Chapter 201: Showtime, Motherfuckers
DRAKENCREST - HIGH COUNCIL CHAMBER
These forty dragon lords had insulted her best friend one too many times.
Blair Drakencrest was going to fix the realm’s leadership problem the old-fashioned way.
Maddox was above this. He was a fair, good king. Blair respected that about her brother. She was not Maddox. Being the villain was fine if it meant she got what she wanted. Winning was winning.
She took her seat at the head of the table. The chair was too big for her. She didn’t adjust. She sat in it like she’d been born there and the chair had the goddamn privilege of holding her.
"This is what we’ve come to. The Dragon King disappears and sends his little sister to hold court. This is a waste of my time?" Lord Falborne snapped. His voice had the unique quality of making everyone in the room dumber by three IQ points per sentence.
"The whole Command is gone," Lord Daine replied loud for the table. "First, Second, Third, and Fourth. All absent when we are being attacked as we speak by Dark Fae."
Such a dumbass. He said it as if she’d personally sent the Command away and penciled in "Dark Fae invasion." The man had the strategic reasoning of a potato and the volume of a town crier.
Blair raised her hand.
The table went silent.
Not quiet. Silent. Better executed than Maddox and Kael combined. She would make sure they found that out.
She waited for all of their eyes. The temperature dropped by fifteen degrees.
Good. Let them freeze. Cold rooms produced compliant men and compliant men produced results.
Showtime.
She lowered her hand, and turned to her first victim. "Lord Falborne. Your squire is your bastard. That monthly payment labeled ’horse breeding’? Cute."
Falborne’s face lost its color the way a candle loses flame. He opened his mouth, but before anything came out, Blair had moved on. Next.
"Lord Daine. You’ve been fucking Lord Thornvale’s wife for months. The newest location being Diplomat Row, with the acoustic discretion of a barn animal."
Daine went white. Thornvale’s head snapped towards the younger lord, eyes glowing.
"How dare you—" Lord Daine started to say. Blair held up her hand, not sparing him a glance.
"Lord Holt. You embezzled two million gold and your cousin has been warming your bed in exchange to overlook it. She is pregnant with your child, by the way. Ask her."
Holt’s hand went very still. Poor guy. Just kidding, sympathy was for men who didn’t embezzle two million gold and then fuck their cousins about it.
"Strike that from the record," Holt snapped.
"Don’t strike. Direct order," Blair commanded without looking at Drystan.
Thornvale let out a sound that was either a cough or a laugh. At eighty, the distinction was academic.
"Lord Voss," she continued lightly. "You pay a woman in the lower city to bend you over and take a riding crop to you until you’re shaking. Commands. The whole package. I know the nights you go. I know what you ask for. And I know how much you pay to be called ’good boy.’"
Voss’s face twisted in outrage. Next to him, Lord Novan snickered.
"Lord Novan. You bribed three lords last council session to vote your way. They know who they are. You also had a spy in Drakencrest for the last eighteen months. They now work for me."
One corner of his mouth twitched. Rage or respect? Blair didn’t give a flying fuck. The man was clearly having both.
"Lord Keltis." She turned. "That prototype weapon in your lower forge? Cute. Unpaid tariffs. Also, a serious design flaw and I’m not the only person who knows it. It’s currently as useful as a child’s toy."
Keltis opened his mouth, closed it, and then did something nobody expected. He laughed. A short, impressed bark that he immediately smothered behind his fist.
"Lord Lanthos." She arrived at the smallest lord at the table. "You are the only Lord at this table that I have nothing on. Which either means you’re clean, or you’re better at hiding things than everyone else in this room. Both options concern me equally."
Lanthos raised his goblet a fraction. "I’m flattered, my lady."
"Don’t be. I’m still looking."
She stood. "We are battle-planning."
She began walking around the table. At each seat, she placed a single gold token in front of the lord sitting there. Yes, she looted these tokens from Kael’s chambers.
"What the hell is this?" Falborne picked his up and turned it over. "Are we being managed like children now? I will not sit here and be condescended to by—"
Blair held up her hand, cutting him off. Yes. Exactly like children. Falborne understood.
"Every man at this table earns that strike from the record based on his behavior during this council session. Cooperate, and the record is cleaned. Waste my time, and the record goes to your wives. Except Lord Thornvale’s. His goes to his undertaker. He’ll want a head start."
She looked at Drystan. "Add that to the record."
She returned to the head of the table and stood.
"The rules are these. Everyone has one token. If you raise your hand and wait your turn to speak, you keep your token. If you interrupt, the token goes to the center of the table and you lose it."
"What do we get for keeping our tokens?" Lord Keltis asked, flipping his between two fingers with the theatrical boredom of a man who accessorized his disdain.
Blair raised her eyebrows at him. One look. The look communicated, in order: that the question itself was an interruption, that interruptions cost tokens, and that the man who had just asked what he got for good behavior had revealed that he needed to be incentivized to behave, which was exactly the kind of man who lost tokens.
Keltis looked at his token. Looked at Blair. Looked at his token again.
He slid it to the center of the table with two manicured fingers and crossed his arms with a huff.
"Anyone else?" Blair asked.
Silence.
"Good. Let’s begin."
✦✦✦
TWENTY MINUTES LATER.
Five tokens were in the center pile. The rest stopped that shit.
Miracles, apparently, were real.
Lord Galdor had proposed a reinforcement of the northern watchtowers using a modified design from his own forge work that was tactically sound and structurally innovative, which Blair acknowledged with a nod and a "well done."
Lord Lanthos had identified three separate vulnerabilities across the western villages, presented solutions for each, and done it all in under two minutes.
Lord Prados, brooding and reluctant and clearly resentful about being competent in public, delivered a thorough border assessment.
Not a single lord interrupted. Hands went up. Turns were taken. Tokens stayed in front of their owners.
"Very good, Lord Galdor." Blair folded her hands on the table. "You may take one token from the center. You’ve earned it back."
Galdor looked at the center of the table. He looked at Blair. The expression on his face was the expression of a man who had received recognition for doing his job well and didn’t know what to do with it.
He reached forward and took the token.
Keltis, sitting three seats away, tokenless and silent, looked like he was going to chew through his own jaw.
Tokenless. Wordless. Rockbottom. Alone. Dick went bye-bye.
There were a handful of Lords that Blair left the fuck alone. She wasn’t stupid. Solandris got a free pass today. Killing his reputation before he came out as Guinevere’s grandfather was messy. But if he tried something? He was cooked.
She could feel his eyes on her, assessing. Next.
✦✦✦
THIRTY MINUTES ON THE DOT
"Bring your token to the next session. Dismissed," Blair said.
She stood. They stood.
None of them moved. She exited the council chamber without sparing them a glance.