“Eight, but the?—”
“How many of them were high-ranking officials?” Rholker’s words are short and clipped.
Regent Uvog’s hand falls from his face, and he grits his teeth as his eyes pass from Rholker’s blood spattered shoes to his stained white shirt. “Two were minor lords, and six were warriors.”
Rholker lifts off his chair. His hands flex under Uvog’s scrutiny, but his shoulders remain shoved back as he holds his head high.
“And what of Lord Fektir?”
“He is furious about his daughter’s arm,” the regent replies.
Rholker clasps his hands behind his back and begins to pace back and forth.
“It’s a broken fucking arm. It’s not like she was in any real danger.”
“Your Majesty, some say it was you who shoved her on the ground when the Elf King tried to stab one ofyourwitches,” Uvog says.
Rholker is silent.
The only sounds are the crackling fire in the corner and the feet shuffling outside the office door as slaves clean up Rholker’s mistakes.
“Look, the individuals of substantial meaning are fine. Arion, Fektir, the Shaman Ogre King, I don’t understand why you are?—”
“The ogres lost more than any other. I’ve given you dozens of chances to speak plainly with them. You have refused to forge a relationship at every turn,” Uvog practically shouts, slamming his fist on the desk.
“They are our distant blood kin. We do not need to play diplomacy!” Rholker shouts back.
Uvog shakes his head. “For Khuohr’s sake. I believed in you when you proved your prowess by overthrowing your father.”
Rholker’s eyes narrow. “I would be very careful with what you intend to say next. I am still your king, and you have already promised to march upon the Enduar caves.”
“You are worried about the Enduares right now?” Uvog starts to laugh. Then he straightens, looking directly at Rholker. “Tell me, did you know that your comfort woman took a whole quarter of the breeding pen when she escaped?”
Rholker’s throat bobs.
“Yes,” he grits out.
“You thought that keeping her separate would prevent her from poisoning the well, but you were wrong. Tales of the Enduares are spreading through the ranks like a disease. Now that a few dozen are gone, you can expect a rebellion,” Uvog seethes.
“That’s an easy fix—I punish those who try, and we fortify the guards,” Rholker says simply.
Uvog shakes his head. “That won’t help. A diseased limb must be cut out.”
Rholker’s head cocks to the side. “How?”
“You are the sovereign. Why don’t you tell me?” Uvog says through gritted teeth.
Rholker stares down at the map strewn across his desk.
So many plans… they all swirl before his eyes. Riches, power, land. Everything was working.
He needed more slaves, not less. And yet, he also needed the support of his court.
“Culling the population will be the first step,” Rholker says quietly.
“Precisely.” Uvog displays the first modicum of agreement since entering the room. “We can poison food supplies, execute those that speak openly of revolt, and burn slave pens.”
Rholker pauses.
