“The rebels trouble us no longer, my lord.” The general bowed. She smirked, “But there may be one more incident.”
by Kaitlynn Peavler
The old king smiled, rising from the map-strewn table. He poured a large glass of his most recent vice. “You have done well, general. We are pleased with your loyalty and efficiency.”
“I serve the kingdom, my lord.”
“And well you serve. With ten thousand such as you, I could take the world.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
The king tipped his head and drained his glass. The general plunged a broad Kanai’i knife through the king’s neck. “But there would be ten thousand times the blood. One of me shall suffice for the good of the kingdom ... My Lord.” She spat the final word as the king fell.
She set a small vial on the king’s body and uncorked it. The black Voidmist swirled, scouring the memory of the event from the fabric of reality. She bowed and left the body for others to find.
By afternoon she would grudgingly accept regency and begin the theatrics of reuniting regals and rebels to fight the Kanai’i. History would never forget her name.
If only she could remember it.
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