King Mikhail
I stood at the window in my office, gaze locked on the group of hybrids training in the field below. Each blow they traded radiated power. They continued to increase their speed, their strength, their overall lethality. They were my perfect creation.
Except there was one glaring flaw. The more hybrids I added to my horde, the weaker my control over them grew.
I turned, studying the woman who was sitting in the plush chair, quietly drinking her tea. As if she felt the weight of my gaze, her eyes swung up to meet mine. “What’s on your mind, my king?”
“I must be sure that the horde fights for me during the battle, yet each new convert strains the blood tie. We need to make it stronger.”
She placed her teacup on the saucer sitting on the table with a quiet clink, then stood.
