The King sat upon his throne, a heavy, gilded chair that dwarfed him. The throne room was a hall of opulence, with light streaming through high arched windows and illuminating the polished marble floor. Courtiers in silken robes whispered among themselves, their faces a collective study in boredom and anxiety. The King was tired of the whispers, tired of the rebellion that had tarnished his reign. He wanted a victory, a final, decisive one.
The heavy doors to the hall swung open, and the King's general strode in. He was a sight to behold—triumphant, but marked. A fresh scar, an angry red gash, ran from his brow over his left eye. His hand was wrapped in a thick, blood-stained bandage. The courtiers fell silent, their whispers dying in their throats.
The King, a man who loathed any sign of weakness, scowled. "What is this? Is the war a barber's shop now?" he said, his voice cold and hard.
The general dropped to one knee, his back straight as a spear. "Your Majesty, I bring news of a great victory."
A cheer erupted from the courtiers, a chorus of shallow praise. They saw a victory, and they saw an end to the war. They didn't see the price of it written in the general's face.
"Speak," the King commanded, his voice a low growl.
"The Vexin have lost one of their leaders," the general began. "The young man, Kael. We caught him and his army of a thousand men in a trap. He is dead."
The cheers grew louder, a cacophony of relief and celebration. The King smiled for the first time in weeks. "The young serpent is dead! Now the nest will burn!"
The general, however, remained on one knee. His eyes, the one that wasn't scarred, met the King's. "He fought with the fury of a hero, Your Majesty. He took eight hundred of our men with him. I myself bear the marks of his savagery."
The King's smile vanished. "Eight hundred men? Against a thousand rebels?" He rose from his throne. "That is not a victory. That is a costly brawl."
"It is a victory, Sire," the general insisted. "The Vexin have lost their passion. The alliance is now a serpent without a head. They are in turmoil, torn apart by grief and loss. They will seek revenge, and they will be careless."
The King looked from his wounded general to the cheering courtiers. He ignored the general's caution and saw only what he wanted to see: the end of a rebellion. "Good," he said, a cold, ruthless smile returning to his face. "If they seek vengeance, we will be ready. Tell the royal legions to prepare. We will march on their main forces and crush what remains of them. We will end this rebellion once and for all."