The atmosphere in the Purple Salon was festive.

  Thores, King of Kings, was in high spirits. Around him, his advisors exchanged glances, silently wondering what had sparked the king’s good mood. What news or event had brought about such joy?

  Without needing to be asked, just by reading it in his eyes, Deka, the Purple Salon’s attentive maid, rushed forward to fill his glass. The liquid within sparkled faintly, as though tiny bursts of fireworks had been captured and pressed into the wine.

  The great King of Kings cast a glance over his trusted council and smiled, waiting as their own glasses were filled. Then, with a measured grace, he raised his own.

  “Today is a special day!” the King announced. “A day worth remembering. I want to share with you a truly marvelous archaeological discovery.”

  “Archaeological?” Flores, the archmage, echoed, her curiosity clearly piqued. The others exchanged surprised glances.

  The King chuckled. In an unorthodox move, he lifted one leg onto his chair, leaning his elbow casually on his raised knee as he glanced down at Fiona, his finance minister.

  “Just as my ever-gracious finance minister urges me to cut funding to the Archaeological Institute to save money,” he said, shaking his head in mock sorrow.

  Fiona blinked in surprise. Such a strong rebuke from the King, especially when she was doing everything she could to keep the budget balanced.

  “What... what did they discover?” she asked, quickly scanning her memory for any recent reports she might have overlooked. What ancient scrolls or tomes teaching forgotten spells had they unearthed? But nothing came to mind.

  The King chuckled, clearly enjoying the moment.

  “You don’t know?” he teased, then added with a triumphant grin, “You all already have the answer—but you’re too blind to see it!”

  He cast them a satisfied glance, then pointed at Nebesko, who was now examining his glass more closely.

  “He’s the only one who seems to get it…”

  The High Paladin looked up, clearly puzzled. The King went on, delighted with his own theatrics.

  “This Hockwor* was placed in a barrel near a strong magical vein by some former Lord of Uldaman, at least a hundred years ago. That’s where the aroma comes from. They're still debating who did it and exactly when.”

  He gestured toward the shimmering vapors rising from the glass.

  “If you look closely, you can see the magic swirling inside, and the vapors rising. So don’t let it sit too long in the glass, or it’ll lose its qualities.” Then he added with a smirk, “Don’t worry, it’s not toxic.”

  Merhang, the gray eminence, gave his glass a slow swirl, studying the liquid inside.

  “This is a marvelous discovery,” he said, “but it’s not the only reason you called us to celebrate, is it, Your Highness?”

  His eyes never left the glass.

  The King tilted his head, amused.

  “One can’t hide anything from you, can one?” he replied, then gave a shrug. “Besides this little find, we’ve also received good news from the east, regarding the orc kingdom. And that’s worth celebrating.”

  “Isn’t it a bit early for that Your Highness?” Nebesko asked, absentmindedly scratching his chin.

  The King chuckled.

  “If you wait for everything to be perfect, you’ll never celebrate,” the King said with a wry smile. “Perfection is unattainable, but we can still raise a glass for each step that brings us closer to it!”

  He lifted his drink, the liquid inside shimmering faintly.

  “Today, we celebrate the end of K’hordock’s reign. Everything is now in place for our final victory over those thick-headed orcs. They’ve been a thorn in our side for too long. It’s a good moment to drink.”

  “But… isn’t it only a partial success, with an uncertain outcome?” Nebesko asked, his brows drawing together. “Or maybe I misunderstood the plan? Because as far as I know, things didn’t go quite according to plan…”

  The King exhaled deeply and leaned back.

  “The plan, the plan… When you drive a flock of sheep toward a gate, you picture the straightest path, but the sheep don’t care. They’ll scatter, dart off in every direction. That’s why your plan must be flexible. You block all the wrong ways, you guide gently when needed, and in the end, they’ll reach the gate.”

  He swirled his glass, the shimmering vapor catching the light again.

  “Yes, it’s early. But we’ve prepared every contingency. We now have all the means at our disposal. Those sheep will end up in the pen, whether they want to or not.”

