Mordai smiled as he walked out to the balcony of the castle-keep. Hundreds of faces stared up at him. Some in glee, some in suspicion. The surrounding guards seemed tense, but he knew they were on his side. They were too angry that their king had been hiding such wicked secrets to even question his motives.

"Thank you for coming," he said, and his voice boomed out across the crowd, thanks to his magic. "I know you all have a lot of questions, but foremost, I know you to be a nation of people who do not trust blindly. I have brought before you today all the evidence I have, to fully reassure you that Bernard Varsly was no true king!

"This kingdom is just and good. From the gods we worship, to how we treat our neighbors on the street. Just and powerful! There was a time when the Varsly name.... No, the Varsly's themselves held to that standard. They traveled the lands, to ease the burden of their peoples, they worked beside the nobles and common folk alike to better our society. Bernard himself even slayed a dragon, to save his people the torment of its tyranny!

"But that love was lost somewhere. That connection was traded away for the power, or for reasons of greed, and our king turned away from his people, and to dark magics." Mordai paused for due effect, keeping his features captivating. "The king that once killed such a mighty creature as a dragon to protect his people, was not the same one that stood in your castle!"

Mordai took a deep breath and looked across the faces in the crowd. The charming magic he wove into his words had grasped them just enough, and though their expressions were still hardened and expectant, he knew he could win his cause by the day's end. He motioned to a nearby guard, and waited as they pulled a cart to his side, covered in simple cloth. "I present this evidence, and witness who saw the same as me. It was found in a well kept secret of the castles chambers and stained with blood from overuse."

He pulled the cloth free of the shrine and heard the collective gasp of his audience. The stone was carved in the image of a magnificent dragon, with a collection of precious stones for its eyes that encapsulated every color of the chromatic scale of dragon kind. Red, blue, white, black, green, and yellow. At the bottom of the shrine was a deep bowl, stained with so much blood that it had built up over time and no part of its copper construction could be seen.

"Along with this," Mordai began, "We found several ceremonial knives, and other devices of torture and cultism that should be nowhere near a noble and just king. And know that this is only one of the shrines we found. The other is immovable and was built into the castle itself. It was just as well used and complete with a sacrificial table." He took his tone to a deep and disappointed resonance, and he watched as parts of the crowd before him began yelling and shaking their fists.

"So now I will ask you again, do you so surely believe that Bernard Varsly's did what was right for our kingdom, and for us as a people?"

A chorus of 'no!' washed over him in a tide.

"Then, in that case, I suggest you celebrate! A nation whole again, without your heart corrupted by foul magic and lies!"

The noise from the crowd was overwhelming, and Mordai smiled at as many of the people as he could, before he bowed and moved away from the balcony to the peace of his castle beyond. He could hear a servant calling out details of all the ways he would work to answer questions in the following hours.

Mordai sighed as he reclined on a lavish couch in one of the many rooms he had available to him. He was still shocked by how easy the whole of his little rebellion had been. It had been another tenday and his success still had not fully sunk in. The King was not dead, of course. But banishment was a fine way to deal with such a figure. Bernard had spent so long conditioning his people to follow only the gods on his ideal side of good, that the brief spark of information Mordai had gleaned in that chamber had set it all ablaze. No one good worshiped a chromatic dragon. Or, at least, that is what he told the city. Cultist activity and bloodstained altar bowls had done more than he ever could have hoped to the king's reputation.

He and his followers held a sturdy grip on the city, now. And after he had secured the guard and the armies, he knew he had nothing to worry about. He had never dreamed he could dethrone the king. But the book had opened an unfamiliar world of possibilities to him. It looked simple, old. Useless. But he knew that the magic it contained was more than enough for his purpose.

On the surface, it was a simple thing. Something many would overlook, or scoff at. But its ancient pages offered Mordai more magic and ability than most could imagine. And thinking of the way it enhanced him made him nearly giddy.

The king was gone. Not dead. But gone. And gone was good enough. The books spell of banishment was one that surely nothing he knew of could ever break. He imagined the king might be trapped in some hellish plane that no one dared speak of, and he wished for the worst of torments to befall him.

That was as good as death. A deal he could easily settle for.

He had a kingdom. A very lucrative kingdom, an army, and anything else he could desire. The possibilities of his new position wound through his head. He had heard of Katerin's quick ascension to a place of nobility, but not even she could call herself a ruler. He could. And all he had done to find it was trapping the vile man that had wronged him, so long ago.

