A knock at the door behind Maltor made him turn around.

  ‘Come in!’ he barked.

  He was standing across from Frank-Walter Steinmeier, the German President. He was a man in his late sixties, with white hair styled back and thick black glasses resting on his square face.

  The two were standing in the man’s office, in front of his dark brown desk and surrounded by his pastel blue walls. Bookshelves and drawers littered the edges of the room.

  A young man with brown hair cut into a buzz cut and blue eyes entered the room. He was one of Maltor’s. He saluted.

  ‘A message for Mr Confussée!’ the young man said loudly.

  The President nodded and gestured his hand out, giving permission.

  The young man stepped forward and brought his mouth close to Maltor’s ear to whisper, ‘Righello Notte has been killed. Albert Santrrer did it yesterday in Humberston.’

  If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

  Maltor straightened his back. ‘May his Olympian bed have posts of gold.’

  Supressing his emotions, Maltor gestured for his soldier to leave the room. He did so wordlessly, shutting the door behind him.

  ‘Sorry for that, Mr President,’ Maltor said confidently, turning back to Steinmeier. ‘Where were we?’

  ‘I was just telling you how preposterous your notion is!’ the man said loudly in a thick German accent. ‘I find it hard to believe that you think I will actually go along with it!’

  Maltor gritted his teeth. He wasn’t one for politics, and he knew his idea was only beneficial to him, so the situation wasn’t exactly going in his favour.

  But Maltor Confussée was not known for resolving things peacefully.

  ‘Mr President, I urge you to hear me out,’ Maltor said softly. ‘If you just-’

  ‘No!’ Steinmeier barked. ‘The German nation is fine as it is! And to think that you, a mere child, wants to change it is simply insane!’

  ‘The people need not know,’ Maltor continued, purposely ordering his words abnormally to throw the German off. ‘This can just be between the two of us. Your image will not suffer.’

  ‘It is not about my image! It is about my people! My nation!’

  Maltor sighed.

  ‘Mr President,’ he said quietly, slowly beginning to draw his sword, ‘if you do not hand your nation over to me, this conversation will get very messy.’

  A Destined Path series. I plan on continuing it into the future, though as mentioned in the previous note, I am unsure when the next book will begin releasing. I hope the wait is not too brutal, and I am incredibly sorry for the inconvenience.