Fall From Glory

Observed

Ever since Gisela's mysterious 'dinner' had commenced, Fintan felt more watched than usual, like he was now prey in his own castle, in his own kingdom.

He was at the mercy of wolves-and if not, nearly there. In. His. Own. Domain. In his territory, that he had worked so hard to gain control of. It was his now, and he shouldn't let puny courtiers ruin his hard work. He wouldn't.

That was the talk he had mentally screamed at himself before going out the second day to address everyone and set them to work, right before his correlation with Gisela veered off-course onto a trap-riddled path.

He had treaded carefully, but there was only so much one could do to appeal to her and her incessantly open display of her opinion, despite how well she reserved herself when the time came.

"Gisela, our court is nothing but a collaboration of pawns."

"You are truly asinine, Fintan," she spat, embers glowing in her eyes. "I am trying to help you, and you ignore me. Is that a true quality of an intelligent leader?"

His sigh echoed his frustrations, which were building every minute. "I appreciate your concerns, but we can't blindly accuse."

"Blindly accuse? You run the risk of being usurped, Fintan." She raised a disbelieving eyebrow, a look that should normally turn his reasoning to ash. Now he had motivation to back him and weeks worth of annoyance to stand on.

"Ah, so you're worried about your position as Councillor."

"If you fall, it means nothing to the stability of my position. I have no qualms ruling alone. I am simply trying to open your eyes before you get stabbed in the back." Gisela's icy eyes narrowed at him.

Fed up, Fintan snapped, "Why don't you, then?"

Her contours relaxed ever so slightly. "I want to give you a chance, you slow-brained dunce."

"Lay off the insulting if..." He trailed off.

She tilted her head. "If?"

"If you don't want to be thrown in the dungeons," he smirked.

Gisela rolled her eyes. "You really haven't learned. Nothing can cage me-at least, not for long. Locking me up won't do any good."

"It'll give me some peace," he argued.

"Few minutes' worth, maybe," the Polyglot acknowledged with a twist of her lips.

Fintan sighed, ripping a hand through his carefully arranged hair and destroying any previous formality that it may have had. "Can you just warn me when I have time to listen?"

"You haven't left yet. And if this is how you handle matters.... well, I can't say I blame you for locking up the rest of the Council and Secondary; they would've betrayed you a whole lot sooner. No wonder the siblings left."

A scowled creased Fintan's face at the mention of that nefarious trio. The problems they'd caused him....

For all he knew, everyone was planning to betray him the moment they got back from Ravagog, but he'd beat them to the punch. Satisfaction pricked his mind as he recalled their looks and pitiful attempt to fight back against Dimitar's guards. Whelps.

If they couldn't even protect themselves against threatening ogres, how would they run a kingdom? Simple: they wouldn't. Morbidly, he hoped they perished out on their own, the trio especially, but he couldn't help but ponder their survival options. 

In all opportunities, Dimitar could be executing them at the present. Not that he cared what happened to them. Less possible enemies for the throne.