A corrupt King sits the throne. The last generation of heroes have gone extinct. The lands are as green and as promising as they ever were. The Gods watch with interest and they wait. As next the next uprising comes from the most unlikely of places. A slow burn novel.
"If they do that, after all the victories you've won, then they're bigger fools than we expected," Nila said, ignoring the problem at hand, and stalling at time by jabbing at something else. She looked around the room for a way out, and her eyes fell on Blackthorn. "Oh! What about you, Lasha? Why don't you do it?"
"What!?" Lasha said, reddening for some reason unbeknownst to both Oliver and Nila. "But I am merely an ally of Ser Patrick. I could not possibly rule in his place. That would be like taking on a wife's duty."
Nila looked at her blankly, and Oliver tutted.
"You didn't have to put it like that, Lasha. Now she's never going to do it," Oliver said.