“See here! This is—I came to negotiate with Ghreiden of Sauria. I will not negotiate with his boy plaything.” Tauf’s face purpled with rage.
Varis didn’t react or even draw his nail down.
“You have nothing that we or Sauria cannot live without or find elsewhere. True, it may be more expensive, but I am growing far more displeased by the moment with you.” Ghreid strolled forward and sat down, fingers tented as he pondered over Varis’s offerings, all things that they’d spoken of at one point or another, delivered quite excellently. And he’d done it all, ceding nothing to the demanding oaf.
The moment Tauf opened his mouth, Varis scratched the glass once more. While Tauf flinched, Varis spoke again. “I would think very carefully about the next words that come out of your mouth, King.”
Silence stretched, anger flashed in the reticent male’s eyes, and he swallowed. “I am not leaving unt—”
Varis brought his nail down with such strength that it left a groove in the glass that broke through the surface. The guards jumped as the king’s attendant actively covered his face, and the king himself reared back, eyes wide. With shaken composure, the king cleared his throat. “Though, perhaps we can n-negotiate a little more amicably. You likely didn’t know Asha’s station.”
“We knew.” Ghreid nodded once and offered no kindness as Varis kept his halting gaze pinned on the king. “We wrote the Monsmountian king as well as sent missive to you. The king took a more than reasonable tribute, and a letter came back from you stating that the former Lady of Wyverncrest was dishonored,and any child borne out of a suspected union with your brother was to be held in highest doubt. No demand or claim.”
The attendant next to Tauf paled and stifled a single whimper as the king turned to stare him down. “You said that? Truly?”
“I was u-under orders from your predecessor to see to it noextraneousheirs popped up and it was an easy s-solution at the time.” The attendant cleared his throat before shrieking as Tauf snapped his fingers.
One of the milling guardsmen grabbed the male by his arm and gave a nod toward Rydel, as if requesting permission to leave. And with no further discourse, the two left.
“Was this intended to appease me somehow?” Ghreid blinked a few times and reached out next to himself to grab Varis’s hand for a brief and encouraging squeeze. He prayed Varis understood how very proud of him he was.
“No, it was intended to make me feel better. It didn’t. But we can continue this war if you like.” The king situated himself stiffly. “Or we can make an arrangement that appeases us both.”
“You made a sore mistake in coming to us to ask for reparations for Sauria’s doings. We are a tributary nation, not a territory. We handle the ports and their goings-on. If it’s trade, we trade. If it’s matters of my lovely brother-in-law? That is handled with Mezerath.” Varis grinned. “And when he hears about you showing up and threatening his brother and pregnant mate… Well.”
A few pebbles of the shattered glass slid from the tabletop and scattered over the stone floor, stopping at the rug’s edge.
“Now, surely you didn’t think we’d simply hand over the entirety of the ports to you as dowry? You had to have known that we lacked both the authority and the audacity to do such a stupid thing. One comes in, demanding big with the hopes of at least getting something. Now. For the sin of pissing me off—we employ your son for a ten-year contract. After, he’s free to go home or stay.” Varis plucked a piece of glass from the table and rolled it around.
“Speak, or I’ll have one of the guards do it for you. They’re bound to have heard you prattling about your plans, and no doubt how cunning you feign them to be.” Varis glanced around, the copper in his eyes glinting. Ghreid traced the faces of the guards, their eyes diverting and posture weakening.
Bless this boy and his judgement. Spot. Fucking. On.
The king shifted in his seat uneasily.
“Speak!” Varis swiped his hand, sending the glass skittering onto Ghreid’s fine rug. “Threaten me, my home, my mate, mychildren.”
The way the light flitted through the window, the fire in Varis’s eyes, his paternal horn adornments gently swaying—it all gave Ghreid a rather full sensation. His heart swelled,as well as other body parts, and he thought himself suddenly channeling some of Falustus’s fiery desire. He wanted Varis in his bed.
“Amnesty!” One of the guards stepped away, hastily unbuckling his scabbard and letting his weaponry hit the floor. “Amnesty and I’ll talk!”
“Granted.” Ghreid gestured toward the weak-chinned male as he drew his helmet free, exposing a rather unwashed shock of strikingly blond hair. Green eyes, open wide, glistened with unease. He stepped back from the other three guards and the king, earning a sneer, the king’s gaze holding murder in it.
“We ain’t been paid in months! The kingdom’s bankrupt. We’re about to lose the kingdom to the merchants. They’re getting fat and rich off our suffering!” The guard glared over his shoulder at the king, who despite thepoverty, looked to be doing well for himself.
“You want to borrow a dragon. You want to wage war against your own kingdom, against the merchants?” Varis huffed and waved the guard over toward Rydel to be escorted out.
How Varis put that many pieces together that fast was beyond Ghreid’s reckoning, but there he was calling him out.
Varis shifted his gaze toward Ghreid, and they locked eyes. For almost a solid minute, they stared at one another. Meaning passed between them. Varis’s eyes telling him to draw things out. Ghreid pushing a thought through his very soul, letting him know how much he was adored.
“Dragons do not involve themselves in human wars. But you have dragged us forcibly into this, making it a dragon’s problem. I have a solution.” Ghreid sat up and gestured toward the king. “By order of Rammolia, all merchant companies docking are subject to an additional export tax to be collected in Rammolia. Every crate will need to bear your tax stamps.”
“We can’t tax thingsleavingthe country; it would destroy commerce!” The king clenched his fists, and Ghreid raised a single brow.
“Oh no. However will the merchants thrive?” Ghreid sighed exasperatedly, pinning the king with a serious look. “Levy the taxes on the merchants themselves. Haul some of your abandoned ships back home and start a fleet owned by the kingdom itself. Smaller loads and deliveries can be taxed at a lower rate if it’s shipped through the crown—allowing smaller businesses to thrive without being pissed on by the bourgeoisie. If you cannot control the merchants, control their vendors. Now, to start up something like this, you’ll need someone who is an expert in export and logistics. A dragon.”
The king nodded a few times, face still.
