Pepin’s mouth twitches. “Safety is a relative concept in my father’s empire.”
Sir Philipp leans forward. “Then let us speak plainly. Why now? You have lived at court for years,” Philipp continues. “You have watched our efforts from a distance. Why align yourself with us now?”
Pepin’s fingers drum once against the table.
“Because my father has decided I am no longer useful.”
Aileen’s father studies him. “That cannot be the only reason.”
Pepin’s gaze sharpens. “It is reason enough.”
The bishop intervenes gently, “We require more than wounded pride, my prince.”
The wordprinceis deliberate.
Pepin’s jaw tightens. “My younger brother,” he says, voice flat, “has been renamed.”
A flicker moves around the table.
“Carloman,” Sir Philipp says.
“Yes,” Pepin replies. “He is Pepin now.”
Aileen inhales softly beside me.
Aileen’s father speaks carefully, “Names carry weight.”
“They carry succession,” Pepin corrects.
The bishop shifts. “It may be symbolic.”
“It is not,” Pepin says. “My father does nothing symbolically.” He leans back slightly, gaze sweeping the room. “I was raised beside him, named after his father. Presented to nobles as heir in all but declaration.” His voice does not rise. “Now the court historians whisper of concubines. Of questionable unions. Of deformity.”
Sir Philipp does not flinch. “Do you believe he intends to disinherit you?”
Pepin holds his gaze. “I believe he already has.”
Silence.
Aileen’s father folds his hands. “And that is why you come to us?”
Pepin looks almost bored.“Yes and no.”
The room stiffens.
“I come to warn you that he will require a new oath,” Pepin says. “One that binds every noble not only to him—but to his sons.”
The bishop’s brows draw together. “You are certain?”
“I heard him dictate it,” Pepin replies. “A lifelong oath.”
A bitter edge creeps into his voice on the last words.
Sir Philipp exchanges a look with Aileen’s father. “That consolidates power.”
“It suffocates dissent,” Pepin says.
The bishop leans forward. “You remained loyal through Verden.”