So long as he could keep Katerin from interfering, all would be fine. The entire city believed or at least could not yet dispute his claims of their dragon worship, and no one who worked or stole for a living enjoyed knowing that those above them made deals with things they could not comprehend. Hell, one speech and I could let the city deal with them, he thought with a grin.

There was a knock on the door, and a servant entered with a smile. "A Sylvestris is here to see you, my king. He said he would be welcome."

"Did he?" Mordai asked, feeling a familiar pin prick of annoyance. "Let him in, but take your time with it."

A good ten minutes passed before the balding head of Sylvestris appeared in his doorway. Mordai thought of standing to greet the man, but decided otherwise.

Sylvestris snorted as he looked around the well-appointed office with its red silk curtains and carved sandstone desk. "It seems you've already grown accustomed to a living space not covered in filth. How much of a change must that be?"

Mordai felt his shoulders stiffen, and wanted to argue that he had done fine for himself before all this, but he only smiled. "It is only a case of my surroundings rising to fit my stature."

"The Syndicate is ready to move forward," Sylvestris sniffed. "In a month's time you will sign the parchments and rework the shipping routes to a better and more prosperous affect... for all the city." His last words were an easily spotted lie.

Mordai's gaze narrowed. "Is that so?"

"It is. Do not be so childish. I gave you this information of the king, if you'll remember. And you ran off with it on your own. Do not expect to be free of your duties to us."

"I am king, now."

"You are a dog. You will obey your master."

Mordai squinted at the balding, cruel man. He had never been treated fairly in the Syndicate. Everything he did, they accredited to the smiling, slimy Sylvestris, who had never once stepped aside or given due credit. "And if I choose not to?"

"There is already a resistance rising in the city. I alone could corrupt all your claims of the kings terrible deeds. We are not peasants so easily led astray, Mordai. Act in your place or we will remove you as you removed Bernard."

Mordai let his shoulders drop and did not miss the look of pleasure in Sylvestris' eyes. "Fine. A month, and you'll have papers signed with the seal of the king. Who is in this resistance?"

"Mages, mostly. Old loyalists. The true army: The Fangs, the Claws and the Wings are still with you, but the mages are questioning your evidence and the lack of the Kings body. The Tower's headmistress is too nosy for anyone good. She and several loyalists have caused fights in taverns, talking ill of you. Appears they believe it should still be a Varsly on the throne, and they suspect you have ill intent."

Mordai listened to his words and scratched one of his horns. "I doubt they would rise against me with any force, so long as the army is on my side."

"They need someone to tell them to act, or they will sit and study while the world falls. They are cowards." Sylvestris spoke with an evident sneer.

So are you, Mordai thought bitterly. "If you want these papers in a months' time, then I want more of the information you had on the king. You only told me of the shrine. Not its purpose, not any of his movements across the kingdom. What was he searching for?"

"It's nothing you need to know. Better to let higher minds consider it. For now, you are in enough of a place of power. You can work to gain the rest. Sign these papers, and maybe I'll indulge your curiosities." Sylvestris pulled the rolls of parchment from his bag and set them on the desk. With no form of farewell, he turned and departed the room with his head high, as if he was too good to be in such a lowly place as the castle that housed the highest of human civilization.

Mordai gritted his teeth and fought the urge to spit after the man. Even when he sat as King, he was to be so thoroughly disrespected? Surely, any public appearance would be no different, despite his new status. Everyone who knew him believed him to be cowed and weak. But could a cowed and weak man dethrone a king and usurp an entire kingdom with his words alone?

He shooed away the servant who moved to refill his glass. He had chosen the oldest vintage in the cellar, and it was a very fine drink. Almost too fine for him, leaving him with a pleasant warmth in his chest. "That's enough for the night. Go on, and please wake me with the sunrise tomorrow. I have business."

"Yes, my king." With that, the man bowed and left, the door clicking behind him.

Mordai sat for a moment more, before dropping his robe to the floor and making for his bed. Normally, he would never drop silk on the floor of any place, no matter how clean or fancy the flooring was. But now it was almost freeing. A luxury few would ever experience.

He fell into a deep, peaceful sleep, and dreamt of the many prospects before him.

Late into the night, Mordai's door opened with no attempt at stealth. Before it clicked closed, the figure it silhouetted in the doorway stood tall and proud. As the door closed, the candle came alight, without the strike of a match ever being seen.

Mordai blinked away the haze of sleep and groaned. "Can you not come and clean later? It's not even near to sunrise."

