King Robin Amber lounged on his grand throne, a throne far too grand for the dull task of ruling. His eyes, cold and calculating, scanned the hall, though there was little of interest to capture his attention. Servants flitted about, offering goblets of wine, trays of food, and the occasional whispered bit of news. But it was all the same—a tedious cycle of governance that never seemed to change.
The court was a dull place, filled with sycophants and nobles who were more interested in filling their coffers than in any real matters of state. Robin found them tiresome, their incessant need for attention grating on his nerves. He longed for something to break the monotony, something to amuse him, something to remind him of the thrill that power could bring.
A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips as he thought back to the last time he had truly enjoyed himself. The memory of the rebellion in Barrowland, the peasants who had dared to rise against him, brought a glint to his eyes. How he had laughed when he heard of their pathetic attempts to defy him. They were nothing more than gnats to be swatted, their resistance a mere distraction from the tedium of court life.
It had been some time since that little rebellion had been quashed, and yet, something still lingered in the back of his mind. A whisper of discontent, a murmur of unrest. He had dismissed it at first—after all, what could a few disgruntled peasants possibly do? But the rumors had persisted, carried on the lips of spies and informants, growing louder with each passing day.
"Servant!" King Robin barked, his voice echoing through the hall.
Alaric, his tax collector, a man of slight build and nervous disposition, hurried forward. He had once been nothing more than a minor functionary in the court, but his ambition and willingness to do whatever was necessary had earned him a place at the king's side.
"Yes, Your Grace?" Alaric replied, bowing low.
Robin waved a hand dismissively. "I've heard whispers, rumors of unrest in the land. What is it this time? Another group of peasants thinking they can challenge my rule?"
Alaric swallowed hard, his mind racing as he tried to gauge the king's mood. "Your Grace, there have been reports—troubling reports—of a growing settlement to the north. The leader, a man named Brandon, has garnered quite a following. It is said that he has proclaimed himself king of this so-called Haven Kingdom."
Robin's eyes narrowed, the smirk on his lips growing more pronounced. "A king, you say? How amusing. And this Brandon… he was part of that little rebellion in Barrowland, wasn't he?"
"Yes, Your Grace," Alaric confirmed. "He was one of the leaders, though we believed him to be nothing more than a nuisance at the time. It appears he has grown bolder, gathering followers and building a stronghold in the northern lands."
Robin leaned back in his throne, his fingers drumming against the armrest. "And what of his people? How many has he managed to rally to his side?"
"Reports suggest his numbers have swelled to over seventy thousand, Your Grace," Alaric replied, trying to keep the nervous tremor out of his voice. "They have built walls, established farmlands, and—"
"Enough," Robin interrupted, his tone dismissive. "Seventy thousand? Hmph, a mere drop in the ocean compared to my forces. But still, it's impressive for a peasant upstart."
He fell silent, his mind working through the implications. Seventy thousand was no small number, especially if they were as determined as the reports suggested. But this was more than just a matter of numbers; this was a matter of principle. No one challenged the authority of House Amber and lived to tell the tale.
Robin's gaze fixed on Alaric, his smirk widening. "Tell me, servant, what would you do in my place? Crush them now, or let them grow fat and complacent before bringing them to their knees?"
Alaric hesitated, unsure of how to answer. The wrong words could mean his head, but hesitation could be even worse. He decided to tread carefully. "Your Grace, if I may be so bold, perhaps allowing them to grow would be… advantageous. The higher they rise, the harder they fall. And the greater the lesson for any who would follow in their footsteps."
Robin's laughter filled the hall, a sound devoid of warmth or mirth. "Ah, you have a touch of cruelty in you, servant. I like that. Yes, let them grow. Let them build their little kingdom, think themselves invincible. And then, when the time is right, we will crush them beneath our heel."
He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with a dark amusement. "But not yet. No, not yet. I want to watch them struggle, watch them grasp at the illusion of power. And when they believe themselves safe, I will tear it all away."
Robin's face grew more serious as he leaned back, recalling the mistakes he had made before. The rebellion in Barrowland should have been nothing more than a footnote in his reign, but he had let his arrogance blind him. He had allowed Brandon and his followers to escape, to rebuild and grow stronger. That mistake had gnawed at him, a constant reminder of his failure to crush them when he had the chance.
"This time, I will not make the same mistake," Robin muttered, more to himself than to Alaric. "When the time comes, I will burn their kingdom to the ground, slaughter every man, woman, and child who dares to defy me. There will be no mercy, no escape. I will not let them slip through my fingers again."
Alaric shivered at the king's words, sensing the cold, calculated cruelty behind them. He knew better than to speak out of turn, so he remained silent, waiting for the king's next command.
Robin's gaze remained fixed on the distant horizon, as if he could already see the flames rising from Haven, the screams of its people echoing in his ears. He imagined the look of despair on Brandon's face as he realized that everything he had built, everything he had fought for, was crumbling into ash.
"Let them have their moment of glory," Robin said, his voice laced with venom. "Let them think they have won. And then, when they are at their highest, I will strike them down with such force that the very memory of their rebellion will be wiped from the earth."
He clenched his fist, his knuckles turning white. "I will not let this Brandon make a fool of me again. When I am done with them, there will be no one left to remember his name."
Alaric bowed deeply, a gesture of both respect and fear. "As you command, Your Grace."
Robin dismissed him with a wave of his hand, his thoughts already turning to the game he would play. The boredom that had plagued him moments ago was gone, replaced by a sense of anticipation. He would let Brandon and his people have their moment of glory. He would let them build their Haven, let them think they had escaped his grasp.
But this time, when he struck, he would strike with all the fury and power at his disposal. There would be no mercy, no hesitation. He would destroy them utterly, and their ashes would serve as a grim reminder to all who dared to defy House Amber.
He leaned back in his throne, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. Let them play at being kings and queens. Let them taste the sweetness of power. It would only make their fall all the more satisfying.
For now, he would wait. But not for long. The game had begun, and soon, it would reach its inevitable, devastating conclusion.