Horns blew, and flags rippled in the wind of some officiant’s spell. The richest and most influential people in Easton stood nearby, drinking and dancing, completely unaware that the world – indeed, the universe – was passing them by. They all thought that the danger had passed, that they were safe. They believed that, after having survived the past few years, they could simply go back to old customs, as if the world would soon return to normal.

But as Roman stared down at the Seal of Authority, he knew it was all a misguided fantasy.

There was no such thing as normal. One could never stop striving. The days of humanity standing on the shoulders of past generations were long gone, and now, people needed to forge their own path through an unfamiliar and expansive universe. That was what drove him. That was the reason he couldn’t relax. Theirs was a dangerous and deadly world filled with all the worst sorts of monsters. And he was the only one standing between his people and total annihilation.

More than anything, he wished that Alyssa could have seen that. But she’d insisted on questioning his authority, on pushing against his every decision. She had championed the weak and protected the insubordinate, and all the while, monsters were knocking at the door. It was madness that she couldn’t see the danger she represented. She would have turned on him, Roman was certain of it, and when she did, she would have had enough support to get everyone in Easton killed.

Her death had been necessary.

Regrettable, certainly. It had been the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. Even after the betrayal that was her inability to prevent Trish’s death, he still cared deeply about Alyssa. She had been his only true friend. But that was a sacrifice he was willing to make. As a selfless leader, that was the burden he was forced to bear.

All that and more washed through Roman’s mind as he watched his people celebrate an accomplishment that was not theirs.

The wall had finally been completed, and as such, the city within was safe from the formation of minor rifts or spontaneous manifestations of Voxx. It was a tremendous feat of engineering, enchanting, and architecture. Yet, it could do nothing about the virus that had already begun to take root within his city.

“Congratulations, boss,” came a grating voice Roman did not want to hear. “The sheep are safe, but what now?”

Roman didn’t turn. “What do you want, Trace?” he asked, slipping the Seal of Authority into his vest pocket.

“Maybe I just wanted to make small talk with the big man in charge,” the Outlaw said, stepping forward until he stood shoulder-to-shoulder with his superior. Out of the corner of his eye, Roman saw Trace’s garish attire. The man flouted the notion of a uniform, making alterations that made him stand out. It was still the same blue-and-white outfit, with black boots and a badge of authority on the chest. However, the cut was anything but normal, with a long blue coat with a dragon stitched on the back. If it was anyone else, Roman would have had him whipped.

Or killed.

Yet Trace was valuable, and they both knew it. So, he got away with things no other person could. For now. Soon, there would come a point when the man went too far.

“In that case, leave,” Roman stated. “I’m not in the mood for your foolishness.”

“You really take all this seriously, don’t you? If you say that’s how you’ve always talked, I’ll call you a liar.”

“Normally, people who say such things end up dead,” Roman said, refusing to rise to the Outlaw’s bait. He had changed his speech patterns, but that was a necessity. His people deserved more than the small-town sheriff he’d been. They needed dignity. Respectability. They needed a king.

“Ain’t that the truth.”

“What do you want, Trace?”

A surge of ethera announced the activation of some sort of ability, but Roman wasn’t afraid. The Seal of Authority gave him plenty of leeway so he didn’t have to react to every ripple in the ambient ethera. Still, he cut his eyes at Trace.

“Don’t get all antsy,” the man said. “I know better than to mess with you here. It’s just an ability meant to prevent eavesdropping.”

“That’s new.”

“Is it? Maybe I’ve just kept it in reserve all this time.”

That was the problem with Trace. He was an incredibly useful man to have around, ruthless and efficient in what he chose to do. However, he was untrustworthy as well as secretive, meaning that he was unpredictable.

Roman hid his irritation by adopting an at-rest stance, with his hands behind his back. His eyes never wavered from the affluent people who’d attended the party he never wanted to host. But Fiona had insisted, saying that it was a display of power as well as a way to keep the idiots happy. He acknowledged that she had a much better head for such things, so he’d chosen to trust her judgement. Still, he could barely hide his irritation.

“Speak your mind.”

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“You are absolutely no fun. You know that, right? Fine. I’ve traced the traitors to a tavern in the southern district,” Trace stated. “Mostly the usual suspects. You know the ones.”

Indeed, even with Alyssa dead, he’d had to deal with no shortage of naysayers and dissidents. Even as they sheltered beneath his wing, they complained about the manner in which he provided for their safety. It was maddening. He’d given them everything. By all rights, their lives were his to do with as he pleased. Yet, treason had bloomed, vivid and poisonous.

The only solace was that they were easy to keep track of. Roman already knew who the leaders were, even if he was unaware of the methods they intended to use. That was where Trace came in.

“That is not news,” he said.

“No,” Trace said, running his hand through his hair. “No, it’s not. But the people they’re meeting with – that might interest you quite a bit.”

“Who?”

“Who do you think? Who has more reason to hate you than anyone else?” Trace asked.

“Carmen.”

“Bingo,” Trace said.

“Does she know?”

“Does it matter?” the Outlaw asked. “She was always a loose end. We should’ve clipped that thread a long time ago.”

