“This is your plan?” Mikhail’s tone was dismissive. “This?”

He stared down at the careful notes, the intricate markings on the map. It was certainly something—an attempt by an otherwise feeble leader to make something of themselves, to lead their people on their own merit.

It would not work. It would fail. Mikhail had a duty to ensure this plan never saw the light of day, that his liege remained here, tucked away from the battlefield and the war that raged on.

"Need I remind you why I agreed to lend my own considerable talents to your cause? Need I remind you that you need me to lead your men, if you wish to end all this with your lands and people intact?"

Mikhail leaned closer, his breath cold against his so-called-liege’s skin. They both stood to gain from this—his liege, the continued control of their kingdom—and him, an iron-clad spot and status among the nobility that ruled it.

“You know what I am,” he hissed. “You know how much I’ve seen of this world. We will stick to my plan, not yours.”