He sat listening to his advisors debate. The king was bored with the talking. He became king by taking action, not blabbering.

“Enough!” The king shouted. The table fell silent.

“If it is true what Sir Attia says,” the king began.

“You can rest assure it is true, my lord,” interrupted the man in the light green robe. His bushy hair and long beard black beard were both peppered with grey. “I swear upon the gods it is true.”

“If it is true,” the king began again, “then we must act quickly. Round up the agitators and those in allegiance with the Luna clan. We kill the traitors before this gets out of hand.”

“Sir, if I may?” A short, bald man in lavender tunic gently raised one finger in an effort to show respect when butting in on the King’s speech. “This is no insurrection. It is drunken boasting at a tavern. I feel it beneath you to persecute these men for lips loosened by the drink.”

The king stared at the adviser with fire in his eyes.

“Insurrection or no, Sir Overton, these men have threatened my ability to rule. They have openly ridiculed me and my throne. They say they would rather Warburg and the damned Luna family were in charge? And the reaction from the others at the tavern? How did you put it, Sir Attia? ‘The patrons listened with intent?’ I will not have these men plant seeds under my nose. Those seeds will take root and will grow and spread. Once the flowers bloom, we’ll be doomed. Round them up now before the seeds are spread!”