Rykard offered Ahdean a helping hand. The Firelord accepted. A moment of surprise crossed his features when the king surged healing energies through their connected hands. By the time the bck-skinned man was on his feet, any remaining visual injuries had been undone, with many of the underlying exhaustion to his fibres and magical matrix also being amended.

  “Good fight,” Rykard stated casually, then leapt out of the pit. Mid flight, he wove another Alteration spell, making it so his boots were stainless by the time he nded. “Now where did I leave my shortstack?”

  “Right here, big dick king!” Helenn hovered over, a meat skewer in each hand. “Saved you some post fight meat. You want it?”

  Scooping the cherub out of the air, Rykard pced her between his chest and the hand that pressed into her thick thigh. His answer was an enthusiastic bite from the offered skewer. Helenn giggled and nibbled at the other. That little body could contain more food than one would think and she had to eat for two at the moment anyhow.

  “That about what you expected to see?” Rykard asked, between bites of juicy meat. Offhandedly, he also massaged Helenn’s tits. The natural pce ot rest one’s palm.

  “A more dominant dispy than what I expected,” Loran answered. Pcing the fingertips of his hands together, he contempted the situation. “As you doubtlessly have already guessed, we were approached by Benhuldran about a month ago. An envoy of his, to be exact. We have sent a delegation of our own back and are waiting for word.”

  “Travel does take quite some time,” Rykard agreed. “I myself was occupied with much of it recently.”

  “In due time, we hope to establish a network of artifice or enchantment to rectify these issues.” Loran waved off, his every move elegant. “Important is that we were approached with the offer to form an alliance against you.”

  Rykard swallowed the st bit of meat, then licked his lips. “An offer you are contempting.”

  Loran opened his arms, as if he had been caught with his hands in the cookie jar. “I ought to. You are powerful. Your realm is second only in its expanse to the swarm.”

  Ahdean, who had returned to Loran’s side, spoke up. “You alone could not destroy this nation - but you could come close.”

  “We need not contempte such an ugly outcome.” Loran put his hands back into the expansive sleeves of his robe. “In the end, I am not too interested in shaping this world. I care for having it be ruled properly.”

  Rykard first looked around. The gathered elite around them were not surprised by what their foremost had just said. “Are you suggesting you would accept vassalization?”

  “Under proper circumstances. We would insist on a suitably integrated and powerful position, of course.” A little smile pyed around Loran’s lips. “I would rather join the victor than keep gambling on the search for phrases that summon me an ally that can defeat you. In my foolishness, I may invite an apocalypse into this world.”

  Rykard carefully digested what Loran said, before even contempting his answer.

  “This is a matter of great importance. Mind if we continue this conversation a little more privately?” Rykard requested.

  “Of course, of course,” Loran obliged readily. “Follow me.”

  The leader of Prosperity wandered towards a door in the side of the uppermost ring. Out of his wide sleeves, he pulled a key. The key turned with a loud cck. The loud cck echoed down a smooth, obsidian hallway.

  The air smelled faintly of sulfur, overpowered by incense that was slowly burning away within the depressions inside the walls. “I’m noting a great amount of demonic architecture within your walls,” Rykard stated. “I would extend the same to your people, but I think many of them were brought in ter?”

  Ahdean answered the second question with a stern nod. The second, Loran began to expin as they advanced up a flight of stairs. “This dome was once dedicated to a… does the term Daemiforge mean anything to you?”

  “I can’t say it does,” Rykard confessed.

  “A deeply cruel set of rituals, combined to create a pce in space and time in which the souls of the fallen can be forged together and absorbed into a greater whole. A crucible to create a demonic demigod of one of the seven great sins. Granted, only Mammon, Lyvian, and the Red Thirst directly approve of this method to manifest a champion of their sin.”

  “Who was this building dedicated to?”

  “The Master of Greed,” answered the First Minister. “The forging was halted by the combined arms of the ancestors and this great dome was renovated for our purposes.”

  The flight of stairs wound upwards, eventually surfacing outside of the dome. It spiralled up the outside of the marble structure, leading to a truly isoted room at the very top. Stained gss windows let no one peer in from the outside, but miraculously were fully translucent on the inside. A single table fashioned of polished granite and gemstones filled out the circur chamber. A dozen comfortable chairs surrounded it.

  They only needed two. Rykard sat down in one, Helenn in his p, Loran in another at the opposite side of the table, Ahdean behind him.

  “I believe this satisfies the wish for privacy?” Loran asked.

  Rykard scanned the environment for any enchantments and only found the kind that would prevent information from leaking out, be it sound or otherwise. “This more and suffices,” he confirmed.

  “Then, for the good of our people, tell me what you make of my suggestion?”

  “I’d be happy to accept your fealty here and now,” Rykard stated pinly.

  Loran showed a sorry smile. “You must accept that I do not yield the absolute power you do, King Rykard. I can give you assurances, but the negotiations will necessarily be lengthy. Ultimately, it will be to your benefit, I assure you. We are greatly knowledgeable in administration and governance.”

