"...King Patrick," General Blackthorn said. "What he’s saying starts to carry the ring of truth. Those neutral parties – there’s a lot of them. The size of the army Blake could rise if they joined him... There’d be no fighting it."
"Indeed," King Patrick said, hearing him.
"He would have no trouble spinning his narrative either, Your Majesty," Verdant Idris said, though his expression appeared pained. "The manipulations of the High King would have their effect once more... We truly would have no chance to fight against it."
Desperation written there. Remorse. Every Patrick ally in that room seed to have the wind firmly dragged out of their sails. "It happens again," a young man muttered.
"What happens, Jorah?"
"You would not know, Firyr, I suppose, for you were not born here... Ah, but surely you know of our King’s father, Dominus Patrick? Perhaps you even know of how Arthur was manipulated towards a premature death? The High King’s machinations have tainted this realm for the longest ti. Perhaps it is Lord Blake that gives him his power. Once more, just as Dominus and Arthur were forced to, we were made to wait."
"Yes, indeed, you are made to wait," King Erson said. "Your Lord father was made to wait, when the High King snatched Persephone from him. We were silenced, out of fear for what speaking out would do. This is the kingdom that we live in, Patrick – this is the Stormfront. This is the justice that you chase after. The justice that allowed your father to do nothing, when Persephone was murdered. Only Arthur spoke out against it – and how did that work for Arthur?" King Erson laughed. "That is divine authority – that is what it ans to be High King. To have the very will of the Gods work for you."
"Will you work for us then, King Erson?" Lord Idris said. "Will you ally with us once more, if we offer you forgiveness?"
"Ha! And where would it get , when I have no n?" King Erson said. "Lord Idris, do allow yourself to wake up. This is done. No matter how much we might struggle, the High King has bested us."
Lord Idris snarled. "You are a cockroach, Your Highness," he said, before speaking to his own King. "Even if this path has beco closed to us, Your Highness, there will be others."
"I dislike retreating," General Blackthorn growled. "But I suppose we have been bested."
"Even you, Blackthorn?" King Patrick said, his voice a strange tone, different to the rest of them. He turned around – that look on his face, the sa as before. The utmost calm. His eyes twirling around like the centres of a storm.
A single sentence, and all were uncertain, even the Erson King himself. For all the old King had said, not a word of it had unsettled King Patrick. Not a fragnt of it was set to surprising him.
Edward saw what he was sent there to warn King Patrick of – the very thing that King Erson now spoke of. He could only thank the Gods that he was sent there in ti.
"We saw through it," General Blackthorn said, practically growling the words. "We didn’t fall directly into the trap. That is enough. We will find another way."
"All of you are in agreent on this?" King Patrick said, looking from one man to the other.
"I am afraid so, Your Majesty," Verdant said.
"...It doesn’t look like we have any other options," Lady Blackthorn said sadly.
"Goddamnit," was all Firyr said, as he turned away.
The others responded with their sombreness. Colonel Jorah voiced his agreent with Verdant. General Blackthorn crushed the wooden arm of his chair between his fingers, and gave his own agreent.
Calmly, did King Patrick take it all in, and he smiled and gave a nod, when they had said all that they needed to.
Then, with an equally frightening degree of calm, he picked up Dominus Patrick’s blade, and cut off King Erson’s head.
"The opportunity is already here," he told them. "Do not fear the storm. It is ours to command."
Shock leaked around the room, along with a King’s blood, dripping from the table top. Oliver Patrick scooped up his crown, and held it tight within his hand.
"Prince Hendrick," King Patrick said. "From this day forth, you are Lord Erson. I will spare you and your family, and allow you to live out your days as nobles. The betrayal belonged to your father alone – his punishnt has already been carried out."
"In my own na, as Oliver Patrick, I do declare all lands once Erson to now be lands of the Kingdom of Patrick, by the Stormfront right of conquest," Oliver Patrick said. "And to my allies, who fear the future, and the union of the Stormfront Kingdom against us, I offer my reassurances. For this is how it ought to be. This is how the High King’s crown should be won – through conquest. No matter how corrupt that man might be, that is his divine right, as King Erson suggested."
Edward was struck by the overwhelming sense that, from the start, impossibly, this had been aligned for Oliver Patrick’s favour. They all had seed dood to defeat, just monts before, but with a single blow of his sword, King Patrick had seen them corrected. And though it was completely contrary to what Edward’s mission in coming to see the King had been, he did not find the King to be wrong in the slightest degree. The complete contrary – he felt the decision to be more just than what ought to have been possible. It was the act of a tyrant, and yet sohow it carried the utmost purity in it. Naught could have been more right than it. To have taken Lord Blake’s machinations, and made them his own.
The shock began to thaw, and General Blackthorn’s face broke out into a vicious smile. "King Patrick," he said, his voice raw with approval. "You are not Queen Asabel – you’re not. You’re an entirely different creature. A wrong sort. But I have the sudden feeling that you might go all the way. You’ve invited calamity on us – so why is it I feel so much more ready to fight than I was before?"
"Because, General, we are exactly where we ought to be," King Patrick said. "I have no doubts as to that."
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