“Albann, please, wait! Be reasonable about this!”

Albann Godwinson did not wait. He had had enough. He stepped closer to Ivar, dagger in hand.

“Do you have any idea how much I’ve lost?” Albann asked. “How much I’ve given up? Do you?!” Ivar Bretislaus flinched at his yell, shrinking against the bedframe at his back.

“You don’t, do you? You and the petulant games you play. You sit there all proud of a position you never even earned, and you have the gall to try and oust ME?” Spittle flew out as he yelled again, no longer able to contain himself.

“I sacrificed my familly, friends. All my loved ones for riches and power. I watched their corpses bleed for God’s sake! What did you sacrifice? Nothing! You inherited everything you own! Your tracts of land, your gold and servants, even your allies in your faction, not a single one did you earn!”

“I’m sorry!” Ivar cried out. “I’ll speak with the viscount and have him stop the investigation! I’ll give you land and money, anything you ask! Just please don’t kill me!” He shivered and shook in every limb as he begged, staring up at Albann, searching his eyes for any shred of mercy.

Albann returned his stare.

“Please, please no,” Ivar begged, voice quiet. He no longer shook; his body has nearly gone limp and liquid soaked between his legs, but his wide eyes remained rigidly affixed on Albann. “I don’t want to die.”

“Pathetic.” Albann stepped forward, and thrust the knife into Ivar’s neck.