I arched a brow. “Strong word from a man who drinks wine before noon.”
He didn’t laugh. “That’s not just some spooky vision, my lady. That’s a death sentence. For all of us. You know what happens if the rains don’t come for just one season? Entire regions go hungry. Two seasons? The realm tears itself apart.”
“I know.” My fingers curled around the rolled-up parchment he'd given me. I still hadn’t opened it. I didn’t need to. The truth wasn’t in the ink—it was in the blood soaking the streets.
Garrick slumped back in his chair, his fingers tugging nervously at the edge of his leather eye patch. “Some people—still don’t know. They still think Thorne is some blessed savior. That the thunder at his crowning was a fluke.”
I tilted my head. “No one thinks thunder without rain is a good sign, Garrick. Not even here.”
“True, but fear keeps mouths shut. He has the guards. He has the throne.”
“And I have a big mouth and nothing to lose.”
He huffed out a chuckle, then sobered. “What are you and Damien planning?”
“Something. Anything. A spark. We need one. We just haven’t figured out how to ignite it yet.”
He went quiet, rubbing a thumb against the side of his five o’clock shadow. Then he looked up, his eye sharp. “Whatever happened to that rumor? The one about the dragon rider. That she was Damien's mate. That she was therealfuture queen. You know…you.”
I snorted. “Damien had that shut down quicker than I could say 'royal scandal.' He knew if Thorne found out I was his twin flame, it would put a giant target on my back. But, well... you see how well that worked out.”
Garrick whistled. “And now Thorne knows.”
“Yep.”
He tapped his fingers against the table, his brow furrowing. “If only we could use that against him.”
I blinked. Then blinked again. Then practically jumped out of my chair. “Oh my God!”
Garrick flinched. “Oh my what?”
“Figure of speech,” I said, waving him off. “Focus. You just gave me an idea.”
He looked skeptical. “That never ends well.”
“No, seriously. What's the best way to defeat an opponent?”
“Kill him?”
“Okay, yes, but like... aside from the obvious. Strategically.”
He shrugged. “Outnumber him?”
I snapped my fingers. “No. You destroy his image. Propaganda.”
He frowned. “Prop-a-what?”
“Propaganda.” I offered a wicked grin. “In my world, leaders have risen and fallen over it. It’s basically... public manipulation. Using media to sway the masses. You want to be loved? Plant stories. Want to be feared? Spread threats. Want to ruin your enemy? Discredit him.”
Garrick blinked. “You want to... plant stories?”
“Not just stories. Songs. Rhymes. Theater. Art. People in this world love a good tale, right? Especially one sung at the tavern over mugs of ale. Imagine it: a forbidden love between a prince and his twin flame, torn apart by a tyrant brother who defied the Immortals.”
His eye widened. “You want to make Thorne out to be a villain.”
“He already is,” I said. “I just want everyone else to see it. Not just fear him—hate him.”
“But how would you spread it?”
