Lord Malachi Ravenscroft stormed through the front door of his manor, nearly taking it off its hinges. My plans, ruined! All ruined by that insufferable Alaric Thorne and his puppet king! The servants scurried away like mice before a hungry cat as I thundered down the hallway.
"Wine! Bring me wine now!" I bellowed, my voice echoing off the walls.
The news of Lord Gideon Finchley's son supporting King Theron had reached me just hours ago, shattering years of careful planning. That spineless Finchley couldn't even control his own flesh and blood. How were we supposed to replace Thorne's influence with the king when Finchley's own heir had abandoned our cause?
I'd spent years cultivating that connection, positioning Finchley's granddaughter as a potential mother to the next king. All those careful machinations, wasted!
