The color of pure desperation drained from Alastair's face, replaced by a flicker of dawning comprehension.
Home ground. Loyal bannermen. Wealth. Troop numbers unmatched. The words 'all you must do is win' rang in his mind like a war drum.
The king hadn't named a successor for his duchy and its properties. As such, who was the current owner of them? Perhaps the best answer would be the king, but he made no moves to claim it as his. As such, the next best option would be… Him.
Even if he was no longer a duke, he was still a noble who only had one of his titles stripped, not all his belongings.
In an instant, the fire of outrage swelling in his heart guttered and died, replaced by a different heat, the feverish desire for success. Open rebellion against the king's tyranny evaporated from his thoughts immediately.
This was no execution. This was a game.
And games… could be won.
