“My king, I implore you to reassess such a decision,” Lord Cowel demanded, his brows knitted in a knot on his face. The majority of the royal court seemed to hold similar expressions of frustration as they sat around a long table in the court room, the young king at the end of it.

“And I _demand_ you to cease your ramble,” his majesty responded with a scowl, tapping a finger on the wooden top of the table as if he were counting the seconds he could be rid of the nobles around him.

Lady Delysa, the royal advisor, shot a warning glance toward the insistent lord. “I believe it is best if we drop the topic, Lord Cowel,” she proposed with a smile as taut as a tied string.

Lord Cowel’s mouth shut in a tight, reluctant line before another noble spoke up in agreement with him. “You must know that peace cannot be persued with such a kingdom that has ravaged our people. This alliance you’re haphazardly attempting would be a disgrace to our pride, a fact your father would have agreed with.” _And a fact your brother would’ve already known. _The damning words hung in the air despite the Lord’s hesitance to say them, clear as day to all in the court room, including the King. Comparison was incapable to avoid with the recent death of the old king and the well-respected crown prince that was meant to replace him.

“My father is dead; his opinion is no matter. _I_ am your ruler, and I have decided.”

“Do not let your title make you witless,” another, Lord Ryle, butted in. He was the most blunt of them, though they all shared the same opinions on the matter.

Before the King could sear him to a crisp with the glare he shot and yell he was surely about to produce, Lady Delysa stood from the table. “Lord Ryle, a word, perhaps?” She nodded her head to the exit of the court room, urging him to walk with her, a command which he reluctantly followed. As she strode for the exit and a short recess fell upon the court, the nobles murmured with one another, their insults of their King more frank in their hidden whispers. The old king had notoriously fallen into madness near the end of his reign, while the late prince had been their promise and savior come his death. The youngest son was a complication that none had planned for until it was quite too late. None but Lady Delysa, it seemed, as she refused for the man to turn into his father’s mirror.

After lightly shutting the door of the royal court room, she whipped her head to the infuriating Lord, a storm building in her throat as her anger raged within her. “And what on this earth do you believe you are doing? What makes you so foolish as to speak such words?”

“He’s an insolent, _belligerent_ child who has no place on the throne,” Lord Ryle scoffed as if her fury were nothing more than a jest.

“He’s the _king_,” she corrected with gritted teeth, the tension in the air as thick as fog as she took a step closer to him. With a hand, she gestured toward the nobles behind the closed doors beside them. “They spit in his face, then wonder why he is so angry.”

“A true king does not allow such criticism to get beneath his skin. Especially that which he has earned with his actions.” The lord refused to retreat from her advances, his voice as cold as stone as he grumbled the traitorous words.

“A true king deserves _respect, _something that has been entirely foresaken in this court. I am the only one here preventing history from repeating itself. I have no intention to let my efforts of reform fall to waste, and I will not have you and your scheming cohorts get in my way. If you truly care about this kingdom—if you truly care about your place in this court, you will cease with your petty games to aggravate your rightful ruler.” Lady Delysa turned away from the man, reaching her hand toward the knob of the door to reenter the court room before a force yanked her back by the forearm.

“Listen here, woman,” Lord Ryle leaned his head toward her ear, his grip on her so tight his knuckles turned white. “You may come from a noble house, and perhaps such a fact has given you the bold naivety you display now, but I have been on this court for much longer, and I know what’s best for this kingdom just as well as the late prince had. Do not overestimate your importance.”

“Like you overestimate your own?” She yanked her arm from his grip and reentered the royal court room, the heat of the man’s silent rage scorching her back.

The room turned silent once the two reentered, and Lady Delysa retook her seat beside the king.

As far as overestimations went, the lady was by no means guilty of the act. This was clear as she leaned her head toward the young king, prompting inquisitive looks around the room as a whisper of words escaped her mouth behind a cupped hand.

Once she leaned back into her seat, the king sat up, his sharp eye finding Lord Ryle as quick as an arrow to a target. “Do not sit, Ryle. Your assistance is no longer needed here.”

“Pardon me, my king?”

“Guards, escort him out,” the King called with a wave of his hand, prompting a group of two guards to lead the bewildered lord toward the exit he’d just returned from.

Lord Ryle pushed against the guards’ guidance to the door of the room. “You can’t lose me, I was both your father’s and your brother’s most trusted consultant.”

“You seem to have lost your eyes as it appears they are not present as of now. If you so desire, you can join them in their graves to continue your counsel.” The king crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back in his tall chair as he awaited the Lord’s reaction.

The astounded man opened and closed his mouth, lost for a response at the clear threat. “You will regret this,” is all he grunted out before vacating the room in an array of sharp stomps.

The room quieted at the absense, the confidence of the sharp tongued nobles waning at the loss of Lord Ryle. The king, breaking the tense silence, spoke up in a voice so commanding not a soul dared smother it with their gossip-filled whispers.

“I have decided. An alliance it will be. Any in defiance, speak now.”

The room remained hushed.

Lady Delysa grinned before speaking up herself. “Perfect, my king, I shall send a letter out this evening to establish a meeting for negotiating terms.”

“Then, this meeting is adjourned,” the King announced.

The chorus of “all hail the king” that resonated at the ending of the meeting was resolute and sound. Though a required statement, Lady Delysa was certain not a soul would threaten the king’s position once more—just as she was certain it would take much greater work to keep history from repetition. Though, as always, she was prepared to do whatever it took to ensure a mad king would never rule their lands once again. For if not her, she knew no one else would.