A new barrel of fine Welsh ale had just been broached. The royal palace's smoky dining hall resounded to cheery voices. To one side of the top table a harpist and a minstrel were struggling to be heard above the commotion caused by two dogs snarling over a bone in a corner.

Eating slowly, I leant forward to catch the breathless whisper of a rival knight.

"They came in at a run, baying like wolves. Four wild-eyed barbarians ready to cut, gouge, pulverize and kill anything that moved."

That news indeed were music to my ears. My forces attack on his wealthiest town had met with success. Financially weakened, militarily broken, and politically bankrupt, he could no longer hold influence at Court.

So long as no evidence of my wrong doing remained. So long as the Gods blessed the crops of my harvest. So long as the rumors of the capture of my brother were true. The throne was mine.

I've cheated, lied, spied and slaughtered. The fruits of Betrayal are mine.