Thores, the great King of Kings, paced restlessly across the Purple Saloon. His most trusted advisors stood or sat around him, their eyes following his every step. To any outsider, it would have been a shocking sight—the King standing while some of his subjects remained seated—but during council meetings, protocol was suspended.


    Thores despised sitting during discussions, and he loathed the constant scramble of courtiers jumping to their feet whenever he rose. So he had issued a simple command: they were to sit, drink if they liked, and speak freely—protocol be damned.


    They had nearly concluded the meeting when Fiona brought up one last matter. The King halted mid-step and turned to her flickering hologram.


    “Say that again,” he ordered.


    Fiona drew a deep breath. She never enjoyed challenging the King, especially not when it meant suggesting he’d misjudged something—but this time, she felt certain.


    “I believe we’ve gravely misunderstood the situation regarding Cala. In my view, Cala—who now goes by Lores—isn’t the one truly calling the shots. I believe it’s Julietta Trachenorma who holds the reins... and through her, the elven King Trachenorma.”


    The King paused, exhaling sharply, his brows drawing together in a deepening frown—but he didn’t interrupt. Instead, he made a small gesture to Deka, the only maid permitted in the Purple Saloon during meetings. Trusted and perceptive, she had a knack for understanding his commands without a word—almost as if she were telepathic.


    Deka moved swiftly and silently, returning with a small glass of Hockwor—a potent spirit not unlike whiskey, favored by the King in moments like these. He took the glass, downed it in a single motion, and fixed his gaze once more on the hologram of Fiona, who was currently thousands of miles away in her residence.


    “I’ve been thinking about the situation,” Fiona continued. “We know Cala has dragons—but how?” Fiona pressed. “How could she possibly come to control one, let alone two dragons? Yes, we know she’s high-level—nearly on par with our esteemed Nebesko—but from there to achieve commanding creatures of that magnitude is a long way."


    “So how did she manage it? It’s not impossible, no—but it stretches the limits of what’s plausible.”


    “Now, consider this: have the elves ever worked with dragons before? Yes, they have. Their first empire was founded and sustained with the support of a dragon—Firebreath, the ancient calamity.”


    Fiona took a deep breath, steadying herself. So far, so good—they were listening. She pressed on.


    “I’ve also learned that Princess Julietta was with Cala’s group from the very beginning—always in the background, but always present. My reports confirm she accompanied Cala even during her visit to Uldaman, when she first received the domain. She didn’t join her later—she was already there.”


    At this, Thores glanced toward Merhang, who gave a subtle nod in confirmation. The King raised a brow but said nothing, allowing Fiona to continue.


    “A princess, traveling incognito through our lands as Cala’s personal attendant,” she said, her tone edged with incredulity. “Their ruse only unraveled when she had to meet her aunt—Vice-Queen Levaite of the Eastern Elven Kingdom—who was present alongside Therella for the prince’s reception. If not for that meeting, we might never have learned her true identity.”


    Dame Adria huffed in indignation.


    “An elf princess in Uldaman, and she doesn’t come for an audience with the King? What a disgrace!”


    Nebesko snorted in agreement, nodding.


    But the King ignored their murmurs and cut straight to the heart of the matter.


    “Your point isn’t without merit, Fiona. But what is she after? Why take control of a minor barony? What’s her plan with the dragons?”


    Archmage Flores gently set her teacup on the small table beside her armchair, opening her mouth to speak—but Nebesko spoke first.


    “What would the elves want?” he said flatly. “To reunite their scattered kingdoms, take revenge for the defeat we dealt them, and reclaim their lost lands.”


    “Yes, but how?” the King pressed. “How does any of this fit together?”


    Fiona, Duchess of Cromwall, raised her hand, and Thores turned back toward the shimmering projection.


    “I believe she’s trying to incite rebellion within the Kingdom,” Fiona said. “That stunt she pulled in Uldaman—freeing a slave in public? That wasn’t just theater. She knows the Vynaians support abolition. It was a calculated move to win their hearts, to gather sympathy and support for whatever cause she’s building.”


    “She’s also stirring up tension with the Xsoha,” Fiona continued. “We already know there are plenty of nobles who distrust them. Her forces are mostly orcs—whose loyalty lies first with her, not with the King or the local lords. I believe the plan is to first destabilize the Kingdom from within.


    “Then, when things are falling apart, they’ll step in—offering to ‘help’ the rebellion... and only after that, they’ll strike.”


    The King of Kings huffed, then turned toward the gray eminence, Merhang.


    “She may have bitten off more than she can chew with the Xsoha—but we’ll see. Has she made any concrete moves toward rebellion? Any alliances with noble houses? Secret meetings?”


    Merhang shook his head. “Nothing we’re aware of, Your Highness.”


    “But the Vice-Queen did sign an understanding with Prince Kotusawendu,” Dame Adria interjected.


    The King rolled his eyes. “That was nothing but empty platitudes—calls for improving relations and building trust. As if anyone could ever trust the elves,” he scoffed, throwing his hands in the air. “And now they bring dragons down upon our heads!”


    Archmage Flores gave a light shrug. “Dragons are powerful, yes—but there are no lands ruled by dragons today.” She took a sip of tea before continuing. “They have ruled in the past, of course—but they always lose interest. Too many people, too many problems, too much... hassle. Dragons don’t enjoy administration. They don’t care for politics or paperwork. All they want is to build their hoard and sleep on it.


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    “And after a hundred-year nap, they wake to find the world has changed entirely. In the end, all we have to do is wait for them to grow bored again.”


    The Archmage continued, her voice calm and thoughtful.


    “We also don’t yet know the nature of their relationship with the dragons. Is it a limited pact? A temporary alliance? Or something more lasting? We need more information.”


    The King shook his head.


