Fatality ━━ Matt vs Chris Sturniolo²

𝖝𝖎. The Greater Good

Matt crosses his arms, unconvinced even by America's perfect, unarguable intelligence. "I'm not so sure. Our goal is to destroy Corvium, to strike Chris' army at its heart. That can be done without" ━ he stumbles ━ "without a massacre on both sides."

As if he cares what happens to our side. As if he cares if any one of us dies.

Blake feels the familiar urge to punch him.

"How do you plan to destroy a city with a thousand Silvers looking on?" she says, wondering aloud instead of sending her fist to his face. Even so, she knows she won't get much of an answer. She never does. "Will the prince ask them to sit quietly and watch?"

"Of course we fight those who resist," the Colonel breaks in. He stares at Matt, daring him to argue. "And they will resist. We know this."

"Do we?" Matt's tone is quietly smug. "Members of Chris' own court tried to kill him last week. If there's division in the High Houses, then there's division in the armed forces. Attacking them outright will only serve us as a unifier, in Corvium at least."

Blake's scoff echoes across the room. "So, what, we wait? Let Chris lick his wounds and regroup? Give him time to catch his breath?"

"Give him time to hang himself," Matt snaps back. He matches her scowl. "Give him time to make even more mistakes. Now he's on thin ice with Piedmont, his only ally, and three High Houses are in open rebellion. One of them all but controls the Air Fleet, another a vast intelligence network. Not to mention he still has us and the Lakelanders to worry about. He's scared; he's scrambling. I wouldn't want to be on his throne right now."

"Is that true?" Cyrus asks, her voice casual. But the words move through the room like knives. They sting him. Anyone can see that. His royal teachings are enough to keep his face still, but his eyes betray him. They flash in the fluorescent light. "Don't lie to us and say you're unconcerned with the other news out of Archeon. The reason Brekker and Lovelace and Clair tried to kill your brother."

He stares. "They attempted a coup because Chris is a tyrant who abuses his power and murders his own."

Blake abruptly slams her fist against the arm of her chair, catching everyone's attention. She won't let him dance his way around this. "They revolted because they want to make you king!" she shouts. To her surprise, he flinches. Maybe he's expecting more than just words. But she keeps her ability in check, hard as it may be. "'Long live Matthew Sturniolo.' That's what the assassins said to Chris. Our operatives in Whitefire were clear."

He expels a long, frustrated breath. He seems aged by this conversation: brow furrowed, jaw tight. Muscles stand out in his neck and his hands curl into fists. He's a machine about to break ━ or, she supposes she should say, explode.

"It's not unexpected," he mutters, as if it makes anything better. "There was bound to be a succession crisis eventually. But there's no feasible way anyone can put me back on that throne."

Cyrus tips her head. "And if they could?" Silently, Blake cheers her on. She won't let him off as easily as Maeve used to. "If they offered the crown, the birthright you ━ in case you forgot ━ stole from Nick, in exchange for an end to all this ━ would you take it?"

The fallen prince of House Sturniolo straightens to look her dead in the eye.

"No."