“This is necessity ,” Orran replied, and his voice had the texture of rust. “The merchants paid for your statue. They did not pay for my army’s loyalty. I need you to stand beside me when I break them. Not for me. For the starving children you once carried from fires.”
He took it. And the moment he did, the king’s messengers began arriving at odd hours, asking for “small favors.” A word in a general’s ear. A quiet visit to a judge. A letter of endorsement for a royal cousin’s appointment. Each request, by itself, was almost virtuous. Each refusal would have cost him nothing but comfort. Each acceptance cost him a splinter of his soul. corruption of champions all text
“He’s going to arrest me tomorrow,” she said. “For conspiracy. It’s a lie. But the judge is his cousin. I need you to stand with me. Publicly. Just once more.” “This is necessity ,” Orran replied, and his
“The Border Marches are starving,” Orran said, sliding the parchment across the oak table. It was a decree authorizing the seizure of grain from the southern granaries—grain belonging to the merchant-lords who had funded Valerius’s own victory parade. “They hoard while children swell with empty bellies. Sign it.” I need you to stand beside me when I break them
“You are the only one who can stop this,” she said. “But you cannot do it lawfully. The courts are his. The army is his, except for the veterans who would still die for you. Take them. Seize the palace. Install a regency. Save us.”
That night, he dreamed of the Tyrant of the Iron Crag. But in the dream, the Tyrant wore Valerius’s own face. And when he drove his sword into the Tyrant’s heart, the blade turned to water, and the water turned to wine, and the wine tasted like nothing at all.