I was seated behind my desk, a glass of dark wine untouched at my side, when a knock echoed through the door.
"Enter," I said, not bothering to look up.
The door creaked open, and footsteps followed—sharp, measured, familiar. My right-hand man, Philip, stepped in, bowing his head low.
"My king," he began, eyes lowered in reverence. "The conference you summoned has been arranged. Duke Thomas and Lord Varys await your presence in the council chamber."
I didn't respond at once. The silence stretched long enough for Philip's composure to shift only slightly—but I noticed.
"They're seated, sire," he continued, voice quiet. "They request your presence."
I finally looked up, my gaze cold and unwavering.
"Let them wait."
He hesitated—foolish, but forgivable. "But, my king—"
"Philip," I said flatly, cutting through his words like steel. "There's a reason I made you my right hand. If their impatience troubles you so deeply..." I rose from my chair, slowly, deliberately. "Then fix it.
His lips parted, perhaps to protest, but he thought better .
"Yes, my king," he said,the door clicking shut behind him.
I sipped the wine at last, letting its deep crimson pour in like blood drawn too easily.
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I was making my way toward the council chamber when whispers reached my ears—soft, sharp-edged, like blades drawn behind closed doors. They echoed just beyond the heavy oak doors, dissolving the moment two sentinels pulled them open before me.
"Welcome, His Majesty—Simon Vaelric, King and Mighty Lord of Vishendor!" my right-hand man announced.
The room fell into silence .
As I entered, silence filled the chamber like a storm cloud. The nobles and lords stood instantly, heads bowed in perfect synchrony. The air thickened—not just with respect, but fear. The kind that clings to bones.
I took measured steps forward, my presence alone shattering the fragile murmur that had dared exist without my permission.
"And what, exactly," I asked, my voice cold and slow, "were you all whispering about?"
No one answered.
"Nothing, my king," Lord Varys aide stammered, eyes on the floor, voice quivering like a leaf.
I tilted my head, my tone sharpening.
"You dare lie to your king?"
The silence broke.
A young man near Lord Varys flinched, his voice faltering as he tried to speak.
"My king…" he glanced nervously at his superior. "It—it has come to our attention that the Western Region has… has been breached. Outsiders have crossed into our borders."
My jaw clenched. The air grew colder.
"And who, might I ask," I said, steel lacing my words, "did I entrust with the West?"
There was a long pause.
"Me," Lord Varys finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Me, my king."
I stepped toward him, slow and deliberate. "And why did I place you in charge of the West?"
He began to raise his eyes to mine, as if to explain.
"You dare look at me?" I snarled.
The room froze as my eyes turned — from black to a glowing, deadly red. The kind only demons Kings wore in rage.
With a mere gaze, I lifted him from the floor. He clawed at his throat, choking on air that no longer belonged to him. His body rose above the council table, suspended by my will alone.
"My King… please…" he pleaded.
But the more he begged, the colder I became.
I watched the life fade from his eyes — not with remorse, but with satisfaction. It wasn't just punishment. It was a warning to others.
silence.
Then the sound of his corpse hitting the marble floor.
Silence lingered — thick and choking — over the council chamber. No one dared to move. The scent of anger, raw and powerful, still hung in the air like smoke from a dying flame.
I let my gaze sweep the room, crimson eyes simmering back into black.
"This meeting..." I said, my voice low and venom-laced, "will be held another day."
No one protested.
I turned to Philip not looking directly at him. "As for the new recruits... I want the name and rank of every man in that barge by nightfall. If a single one breathes without my knowledge, you'll answer for it."
"Yes, my king," he said quickly, his voice tight and unshaken.
Then, I glanced one last time at the corpse of Lord Varys.
"And him..." I muttered, the weight of disappointment heavy in my tone. "Find someone to replace him. Someone who understands that loyalty... is not a game."
No one moved toward the body. No one dared.
Without another word, I stormed out of the chamber. Rage still burned beneath my skin, but I did not let it consume me. Not yet. My boots echoed through the corridor like war drums, each step fueled by quiet fury.