“A woman will never hold the throne by herself,” Rholker bites back. “Divine decree has appointed my blood. That isuntouchable.”
“Precisely, which is why you will give her a son. If you have not rectified your sins before then, then our land will welcome the rule of a babe,” Fektir says.
His ambition lights up the room, seeping out of every pore. He wants the crown and all the riches that he was denied as a simple lord.
Rholker shakes his head. “I won’t touch your disgusting daughter.”
Fektir grabs him again, this time pushing him into the wall.
“You will, and I will make sure. When her arm is healed, you will visit her bed every night for three months.”
Rholker opens his mouth, only for Fektir to slap it closed.
“I will be there. I will ensure you properly plant your seeds and water her garden until a new sprout begins to grow.”
For the first time, Rholker’s haughty expression fades. He has no plan and no great supporters in this room.
Fektir pounds the king’s back against the wall once more. “Do you understand?”
Rholker looks into his eyes, full of hatred for those who think they can bend him to their wills. “Yes.”
Uvog watches the exchange from the desk, chest heaving and mouth still bleeding.
“What is your plan? And I swear on the god of war, if you mention that damned woman, I will kill you right now and harvest your seed from your lifeless corpse,” Fektir shouts.
Rholker refuses to appear weak any longer.
He fights back, pushing off Fektir.
“We are going to begin the process of culling the slaves and visit the Ogre King. I will go to the Elf King in the morning.”
Fektir steps back. “I will go with you.”
Rholker begins to protest, but Fektir shakes his head. “No. I won’t let you ruin this, too.”
Uvog nods once.
“I shall come, too.”
Fektir nods tightly. “Excellent. Shall I call a slave to straighten your appearance, or do you wish to leave now?”
Rholker seethes at him. As if giving him such a meager choice could make up for the humiliation.
“We will go now,” he says.
The three exit the door, push past the ruins of the great hall, and then head to the rooms for the ogres.
When they reach the door, the metallic scent of blood is everywhere. Two giants lay dead at the entrance.
Pushing the door hanging on its bent hinges, they step inside. In the middle of the room, four slaughtered giant warriors are propped up against the chair. The careful precision of the ogres’ blades is haunting.
The stacked bodies can only mean one thing; the ogres have made enemies of the giants.
Fektir lets out a garbled sound. “If I could kill you and take your throne right this second, I would.”
Rholker takes in the gore of the room, utterly helpless. “I can fix this.”
Uvog laughs, but Fektir says, “No, I will fix this through you.”
