Strax tilted his head slightly, as if examining a flawed piece in a shop window.
Then he smiled.
It wasn't a wide smile.
It was thin. Calculated. Cruel in a polite way.
"Problem?" he repeated, almost amused. "No."
He took another step forward, his hands still in his pockets.
"I am the accountant you never had."
The Monarch of the White Flames narrowed his eyes.
The flames above the sky rippled, responding to their owner's mood.
Strax raised his gaze to the white spectacle that illuminated Athenion like a false dawn.
"You are not a monarch," he continued calmly. "You are a tax thief with a god complex."
A murmur ran through the soldiers behind the Monarch.
Rogue, standing on the walls, crossed her arms with a satisfied smile.
The Monarch spoke, his voice laden with fiery authority:
"Beware of—"
Strax interrupted him, raising a finger.
"No, no. Let me finish. I've been busy this month."
He pointed vaguely to the sky.