  The King raised his glass high.

  “Skoal!”

  The others echoed him and drank deeply emptying the glasses in one gulp.

  “Uh! That’s a very strong Hockwor!” the Archmage nodded approvingly. “And it has more mana than a standard potion! Incredible…”

  The table broke into murmurs of agreement as they discussed the potent drink. Amid the cheer, Nebesko shook his head slowly, speaking just loud enough to be heard:

  “There’s still a lot of uncertainty. Strange things have happened…”

  The King sighed and turned toward him.

  “Man of little faith!” he said, then let out a slow, rich laugh. “Technically, you’re not wrong.”

  He leaned back and chuckled.

  “But the truth is, it went even better than planned.”

  Nebesko tilted his head, unconvinced.

  “Care to enlighten us as well, Your Highness?”

  The King stood up with a huff, his belly bulging comically over the edge of the table.

  Archmage Flores forced herself not to glance at it. Gods forbid he bring up her daughter again, an accomplished body-conditioning mage, as if she were some court beautician. He'd already hinted more than once that she should "help" with his figure. It was always the same: he overindulged in food and drink, did no exercise, and then expected a perfect body without effort, compensation, or—worst of all—via "payment in kind." And body reshaping wasn't without risks. If anything went wrong, what then? What protection would her daughter have?

  The King leaned forward, resting his hands on the table as he launched into one of his signature tirades.

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  “What were we expecting?” he began. “We expected the orcs to weaken themselves in a bloody civil war. And what did we get? We got rid of that pest, K’hordock, that dangerous fool who actually managed to unite them. Now he’s gone, and we reap the benefits of his work.”

  He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

  “They’re under control now. Have you seen how fast they pulled back from their incursions the moment we asked nicely? Orcs are brutes, good for nothing but war and destruction. Useless even as slaves. Sure, you might squeeze some labor out of their peons in the mines, but give it time, they’ll revolt. They always do. Stir up trouble. Cause chaos. There’s only one answer: use them... and then break them.”

  He gestured broadly, the passion rising in his voice.

  “Ask them to build something, and what do you get? Mud bricks. Piles of rocks stacked crookedly. They don’t craft. They don’t create. They destroy. Even when they inherit something worthwhile, it falls apart in their hands.”

  He turned to them with a sharp glance.

  “Take the Bekaa River bridge. A marvel of dwarven engineering, built by the great mason Kootras during the Second Elven Dynasty. That bridge stood for centuries. And now?”

  He let the question hang in the air, his disdain evident.

  The King burst into laughter.

  “They couldn’t even maintain the sustaining runes properly, and that marvel of a bridge collapsed under their feet! And now? They can’t rebuild it. Not even close. Every day, more of it crumbles now that the central support is gone. Their country’s split in two, and they’re stuck using pontoons just to cross the river. Pontoons! I’ve heard it can take days to get across.”

  “There was some gossip that agents..." Dame Adria began, but Merhang cut in sharply.

  “Gossip,” he snapped. “As His Highness said, the orcs can’t even maintain what already exists.”

  “But...” Dame Adria tried again, her voice timid.

  Archmage Flores reached out and gently laid a hand over hers to silence her. For a moment, her gaze lingered on the contrast between their hands. The paladin’s was firm and youthful, while her own, despite the magic flowing through her veins, bore the undeniable signs of age. One hundred and seven winters, versus thirty-five.

  Flores looked up, meeting Adria’s eyes. An accomplished High Paladin she might be, but in Flores’s eyes, the younger woman was still just that, a young girl.

  “It is as His Eminence says,” Flores told the younger woman with a measured nod, then turned toward the King. “But will this Cala, or Lores, as she calls herself now, not prove a more formidable enemy?”

  “What about her barony?” Nebesko added. “Will she keep it? Incorporate it into her own Kingdom?”

  “Technically,” Merhang said, folding calmly his hands, “she remains a vassal of His Majesty through the barony. She swore the vassal’s oath. That oath binds her still. And through her, His Majesty is now sovereign overlord to the so-called Queen of the Orcs.”