Roman finally turned away. He knew he should have killed Carmen the moment he came back from that tower. Yet, his soft heart had stayed his hand. It wasn’t that he cared so much about the woman herself. He’d never particularly liked her in the first place. But he refused to orphan her child.

Not unless he was forced to do so.

“What happened afterwards?” Roman asked.

“She left,” Trace answered. “Headed out of the city, presumably back to Silverado.”

“Interesting. Did you have her followed?” Roman asked.

“Of course. Two of my best girls,” he said.

Roman ground his teeth. Trace’s depravities regarding his female underlings were well known, and they were a visible stain on the reputation of the government. And as the ultimate authority within Easton, the man’s reputation was a blight on Roman’s as well. Yet, he was too useful to hold accountable.

For now.

Eventually, Trace would outlive his usefulness. At that point, Roman would make him pay for every crime he’d committed. And he would enjoy it.

“I want you to go to Silverado and keep an eye on what she’s up to,” Roman ordered.

“Want me to just kill her? Because I’m assuming you don’t want me to just waltz into that little mining camp and announce I’m there on a mission of espionage.”

“You will remain unseen.”

“So, is that a no on the killing? Because if we’re just going to put her down, I wouldn’t mind trying my hand with her. She’s a bit thick for my tastes. Too many muscles. But like I always say, I’ll try anything once.”

Roman’s hand shot out, faster than most people could even track, and his fingers clamped around Trace’s throat. The Outlaw tried to activate an ability, but Roman used one of the functions of the Seal of Authority, ending it immediately. He hated using the cooldown for something so mundane, but making a point was important. Besides, it would cycle in a week.

He lifted Trace from the ground, and as the other man’s feet dangled a few inches from the polished tile floor, Roman growled, “You will not touch her. If you harm her without my say-so, I will make you wish for death. You know what I can do.”

With that, he released the Outlaw, who fell to the floor in a gasping heap.

For his part, Roman returned to his previous stance, looking for all the world as if he’d never even moved.

“Jesus fucking Christ, man,” Trace croaked, massaging his throat. “I was just joking. You didn’t have to go all evil emperor on me.”

“I am not evil. I am necessary.”

“Sure,” Trace muttered. “I believe you. But do they?”

Roman had already seen precisely what Trace was referring to. A few of the guests had noticed his outburst, but the moment they realized that he was staring back at them, they hastily returned to their little bubble of affluent ignorance.

“They do not care,” he stated.

Trace picked himself up off the floor, then dusted himself off as he said, “Because they’re terrified.”

“So long as they are obedient, it doesn’t matter to me.”

Indeed, Roman had long since moved past the need to be loved by his people. Most of them would never see the things he did to ensure their lives continued. They were blissfully unaware of the sacrifices he’d endured, the difficult decisions he’d been forced to make. For someone like him, love had never been on the table.

Fear, though – that was attainable. Natural, even. And most importantly, fear kept people in line. He’d learned that in his previous career, and it was a lesson that was still applicable in his current endeavor.

“Damn, man. They’re well-trained,” remarked Trace with a shake of his head.

“Do you understand my instructions?”

“Yeah. I got it. But for the record, you could’ve just told me to leave her be. You didn’t have to do what you did.”

“Yes, I did. You may go. Now.”

For a moment, Trace looked as if he was going to argue, but then thought better of it. Assuredly, the previous lesson was on his mind. In any case, the man turned on his heel and marched out of the ballroom.

When he did, Roman went back to his stoic attendance of the celebratory party. Soon enough, he found the Seal of Authority back in his hand. On the surface, the pendant was nothing special. Just a few extra attribute points. However, when he’d bound it, he’d discovered two separate abilities. One, he’d used on Trace, locking down the Outlaw’s abilities. It only lasted for a few seconds, but with that much time, Roman could do all sorts of damage.

But the other ability it granted was far more important, as anyone who tried to attack him in his city would quickly discover.

The thought had just crossed his mind when he saw Fiona approaching. She was dressed in an emerald dress that clung to her waifish body, accentuating what few curves she possessed. More than once, she’d made it clear that she was interested in more than a professional relationship with Roman, but he’d never even considered taking advantage of her in such a way.

He was better than that.

She asked, “What did the weasel want?”

“He wished to congratulate me on the completion of the wall,” Roman lied easily.

“Huh. Unexpected, but I suppose it shouldn’t be. It’s a great accomplishment,” she said. “And just in time, too. That roaming warband is getting closer. Did you give any thought to their demands?”

“I won’t pay a ransom for my city’s protection. If they attack, we will defeat them,” Roman stated unequivocally. Indeed, the warband’s leader, a man who called himself Laramie, had recently sent an emissary demanding that Easton pay a tithe. He referred to it as a protection fee, but the implication was clear. Pay willingly, or it would be taken. Roman hadn’t even needed to consider it in order to refuse, which he did so by virtue of beheading the emissary and launching his body over the wall.

“The wall will protect us,” Fiona said, taking a sip.

“It will,” he said. And if it didn’t, they had plenty of fighters. If they failed, then Roman would have to use the Seal’s second ability. Either way, anyone who attacked Easton would quickly discover the error of their ways.