  “I won’t ever have to care about either ever again, would I?” The bored, casual presentation of the question made the diplomat across the table hesitate in his answer. “Please, Loran, we can be honest with each other.”

  “I am being honest,” Loran assured. “Prosperity would be gd to step into your service and-”

  Rykard raised his hand to make the blonde man stop. Tilting his head, Loran patiently waited for the king to speak. “Before the Troyk Empire, there was the Duchy of Troyk,” Rykard said. “Governed by my venerable ancestors, who were renowned hunters, warriors, mages, and womanizers. What they were not were governors.”

  Hands on his Helenn, roaming her white-cd curves with all of the ever-sting interest only a loving man could offer, the king distracted himself from his own tale for a few seconds.

  “In that time, my family used to entertain the position of Quaestor - the asker of questions. The Quaestor would be in charge of asking for the collection of taxes, of asking where those taxes could go, and what our forces should be trained in. The first Quaestor, so legend has it, was a good man. His successors, not so much. The people elevated to this position would learn to ask the questions that got them the answers they wanted or to not ask questions they did not want the answers to. When, by the sheer luck with which great men are born, August of Troyk came to power, and took a personal interest in the administration, he found out that the Quaestors had been swindling our family out of money, influence, and manpower for five generations.”

  “An interesting tale,” Loran said, keeping a straight face. “I’m gd you decided to share it.”

  “I want you to remember it.” The green eyes of the mage king locked onto Loran, who instinctively straightened up. “I’m not limited to hunting, fighting, casting, and gathering my personal harem, Loran. I am a great man and I know when a bureaucrat aims to make the brawn of an ignorant king their own might.”

  “I assure you that I have no such intentions!” Loran almost shouted.

  In that, Rykard read the truth of his analysis. The ever controlled man had lost his cool for just a moment and that was enough for the king to look past the nice exterior and see the First Minister underneath. “Only saints are entirely selfless,” Rykard stated. “And saints don’t lead nations.”

  “...Alright…” Loran leaned onto one of his armrests. Begrudging respect shone in calcuting eyes. A hard expression now sat on the effeminate face. “The whole truth, then. My organization will be put in your service for a fee and that fee is our own influence. We will take our cut, as is right. As you said, you will be kept from all the bothers of the day to day running of your empire and we will assure that your people will be governed in a manner that maintains the proper order.”

  Rykard cpped his hands. “There we are, clear negotiating positions.”

  “Not quite - you omitted a detail in that story.” Loran’s eyes slightly narrowed. “What did the great August of Troyk do with the st Quaestor?”

  Smile.

  That was all Rykard did in response. He let the corners of his lips remain in a casual curl. In his p, Helenn stretched like a happy smug cat. Across the table, Loran was going through an amusing process.

  At first he sat there patiently. He sighed once. Then he sighed again. “Rykard, I thought we were beyond games?” he asked. Still, there was only the smile as his response. The eyebrows of the diplomat pulled together. “It is a simple question,” he nearly growled. The outrage was only met by a smirk. The clenched fist on the table turned into an impatient tapping of dancing fingers. Impatience turned into an unnerved, unsteady staccato. Under the table, the heel of the First Minister repeatedly tapped on the floor. “Fine!” he cried out, now at the border of visible fear. “I get the message! What do you want!”

  Rykard lingered on the smile for a little longer, right up until he felt its effect was starting to diminish. Then, he answered.

  “Victory.” The king picked up Helenn and put her in the air. Obediently, she hovered there, out of the way of him standing up. Leisurely strides brought him around the table. “I want victory. Not a victory on paper, not a victory agreed on, but an absolute, unquestionable victory. The triumphant, utter domination of a hegemon.”

  Rykard stopped next to Loran’s chair. A hand on the backrest of the neighbouring seat, he bowed down until he was face to face with the effeminate man.

  “You can be useful in that or you can be in my way. If you want to make yourself useful, be careful that you do not overstep the boundaries that I set. I am Rykard of New Eden, a king, not a resource you can exploit.”

  Straightening back up, Rykard gave Ahdean a casual nudge with his arm. It was such a pin motion that the Firelord did not resist it. He only seemed to realize it had happened when Rykard had already passed between him and the back of Loran’s chair.

  Rykard circled back to his seat, grabbed Helenn, and pulled her with him as he sat back down. A happy little giggle and a swooningly whispered “Master” accompanied her settling back into her rightful pce.

  “So, what will it be, Loran? Do you want to make yourself my subject, knowing that I will not let your parasitic ambitions come to pass, or will you have me grind your Prosperity to dust.”

  “Ours would be a symbiotic retionship,” the diplomat was swift to reinforce.

  Rykard let the skillfully maintained smile be his entire response to that.

  Shifting uncomfortably in his chair, Loran gnced over his shoulder. Ahdean kept a straight face, but everyone in the room and beyond knew that should they come to earnest blows, Rykard would come out on top. Then, Loran’s gaze wandered back to Rykard and his knowing smirk.

