«The blood king»

Martris Drayke, Margolan's exiled prince, looked up sharply as the door to the war room swung open and King Staden of Principality strode into the council chamber.

"Today, we talk of war," Staden said as those assembled rose in deference. With him were a stiff-stanced man whose military bearing made plain his vocation, and another nervous man whose eyes constantly scanned the room.

"I gave you my word that you'd have access to my best strategists, Prince Drayke," Staden said proudly. "Here they are. This," he pointed toward the tall man who, even at rest, stood at attention, "is General Darrath, and this," he gestured toward his other companion, "is my chief rat catcher, Hant. If a successful campaign can be planned, they can do it."

Tris Drayke bowed in acknowledgement. "Thank you, Your Majesty," Tris replied. "I'm in your debt." Only a day had passed since Tris and his companions had been brought to Staden's palace. They had been captured by the king's guards at the border as they fled an ambush by assassins sent from Jared of Margolan. At the time, with their weapons confiscated and transported under heavy guard, Tris was sure they would be turned over to Jared, like bargaining chips in a high-stakes game of contre dice. Instead, Staden welcomed them as heroes, grateful for the return of his daughter, Berry. The past evening was spent at a banquet celebrating the princess's safe return and honoring Tris and his friends. They were richly rewarded with gold and gems, and Jonmarc Vahanian was named Lord of Dark Haven for his heroism. The reward money would be enough to help Tris raise an army of mercenaries to take back the throne. Undeterred by Jared's threats, Staden openly welcomed Tris and his companions. And so Tris found himself seated at the table with Principality's leading military strategists, beginning the task of waging war to free Margolan from Jared's rule.

"Nonsense," Staden boomed. "Let's not get into that again. I'll have your meals sent to you. Take as long as you like. I've got work to do elsewhere," he bustled, heading for the massive wooden doors. "Do join me for supper," he invited over his shoulder as he left, pulling the door closed with a bang behind him.

"So you are Martris Drayke?" Darrath said in a voice rough enough to sand wood. "I am," Tris replied.