  He glanced at the King and smiled. “As simple as that. King of Kings. Perhaps we should amend the title to King of Kings and Queens?”

  Thores laughed, clearly pleased, then lowered himself back into his chair with a long sigh. Like a shadow, Deka moved in silently to refill the glasses.

  “Can this be?” Nebesko asked, frowning as he sipped from his freshly filled glass.

  “This is how it is,” Merhang replied smoothly, and the King nodded in agreement. “Unless she claims a valid breach of the vassalage agreement, the oath remains in effect.”

  “Becoming a Queen isn’t reason enough?” Dame Adria asked, incredulous.

  Merhang shook his head. “Not in itself.”

  “But… will she submit?” Archmage Flores asked, her gaze sharpening. “Will she truly honor the oath? Oaths can be twisted. Circumvented.”

  Thores gave a small, almost indulgent shake of his head.

  “She will submit,” he said. “Of course she will submit.”

  “So it wasn’t Julietta after all who was controlling her,” Fiona said, sounding a little disappointed that her theory had proven false.

  The King shook his head and stated simply, “No.”

  “But if she managed to submit the orcs so fast…” Nebesko muttered, clearly unsettled. “I don’t know… it’s hard to believe, and harder to understand. K’hordock had a dark angel guarding his castle and a dragon ruling his skies, and yet... she succeeded. Are we not putting too much faith in a single oath?”

  “Don’t worry,” the King said smoothly, his voice almost amused. “As I told you, contingencies are in place.”

  He leaned back, confidence radiating from every word.

  “She’ll cooperate. You’ll see. She’ll eat from my hand, like a well-trained pup.”

  He inhaled deeply, then added, almost dreamily:

  “And once we’re done, next come the elves. We’ll send her and her orcs to subdue them. Perhaps we’ll even let her place her Julietta on their throne. Imagine that. A Queen installed by an orc horde. What better irony?”

  He smiled coldly.

  “We’ll use the orcs for what they’re good at: war.”

  He burst into laughter.

  “So, which of the two queens should I marry in the end? Both?”

  “But… but… Her Highness… our Queen…” Dame Adria stammered.

  Merhang rolled his eyes.

  “His Majesty is joking, Dame Adria,” he said dryly.

  “Speaking of contingencies,” the King went on, turning toward the Archmage, “have the stabilization runes on the towers been reinforced? Are the links to the restraint chair complete?”

  The Archmage nodded stiffly, though a slight shiver ran down her spine.

  “Good,” the King said with a nod, his voice reassuring, “It’s only a precaution.”

  Then he turned to the High Paladin.

  “Is the Archbishop ready for the cleansing ritual?”

  “Yes, Your Highness, but they’re uncertain when to begin. The ingredients are volatile…”

  The King snorted in irritation.

  “That doesn’t matter. If they need new ingredients, we’ll get them new ingredients. What matters is that they’re ready to act at a moment’s notice!”

  He glanced at Fiona.

  "How are the reception preparations?"

  "Almost completed. I refined the standard military triumph format for her."

  "It needs to be a grand reception," the King cautioned. "Something the city hasn't seen before."

  "I do what I can, but the budget..." Fiona tried to excuse herself.

  "The budget is irrelevant now. Do what you need to."

  Fiona bit her lip, forcing herself quiet.

  The King turned toward Dame Adria.

  "What about that idiot Aoun? Has he managed a deal?"

  "Yes, Your Highness, but the requests are... extreme. Do we really have to give them everything they ask?"

  He drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

  "I already answered that question. Don't make me answer it twice."

  "Yes, Your Highness!" she said, bowing her head quickly.

  He shifted his gaze to Merhang.

  “And the Xsoha skull merchant, is he here?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty. He’s waiting for you.”

  “Good. I’ll have a word with him.”

  He stood, then cast a sharp glance around the room.

  “You all have your orders. Don’t disappoint me.”