Malathar's gaze swept across the throne room, his advisors' silent judgment palpable. But he was accustomed to their disapproval. What unsettled him was their collective defiance, a unified front he'd never faced before.
Taron's voice cut through the tension, his words measured. "My king, the public's outcry over the recent executions hasn't subsided. Surely, the rebels have received the message."
Malathar's expression remained impassive, but his voice took on a calculated edge. "Three hundred and fifty insurgents eliminated in two weeks is a mere fraction of the threat they pose. Leniency only emboldens them."
Lord Harven shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting toward the shadows. "With respect, Your Majesty, some of those executed were innocent. This... zealotry will only fuel rebellion."
Malathar's face darkened, his eyes narrowing. "Innocent? They harbored and aided the enemy. My crown will not be threatened by sniveling creatures who think they can topple me."
Taron pressed on, his tone unwavering. "But, sire, at what cost? The people live in fear, and our allies begin to question your methods. Perhaps—"
Malathar's voice dropped to a menacing whisper, cutting off Taron. "Fear is the price of stability. And stability is what I'll maintain, no matter the cost. The northern borders are in chaos; I will not be weakened by internal dissent."
The room fell silent, advisors exchanging uneasy glances. They knew resistance was futile.
Lord Commander Ryker spoke up, his deep voice a contrast to the tension. "My king, our scouts report rebel movements near the eastern provinces. Shall we—"
Malathar's gaze snapped to Ryker. "Crush them. Show no mercy. I want their leaders brought before me, alive if possible."
Ryker nodded, his expression grim. "As you command, sire."
As the advisors dispersed to carry out Malathar's orders, Taron lingered. "My king, may I speak freely?"
Malathar's eyes narrowed. "Speak."
Taron's voice barely above a whisper. "Your methods, sire... they remind me of your father's. But even he didn't—"
Malathar's face twisted in a snarl. "My father was weak. I will not repeat his mistakes."
The darkness in Malathar's eyes sent a shiver down Taron's spine. He bowed and retreated, wondering if he'd overstepped.
As the advisors dispersed, a hooded figure slipped into the shadows, their gaze lingering on Malathar's retreating form. The walls, as they say, have ears. The king's actions would have consequences, and they would ensure those consequences came to pass. In the darkness, the figure's lips curled into a subtle, determined smile.