Rholker turns to him.
“I am your king,” he insists with the same fervor as always.
“You are a fool.”
Fektir spits the burning words as black mist begins to pour into the room.
“You will not touch that which we protect,” the hissing voices of The Six, the human witches, declare.
The two giants appear worried as they watch the entrance of the women.
“Rholker made a deal with us, an irreversible one. We are the only ones that can stop his heart,” they say in unison, adding to the cold blackness with every second.
Uvog looks at Rholker, who watches smugly.
“You have ruined us,” the regent laments.
Rholker shakes his head, and the mask on his face begins to fall. The fear in his eyes, the helplessness, the worry, it all fades into something dangerous.
“No, I will bring glory to our people.” He steps forward, unbothered by the ominous black power.
“Your advice was welcome, Uvog. Fear not. I will indeed cull the slaves and rescue our alliances. I’m sure that your successor will be pleased.” Rhokler pulls out his knife stabs Uvog in the gut.
The man makes a garbled sound and then sinks to his knees.
Fektir watches in horror.
“Would you like to add something, Fektir? I wouldn’t like to lose you and your advice as well,” Rholker says, entirely unbothered as he wipes the bloody knife on Uvog’s blood-stained shirt.
Fektir grits his teeth.
“And what you said about Aska? I won’t sire a child with her, not ever.” Rholker continues.
Fektir lets out a roar, which echoes off the walls of the room, stinking of death.
“I won’t support this. I’ll go to the other lords,” Fektir threatens.
“No, you will not. You will uphold the deal inked in magic the night I married your daughter,” Rholker says with a grin, and his eyes glow red for a moment.
Fektir staggers back.
“That—that wasn’t magic.”
Rholker smiles as the witches flank him.
“Oh, but it was. Who do you think etched our marriage tattoos?” He holds up his hands with the black ink scrawling across his knuckles.
“I won’t support a march on the Enduares until you fix all your other messes.” Fektir bolsters his strength.
Rholker tilts his head to the side.
“Very well. Tomorrow, we will hold a meeting and invite the Elf King.” He straightens his neck. “Never say that I haven’t done you a favor.”
Fektir gazes at the dark magic swirling in the room, theyellow-red eyes of Rholker, and hateful stares of the witches. All the while Uvog’s words about ruination echo through the room.
“You have tricked me, Rholker. Do not forget just how many of the lords I control,” Fektir says.
Rholker smiles.