    “True—we do need to learn more. But we also need to prepare contingencies. And we don’t have the luxury of waiting for dragons to grow bored. That could take decades.”


    “So what are you suggesting Your Highness?” Nebesko asked, his tone sharp. “Should we prepare to attack the elves? Both neighboring kingdoms?”


    “That might be the solution,” the King replied. “But if we strike, our focus should be on Trachenorma’s realm—the Middle Kingdom. Still, we must be ready to fight both if it comes to that. And we’ll need a pretext to rally support behind the war effort. An elven attack with significant civilian casualties—peasants, preferably—would certainly do it.”


    He paused, then added grimly, “There’s also the question of what the orcs will do—and whether any of our allies will actually stand with us if we act.”


    The King sighed heavily. “Then there’s Constancia. The skirmishes along the border are troubling. We can’t start a full-scale war until we know what’s going on there. We may need to send negotiators—see what they want. We cannot afford a three-front conflict.”


    “Maybe,” Merhang said slowly, “we should give the orcs a few... ideas.”


    The King turned to him, interest flashing in his eyes.


    “What do you have in mind?”


    Merhang rubbed his hands together thoughtfully as he began to explain.


    “The ideal outcome would be to turn the orcs and elves against each other. To do that, we need to play the long game. First, we plant the idea among the orcs—encourage them to attack Cala’s domain. We let them believe that her territory isn’t protected by the Kingdom, that it''s isolated.


    "Technically, this would put us at war with the orcs—but only in name. In practice, we would take no immediate action. Instead, we appeal to the elves, claiming we were attacked and requesting their help. Once elven forces are nearby, we subtly encourage them to engage the orcs—to defend Cala’s domain, naturally, as our ''allies.’”


    He smiled faintly. “If they take the bait and initiate hostilities, we remain on the sidelines—preparing our troops. Then, when the long winter comes—when druidic magic, the Eastern Elven Kingdom’s greatest strength, is at its weakest—we strike.”


    The King leaned forward slightly. “And if the elves don’t take the bait? What then?”


    Merhang shrugged. “Then we let the orcs fight Cala and her dragons. That alone would disrupt any rebellion she might be organizing. And we’d finally get a sense of how powerful those dragons really are.


    “If the orcs win, they’ll be weakened, but likely grateful—we could forge an alliance and move together against the elves.


    “If the orcs lose, we step in, offer our ''support'' to Cala, and conveniently annex a slice of orc territory in the process.”


    He spread his hands with a satisfied expression. “A win-win situation, either way.”


    “Hm. I must give it to you—it’s a cunning plan,” the King said, nodding slowly.


    Fiona, however, remained skeptical. She raised a brow and asked, “And how exactly do you plan to convince the orc tribes to attack Cala’s domain?”


    Merhang chuckled, flashing a distinctly Machiavellian smile.


    “Orc tribes? No, no—we aim higher. If you want to fight dragons, what better weapon than another dragon? And who else but the Warlock King? He has a dragon of his own, doesn’t he?”


    Dame Adria stiffened. “You’re suggesting we involve the Warlock King?” she asked, a tinge of unease creeping into her voice.


    Merhang’s grin only widened.


    “There’s history between him and this elf princess, isn’t there? After the elves lost Norsewick—their largest tree-town—she was taken as K’hordock’s prize. The young warlock from Hologomora, the one whose spells withered the roots of Norsewick’s great tree.


    “He became the Warlock King... and she, his prized slave.


    “And now, that same ''prized slave'' is not only free but running about in Cala’s domain, right under his nose.


    “Don’t you think he’d be delighted to claim her once again?”


    “Wait—Norsewick? There’s only a small timber outpost by that name,” Nebesko said, frowning in confusion.


    The King chuckled and rolled his eyes.


    “No,” Dame Adria cut in. “There was an elven town there. A major one!” She turned toward Merhang, her expression tightening. “But that’s an old story. That K’hordock—he’s still alive? And she was captured during the fall of Norsewick? That would make her centuries old!”


    Archmage Flores let out a soft laugh, shaking her head.


    “Children. They never study their history,” she said with mild amusement. Then, turning to Merhang, she added more pointedly, “And your plan is to ally with K’hordock?”


    She glanced at the King, then back to the gray eminence, her expression unreadable.


    Merhang gave a casual shrug.


    “If it means defeating our enemies, I’d ally with the devil himself. At least until I’ve crossed the bridge—figuratively speaking, of course.”


    The Archmage turned back toward the King, clearly weighing her words, but seeing that he remained silent, she chose not to press further.


    As the meeting wrapped up and the King departed with Merhang, Dame Adria approached Archmage Flores.


    “Excuse me, Archmage,” she began, “there’s something that confuses me.”


    The Archmage chuckled softly. “And what would that be?”


    “His Highness said that Cala might be ‘biting off more than she can chew’ in regard to the Xsoha. But… the Xsoha are just accountants and bookkeepers. So what exactly is it that even a dragon couldn’t chew?”


    Archmage Flores raised an eyebrow. “Are they only that? And do they have no support?”


    Dame Adria shrugged. “Well, not much more than that. It’s true we endorse them as the Kingdom’s preferred record keepers and financiers, but His Highness has never used force to intervene in their disputes with noble houses.”


    Flores leaned back slightly, her gaze thoughtful. “They originate from the Permian region of Constancia, correct?”


    “Yes, but that’s just where their roots are. They''re based here now.”


    “And in Constancia, the Permians are the accountants, the bankers and the finances too,” the Archmage continued. “They’re also present in several neighboring kingdoms, aren’t they? Not always called ‘Permians,’ but still the same bloodline, the same families.”


    She tilted her head slightly. “Tell me, Adria—if you placed a Xsoha beside a Permian from Constancia, could you honestly tell the difference?”