Partly Cloudy, 64°
My liege, you know I’ve never been one to question your decisions. You’ve won wars, ended years of famine, and brought endless prosperity to our small kingdom of Dundleboose. But I think your order to spare the girl will prove doomed. As your chief advisor I must warn you that she grows stronger every day, your grace. This is not the time to take pity.
You’ve always ruled with an iron fist, my lord. You’re a fearsome and ruthless warrior who strikes fear in the hearts of all who oppose you. But you seem to have a soft spot for the rebel girl. Yes she is young and yes she is green. She doesn’t show any real promise on the battlefield but her followers are loyal to her, and that makes her a threat. You cannot let her live. She must be smited.
The spies in her camp are reporting that her army is growing. You’re correct that it is growing slowly, but so was Lord Swanth of Monjoor’s when he tried to usurp you. I understand her tenacity has hit a soft spot with you, that you see some of yourself in her. But that does not mean you can go easily on her, your grace.
If you gave the order, our army could be at her camp by dawn. We could strike before the rebels wake. We should not pass up this opportunity, sire. It’s too great a risk to keep her alive. The stakes are far too high to show any empathy toward her.
Excuse me, your grace. It appears there’s a messenger outside the door. It seems that the girl has fallen ill with the plague. As you know, the Black Death takes no pity. So that will be all. I’ll be back in after supper to discuss the kingdom’s grain shortage.
