>>5640296>15>Normally just high enough to convince him not to turn on you…“…Fine.”
>With your bonus… High enough to convince him to kill AlexosPrince Rufos reaches into his desk and produces a rolled-up scroll of paper. He half-slides, half-throws it across the desk, unwilling to look at it, or at you. Your unfurl it carefully, and see… A note, and a small, crude map of the surface of the continent, down which one prominent line ahs been drawn looping back in on itself.
“The route,” Rufos spits. “Spare your ‘agents’ their efforts to find him. Instead… Make haste to finish this awful business.”
You pocket the map, and rise, affecting a smile. It seems to bring the troubled human male little comfort; instead, he reaches under the desk and produces a decanter of amber liquid—liquor, you recognize—and a glass.
“You have made the right decccission, KING Rufosss.”
“Leave me,” he snarls in reply, pouring his cold comfort into the crystalline goblet.
You oblige him. And why not? You’re winning. Hawksong’s Paladin Prince is doomed. Its saviors and whistleblowers are jailed, outcast, compromised, absent. Your agents and allied are protected, empowered. Its Princess is all but yours.
No, you’re not winning… You’ve WON.
You retire to your room, cross your legs, empty your mind, and recite quietly a prayer of thanks and tribute to the Dark Gods Below and Beyond, whom you serve and who have guided you to this victory.
The next day, you set out from the palace—unsupervised, guarded no longer, free as if you were already ruler of this place. You deliver the map to Irinnile’s agents, to pass along to those among the Master Race’s Infiltrators best suited to assassinate a Paladin knight. With it, you include a note about his techniques, strengths and weaknesses, and what to be wary of-your duel well-informed you of how best to end the Crown Prince of Hawksong.
With that deed done, you decide to make the most of what remains of your day. Ekaterine is busy with some function, you understand. She’d been lamenting it—it was a stuffy, formal thing, which she regarded as being simply another event where she was to stand, smile, look pretty, move little and say even less. She’d been even more saddened that she couldn’t bring you, but you’re not yet a FORMAL member of the royal family.
Heh. Soon, you’ll be its PATRIARCH. YOUR child, yours and Eka’s, will succeed the throne in due time. You’ve assured it.