"The servants always listen very well. Those things are obvious to anyone who is true nobility," the voice dripped with chagrin.

Mordai sat straight upright, his breath catching in his chest. Before him stood a man in his prime, with a muscular build, a handsome face, and long sandy blonde hair that fell down his back in waves. It was all perfectly combed, and the man seemed as if someone had brought to life the picture of the perfect human form. He looked like a Varsly, but the way he held himself was different, proud, and powerful.

The man blinked, and his eyes shown like embers in the candlelight. "Quite a stunt you pulled on me. Brave, if not stupid." He moved and sat at the corner of Mordai's bed.

Recognition dawned on Mordai through his sleepy haze. "You can't be back. Not with that spell, not with that magic!" Mordai's legs jumped free of the covers, but the man's eyes found him where he stood, and locked him in place before he could think to move and scream for the guards.

"I look too much like their true king, and I am too skilled in knowing what to say. The guards won't come, and you should just hear me out." He watched Mordai for a moment longer.

There was no anger or offense in the man's eyes, only a bored yet attentive expression.

Mordai weighed his options. He knew without a doubt that the being before him was not a human. No mortal would ever have the ability to reverse the effects of the spell he had used. If he tried to run, or tried any other tricks, he knew he would likely die. Was a month all his dreams would last for? He felt the spell that held him in terror fade, and the man waited for him to take a seat once again.

"What in the hells are you?" Mordai pulled his robe over his shoulders, knowing it offered no protection but feeling too vulnerable in his current state.

"My name is Kryrial. Most know me as Bernard Varsly The Seventh, but they also knew me as his father, and his grandfather and..." The voice trailed off as if bored, and Kryrial's eyes sparked in humor as horror washed across Mordai's features.

"You're not human."

"No, no. I simply take the form." Kryrial tsked. "But you're clever. I can sense it. So, will you hear me out?"

The sarcasm in his tone reminded Mordai of Sylvestris' demands, and he stiffened. No genuine threat was spoken and there was nothing rash or angry in Kryrial's words, but Mordai knew his fate if he refused.

"I don't think I have much of a choice," Mordai said, forcing his gaze away from the book. If he looked at it too often, he could give himself away.

"You don't." Kryrial sighed. "It was a great stunt. One I almost admire.... But it will not work, again. You are powerful! And I..." He grinned, a vicious-looking smile that made his pupils show crimson and slitted. "I am bored. I was beginning to tire of all of this. All the bowing and scraping. No one was afraid, anymore. So I think you and I can come to a very... lucrative agreement."

"Of what sort?" Mordai asked, his mind grasping for all the ways he might use this to his advantage. Of all the ways he could make it away from this with his life.

"See, I could use a face. Most of my heirs... their blood is weak. They have nothing close to the power they should, nor the willingness to embrace it. And soon, the people would have questioned my age, again. You don't know how tiring that whole transition is. If you look too healthy for too long, rumors circulate, and then they spread, and then there is all this trouble with spells and keeping up appearances." Kryrial sighed.

"And the point of this? What deal do you want made?" Mordai's spine pricked.

"I want you to be the face of this kingdom. You see, you have all the fame, the infamy, and the love for the moment. You get the lavish rooms and the finest wines. You'll be as adored as you ever wished. But you will answer to me, and you will do as I say, and you will get to live."

The room grew cold and quiet. The only sign of warmth was from the flickering candle, as Mordai fought back the fear in his chest, replacing it with his devilish smile. So long as he stayed close to this man, or monster, he could learn its desires. He could become stronger. He could find the weakness of this being he hated and serve an even greater revenge. "So what would you have me do?"

Kryrial smirked, watching Mordai's eyes. "In the morning, when you give your next little address to the kingdom, you will present further evidence of the cultist worship of this dragon, to the people, and you will order all those of the Varsly bloodline to be hunted and returned to the castle for their execution."

Mordai paled. "All? The youngest is only three years old."

"All," Kryrial repeated. "Even the bastards hiding in the gutters."

Mordai gulped, but kept his features straight, hoping they would look unreadable.

"I will watch your speech. This is your choice. But I'm certain you're aware of what happens if you disobey."

Disobey. There was that word again. Like he could not make his own choices. Like he was lesser, incapable. Like he was a demon. It was as if they believed him to have chosen his appearance, his parentage. As if they thought his mother had deserved such a fate.

As if he had ever not blamed himself.