Page 157 of Warlord's Plaything

"You cannot rule with power alone, Kaelith."

A new voice. A different voice. One of Kaelith’s so-called loyalists—one of the spineless council members who has spent years licking his boots.

Turning on him.

Just like that.

Like a fucking jackal sensing a dying king.

I lean back in my seat, silent.

Watching.

Waiting.

Feeling the weight of the inevitable slide into chaos.

Kaelith takes a step forward, his mouth curling into something sharp, something full of rage.

"Do you fools truly believe the orcs would be anything without us? Do you believe they have power? They have steel and muscle, but they have no strategy, no control?—"

"And yet you seem terrified of them turning against you."

Valis.

His voice is smooth as silk, calm as the fucking abyss.

The trap snaps shut.

Kaelith turns sharply, his eyes locking onto Valis’s face like a predator sizing up a rival.

But he says nothing.

He doesn’t have to.

The damage is done.

Doubt has already taken root.

The council is no longer his.

I exhale slowly.

Kaelith knows.

He knows he has lost the room.

His jaw tightens, his fingers flex.

He’s thinking.

Calculating.

Trying to find a way out.

Looking for his chance to still come out on top.

But I already know what happens next.

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