Banter

Dulren laughed at the idea. “What would I be then, if not your equal?”

“A fool, perhaps.” The Pale King said, rapping his black claws on the marbled table between them. The silence grew uncomfortably.

“Well then,” Dulren responded, straightening his posture, “pull that string of fate taut. I won’t be here to see it snap, after all.”

“Is that a threat?”

“I’m impressed you think I’d threaten you.” Dulren said lowly, turning his head to look at the Kingsmoulds guarding the door behind him. “I best be on my way. I don’t have much time left.”

“Give Dryya my condolences.”

“Of course, my liege. Goodbye.”