15

XERXES

The closer I get to my study, the further down the corners of my mouth. I don't want the general. It's going to be the same conversation we both have. The same arguments keep falling. And every time my aggression grows immeasurably. But since I'm not allowed to negate him, I have no choice but to agree to his meetings again and again. He's in a high position now. How he got there, however, is a mystery to me.

I take another deep breath before grabbing the heavy brass handle and pressing it down. Immediately there is a scraping of a chair. Anslem has probably already made himself comfortable. But he doesn't like etiquette as much as he doesn't like us. This includes getting up when I enter the room. "Your Majesty," he grunts, and motions a bow. One that's too slight to really pass as polite. But I ignore it, instead motioning unsteadily for him to sit back down. That he doesn't need to be told twice.The soft creaking of the fabric immediately sounds as he puts his massive body back onto the chair.

"So why are you requesting a conversation?" I'm aware my smile is too cool. Too distant. But I don't care. Instead I look at the man in front of me. How his much too small nose wiggles slightly as he looks for the right words. Back when I was a boy, I had tremendous respect for Anslem. There's a certain wisdom in his eyes. Even when he took the post of army commander. I didn't realize then that there was a lie in that light shade of brown. But today I see this. Realize that everything is fake.

"We finally have to act." His voice is calm, but Anselm's twitching jaw muscle reveals that he too is struggling to keep his composure. It's tiring to have this conversation. Not only for me, but also for him. And as always, he doesn't catch directly with his concerns. His ploy is very simple: He says that something has to happen and thereby gives me the chance to make the decision. For many upper class people this is important. Nobody likes to be told something and they all want to feel like it was ultimately their choice, but that's not the case for me.

So I just shake my head in resignation and let myself fall on the chair across from him. "I'm taking action." That's right. My talks with the Baron never stopped. We're still trying to find a solution. He wants more land. Land I won't give him. Then I lose taxes and the Baron belongs already one of the wealthiest people in our country, which makes him dangerous.

"But not the way it should be," Anslem spits out the words, and even though the top of the desk blocks my view of his hands, I'm sure he's making fists. But that doesn't deter me Instead, I smile smugly and lean in slightly. "And who decides what's right?" A great benefit of raising people from the good family is that it teaches them from the start to always radiate kindness. And this often acts like a poison arrow. The men of the army have hardly any restraint. Act on their emotions. That's important, otherwise they wouldn't be good warriors. You have to follow and trust your instincts. However, these people can do very little with the friendly distance. Not,

"Your Majesty, you must realize that your way of doing things hasn't gotten us very far." The closer the sentence gets to the end, the more revulsion resonates. He's right, too. The Baron is right with me played. We almost made a deal where we both came out victorious. But the Baron is greedy. He thought he could get better value. That fool really thought I would give in to him even more. That I would didn't see it coming, weighs on my shoulders. That's true. But instead of answering Anslem, I motion him to keep talking. We both know where this conversation is going. So why delay any longer?

"We must attack. Now!" And there's that enthusiasm again, which I've always found admirable in Anslem. The mere prospect of war is when his eyes glow. Just as Kalota's eyes glowed when she was shackled. Me shake my head trying to banish the images. But too late. My penis twitches. My pants pinch and I mumble softly. A really inappropriate situation to feel anything like arousal. But I manage to shake my head." You can't do that now and you know it."

He bangs on the table and if he was just struggling to keep his composure, it's over now. "Of course it is. We are strong and will overrun him within a week."

That just makes me snort in amusement. God, this man could have a knife to his balls and still insist he had balls of steel. "How can it be that an army commander knows so little about warfare." A frontal attack on his position. But it's true. I can't understand how he can't consider that winter is coming soon. It's already freezing temperatures , which our Lord would hardly survive.

Anselm gasps indignantly and for a moment I'm really afraid that his head will explode. Small red spots appear on the cheeks. Then on the forehead and I almost think that the vein on the temple protrudes even more. "For you to presume to say something like that just shows your ignorance," he hisses, grinding his jaw. He's angry. Of course. He's too narrow-minded to think everything through his words gushing out of his mouth. But still, I exude calm and instead of straightening my shoulders, I lean back against the chair. Sigh softly.

I'm playing a power game. Calm versus impulsiveness. Resilience to unbridled anger. While Anslem practically trembles in front of me, I manage to appear composed. At least on the outside. Inside it looks very different. I would love to take the little dagger on my table and ram it into his neck. Cut the tendons with it and hear that unique gurgle that only blood entering the windpipe can produce.

I shake my head again, trying to clear my mind. It doesn't work The images of all the dead are too present in my head. How emptiness filled her eyes. That unique sense of power. It's an Addiction. An addiction that is difficult to break. "At least I'm able to see that half our men wouldn't even make it to the battlefield because they'd freeze to death." That's true. The armor doesn't keep out the cold and we don't have enough warm clothing to equip everyone with it.

Anslem jumps up and the chair behind him falls over. Slams the ground hard, but neither of us notices. "Same would be the case with the Baron. We would win," he exclaims, clenching his fists. And now I stand up too. Can't believe he's so foolish. So blind. Of course we would win, but the Baron's army is my people too. My peasants dying in the field My laborers perishing at someone else's blade And every loss means one less tax revenue.

"But at what price could we still see it as a gain?" And now my composure is gone too. Almost automatically I squint at the small dagger. The gold shines seductively. Almost invitingly lay the handle and sully the color so graceful with the beautiful red." Tell me, Anslem. How many lives is a win worth?"

Anselm opens his mouth, wants to say something more, but this time I'm taking advantage of my position. Nobody is allowed to interrupt the king. "I will not send my men to a senseless death." My words are cutting. They only emphasize the seriousness behind what is said. That there is no need for an argument. But that has never stopped Anslem from speaking his mind. " It wouldn't be pointless if we strengthened our position as a result."

Again the same miserable argument. Again, it's all about pride. Because a man doesn't let anything be said. The fact that Anselm would be willing to kill thousands of men for his own ego is not even worth considering for him. God, how disgusted I am by this way of thinking. My father built his whole life according to this principle. The main thing is that he can walk through the aisles with his head held high. He didn't care who took damage for it. But I want to break that line. I don't want to make decisions based on my pride. I will at least try to do what is best for my people. "Our position is strong."

Anslem laughs and he probably really doesn't believe me. He is a good leader of his men. A good strategist in attack and even better at spotting weaknesses in opponents. But otherwise he doesn't think about anything. "Your position, Majesty, is faltering as much as it can be."

He's going too far with that. He knows that. But Anslem doesn't seem to care. He looks at me openly and now I can't stop my grip on the dagger.