The assassin waited outside the warlord’s receiving chamber, dressed in the rough traveling clothes of a messenger.
He’d seen the type many times over his long career. All he need do was provoke the warlord’s anger with bad news, and fight back when the warlord tried to kill him for it.
He’d faked the letter exceptionally well, and long use had honed his delivery.
“Her answer, milord, is no.”
“Then it will be war,” The supposed tyrant said, and handed him double the expected fee. “Stay safe.”
The assassin left, bewildered. He’d never seen such behavior in all his life.