Kane Vermilion never thought ruling a kingdom would be so thoroughly boring.
When he'd taken the throne, he'd imagined fire and steel, cities bending the knee beneath Albion's banners, victories earned on the battlefield, blood soaking his blade as he claimed the world one country at a time.
Instead, he sat through petitions.
He didn't even know there were this many problems in Albion, but whenever he thought things would calm down for a while, something else would pop up.
It was as if his courtiers were always coming up with new petitions, just to keep him busy. Or was this some kind of plan to dull his ambitions and make him more like his father?
He now hated the fact that he understood his father. Just the endless petitions was enough to drive a man to drink. And the drink was enough to kill one's ambitions.
But he'd promised himself. He'll never be like his father. And he'd endured. For that was what the strong did.
Now, he lounged in the throne-like chair of his private study—though the room was more office than war chamber—and stared blankly at the man across from him.
"…the Ross family has exceeded their grain quotas for the fifth month in a row." The adviser droned, reading off a parchment. "The northern granaries have reportedly—"
"Enough." Kane said, waving a hand lazily.
The adviser blinked, caught mid-sentence. "My king?"
"I don't care about grain. Or about the Ross family's business acumen. Any idiot can become a great business man after winning a million gold coins."
Kane leaned forward, fingers drumming against the carved armrest.
"Now, any news from Elnoria?"
The adviser fumbled for a second parchment, eyes scanning the lines anxiously. "No major developments, your Highness. The last scouts sent west reported only the infected horde sticking to the kingdom. They think it must be some divine punishment."
Kane almost snorted. Divine punishment. But he controlled his expression, pasting a neutral look on his face.
"So, no news." He said, his voice flat.
The adviser swallowed. "No… significant news, my king."
"Then you're dismissed. Summon the First Lord to me. Now."
The adviser bowed and hurried out, his shoes clacking on the floor.
As soon as the doors closed, Kane stood. He stretched, muscles rippling under the fine silk of his robes, and walked to the tall arched balcony that overlooked the heart of Steadfast, Albion's capital.
It was as it had always been. Towers of white stone, spires like raised spears, the banners of House Vermilion snapping in the breeze.
The same view his father had looked out upon.
Nothing had changed. Not yet.
He turned back to his office, and froze.
Sitting in his chair, legs crossed with ease, was a figure wrapped in black. Black trousers, black gloves, black hair. Thick chains looped around his arms and coiled across his chest like serpents.
Kane didn't flinch. He merely arched an eyebrow and spoke his name. "Chained Man."
The man chuckled, voice like a rusted gate swinging open. "How time flies, little Kane. You don't bow anymore, do you? I seem to remember you doing that a lot."
"I bow to no one." Kane said, walking back into the room. "Not even you."
"I wouldn't expect anything less." The Chained Man said, amused. "The crown fits you well."
Kane folded his arms. "Is it time?"
The Chained Man nodded. "Rainhold has already fallen."
Kane's expression sharpened.
"Effective." The Chained Man replied. "But that's not the best part. Rainhold's destruction tore a hole in the heart of Elnoria's sacred system. And now…"
He smiled beneath his hood, voice darkly pleased.
"…the Church and the Monarchy are at odds. The King and the Pope stand on opposite sides of the line."
Kane tilted his head. "You said your plan might fail. That Mikael was too cautious."
"And yet," the Chained Man said softly, "a man who thinks he is in control is the easiest to control. The Pope makes things easier."
Kane narrowed his eyes. "Then I should ask. Am I also being controlled by thinking I'm in control?"
The Chained Man paused, and the shadows around him seemed to hum.
"Yes." He said simply.
Kane nodded. "I see. As long as I win, I don't care."
The Chained Man's eyes gleamed as he stared at Kane. "And what you win… is everything."
He stood, the chains on his arms clinking softly.
"King Mikael is raising his own army of Chosen. Not tied to the Church. A personal legion loyal only to the crown."
Kane's eyebrow lifted. "Will it work?"
"It will." The Chained Man answered. "Because I will make it work. And that will split the kingdom even further. The Pope will never allow his Chosen to serve Mikael, not after the decree of separation. Which means Mikael will stand alone."
Kane's mouth curved into a sharp smile. "And I'll come through the breach while they squabble."
The Chained Man stepped forward, chains dragging behind him like echoes of war.
"That is not why I'm here, though. I came to deliver a command."
Kane said nothing, though his eyes narrowed.
"Begin the mustering of Albion's forces. Every fortress. Every battalion. Your time to invade Elnoria has arrived."
Kane's grin widened. "I've been waiting for this."
There was a knock at the door, breaking the moment.
Kane turned, looking toward the source of the sound.
When he looked back, the Chained Man was gone.
Not a trace remained. Not even a shifting shadow.
The air still felt cold.
The doors opened, and Bram Rosefield, his First Lord, walked in.
"You summoned me, my King?"
Kane turned fully to look at the man.
"Yes." He said simply. "Send out the orders. Mustering begins now."
He looked out over Steadfast again, and for the first time in weeks, his smile touched something deeper than impatience.
"It's time to invade Elnoria."