, and we promise that her daughter, our niece, will be the most noble queen of the Franks."

Who knows, if God favors him, perhaps one day one of Capetian's sons will wear the crown of England.

Such a thought only flashed through Count Ger's mind, after all, his wife was a Carolingian offspring, and where were the Carolingian kings now?