"Hmm, no wonder the goblin king was oppressed… But this is an issue," Ludwig said, "That means my right for kingship over orcs is inexistent."
The words sat heavy in Ludwig's mouth, bitter like cheap ale.
He could feel the settlement's warmth behind him, the roast, the firelight, the false comfort, but his attention stayed on the ugly logic Damra had just handed him. If the Tower recognized the Red King, then Ludwig's crown wasn't merely contested. It was invalid. A rigged board, pieces arranged before he even arrived.
"You got the second-worst luck of the climbers," Damra said.
Damra didn't sound mocking. He sounded resigned, like he'd watched enough hopeful challengers walk in with straight backs and walk out with broken ones. His massive fingers tapped the rim of his horn once, a slow, thoughtful motion, as if counting cycles he didn't want to remember.
"Second?" Ludwig asked.
