They Are Coming

"Wars begin when you will, but they do not end when you please."

- "Florentine Histories" by Niccolò Machiavelli, 1526AD,

"I am, the master mind behind all of your, well, unfortunate encounters."

The Despot sat there staring at the floor remaining complete silent for a while, just as Selim Pasha is thinking that the old man went back asleep or something, the Despot suddenly bolted up grabbing a dagger for cutting meat and dashed right to Selim Pasha, completely unlike the agility a seventy plus years old man has.

"You better believe that I can kill you." The Despot murmured biting his teeth gasping for air rapidly with his chest going up and down.

"Well." Selim Pasha startled for a second, and then moved one step backwards away from the dagger. "Your majesty, I trust that you won't slit my throat with that dagger."

"How can you be so sure?"

"For I have an offer that you cannot refuse." The same familiar cunning grin reappeared on Selim Pasha's face.

"Speak."