Bermand, the Distrustful

The merchant offered a single, opened hand toward the throne. "It shouldn't be such a difficult request, Highness," he said, "after all, we promise you a cut of the profit as tribute. Let us manage that troublesome Oasis and your people shall never go thirsty again."

King Bermand stood sharply from his throne and shot an angry gaze at the merchant. "How shall you defend it?"

"With only the best mercenaries, Highness."

"And to what end?"

"That the citizens of Caynea need not fear drought ever again, Highness."

Bermand took only two long strides forward, as his hand shot across the merchants face, resounding across the royal hall for all to hear. "Do you take me for an imbecile, you miserly toad?"

The merchant, rubbing his reddened cheek, began to shout at the nearby guards. "Did you see that? The King just struck me!"

"And I'll do it again, for as long as you continue to lie to me!"

"Lies? What lies? My Liege, you don't trust me?"

"Do you think that I am not informed, day in and day out, of the kinds of people that do business in my kingdom?" King Bermand stood over him with his hands at his sides. "Misers, thieves, bandits and cheats! No matter the label, none are welcome!"

"I-I've been nothing but a reliable merchant for twenty years, sire!"

"You promise more than you can deliver," boomed the King. "No one company of mercenaries can defend the Oasis. Not without demanding more than they're worth. But more than that, you act as if you know better than your King."