The Decoy and the Dagger

The Throne Room was quiet.

A deep, ringing silence had replaced the echoes of my spar with Chloe.

My new power settled in my bones, a low, thrumming hum that felt like a caged star in my chest.

A B-Rank in Body.

A C-Rank in Mana.

For the first time since this whole insane nightmare began, I felt like a king.

A broke, catastrophically indebted king who lived in a glorified basement with a goblin that had a personal vendetta against his own reflection, but a king nonetheless.

"My Lord," Isabelle's voice was a blade of calm, cutting through my smug self-satisfaction.

She stood with her arms crossed, her expression one of cool, professional analysis.

"You are magnificent. But she is a mage. A queen of magic. She will not let you get that close."

She was right.

Of course, she was right.

The glorious, triumphant feeling in my chest deflated like a sad balloon.