  Whatever Loran imagined had happened to the st Quaestor must have mingled with his ideas of what would happen to him if Rykard ever found him engaging in any corruption. The diplomat had neither brawn nor the element of duplicity to work with. All the cards were once again in Rykard’s hand.

  The ball, however, was in Loran’s court.

  “Honoured King Rykard,” Loran began. It was not a good start, no one ever switched to honorifics like that unless they wanted to cushion a blow. “Under your given conditions, I cannot make any promises. My people would want just compensation for their work, not fear that any little bit of freedom they take outside your stringent rules leads to their punishment. However, I would be most pleased to continue diplomatic retions, so that we may find an adequate solution down the line.”

  “Ah,” Rykard let out a dreamy sigh. “The weaselling words of bureaucrats…” His smile dropped. “...one of the things I’d prefer never to hear again.”

  Loran shot out of his chair and seemed ready to jump off to the side. Barely, he managed to keep standing. “Your threats are most unwelcome,” Loran stated. He ran a hand over his finely combed hair. “I assure you, given time and talks, we can find a solution.”

  Rykard waved off. “Spare me the spiel, Loran, you are feeding me lines to send me away, so you can re-evaluate your options. Can you summon something that can stop me? Can you exploit Benhuldran instead? How about that Competitor to the east? I can see you trying to solve this predicament you can find yourself in. You need time and you’re hoping I’ll be nice enough to give it to you. The funny thing is…” Rykard grinned. “...I just might.”

  “...What?” Loran asked.

  “You are contempting how to get out of this and I am contempting if that’s entertaining for me.”

  “Rykard loves to py with his food,” Helenn babbled. “You should have been there when he edged Hey for a whole hour! Never, ever thought I’d see a succubus kept at the edge of an orgasm for so long, it was so hot and I just kept on hovering next to the scene as Master’s personal relief tool and it was-”

  “Shhhh, let’s not distract Loran with tales of fun when he is at the edge of dread,” Rykard interrupted his pavering submissive. “Inappropriate or not, she is telling you the truth. I’m under no time obligation to crush you. Unlike the Hexagons, the only reward I could gain from destroying you here and now is your removed influence. Ahdean said I couldn’t do it on my own - I’m willing to test that theory. What I couldn’t do is garrison this pce, so that would make keeping you compliant quite bothersome.” Rykard’s smirk broadened into a menacing grin. “I’d have to destroy you so utterly you wouldn’t dream of rebelling in my absence.”

  Ahdean put his spear in front of Loran. “Do you choose war then?”

  “There’s more options on the table,” the diplomat added hastily. “Renegotiations can be had after moods have calmed.”

  “That choice is mine,” Rykard said. “And I choose… hmmm…”

  The anticipation in the air was tantalizing. Too bad that Rykard had to dispel it.

  “I choose to be your enemy - Rex, Ahdean.” The Firelord had immediately dropped into a battle ready stance. Yawning, Rykard continued, “We won’t have war today. I am simply taking the option of peace off the table.”

  Rykard stood up and headed for the exit. The stained gss doors opened with a soft whine. Magical power gathered in his unoccupied right hand. One st time, he shot the blonde man a smirk.

  “Make your preparations, make your deals, attempt to dissuade me, I will come and collect my victory all the same.” With that announcement, Rykard sprinted and leapt over the railing.

  A swiftly woven Alteration spell let his boots glide over the surface of the marble dome as if he was gliding on ice. Keeping his bance at this speed was difficult, but Rykard only saw that as a challenge to ugh at. He reached the rim of the roof at terminal velocity and leapt.

  The king glided over the open courtyard, where he had been greeted only a few hours earlier. Where Starlight Wandering All Worlds had disappeared, the world now rend open anew. The cosmic stag galloped in perfect unison with its conjurer’s speed. Wind howled, then Rykard nded on the roof of the carriage.

  The shock went up his legs. A few blood vessels burst from the blunt force, only to be kneaded back together by the transmuting energies pulsing through his veins. His steed picked up speed, rapidly shrinking the ministry behind them.

  Rykard spotted Loran and Ahdean at the tip of the dome, staring. He paid them no mind and instead retreated into the carriage as it began the journey back home. “Not exactly a productive 7 days,” he hummed.

  “You could have gone FIREBALL! Or something,” Helenn stated.

  “I could have, but if there’s one thing I care about more than a proper challenge, then it is the safety of my adorable haremettes,” Rykard answered and booped the angel in his arms on the nose. “This was still useful. Loran and Ben might work together now or Loran will crawl to me ter. I can’t see someone as straitced as Ben accepting a corrupt bureaucracy into the heart of his empire.”

  “There’s one thing that’s doubtlessly true though, something that we can never, ever, take as anything but the absolute truth, something so beyond question it might as well be a mathematical equation.”

  “What is that?”

  “That you’ll win.”

  Rykard grinned and walked down the stairs of his carriage, infinitely more luxurious than the dome they left behind. “Ain’t that the truth.”