“Seraphina, you can’t be serious!” Alexander’s voice boomed through the tavern, his fists clenched in frustration. Six men. Four women. That was the council and Seraphina? She was the natural choice to lead Veritaville. Alexander, a natural-born leader and herder of goats on the outskirts of their village, protested Seraphina’s announcement. “I thought we were moving away from any one person ruling over us. Now you are suggesting we do just that? That makes no sense to me. Why would we do that? After the stranger came and disrupted our village? You want us to trust one person?”

“Alexander,” Evangeline interjected sharply, her eyes locking onto his, “always a hothead, you are. Move to strike! Take action! Is that all you men ever think of?” She smoothed her dress with a deliberate gesture. “No. We need to be cautious with our words, even behind closed doors. The villagers won’t accept our decisions except exactly as we say them. They trust us. Let’s not betray that trust.” Evangeline turned to face Seraphina, her gaze unwavering. “That goes especially for you.”

“You don’t expect us to follow you, do you?” Julian laughed, his voice filled with sarcasm. “Evangeline, if ever there was someone in this village, someone whose judgment I don’t trust, it’s yours!” Shouts and screams erupted from those sitting around the table, the tavern’s atmosphere growing tense.

Arabella, the tavern owner, slammed her hand on the table, her voice rising over the others. “You all quiet down! This is MY TAVERN! NOT THE PLACE FOR A BRAWL! And you two?” she pointed at Evangeline and Julian. “You both know better! The last time there was gossip in Veritaville? You two? You were there at the start of it all. Believing a stranger. And leading people to shut their doors, mine included, and for what? For lies! Nothing more than the lies of a stranger. So I don’t care if you disagree with Seraphina, you will sit and act like grownups, not children!” Arabella dutifully cleared dishes, refilling glasses with wine and mead, depending on the council member’s drink of choice. “And if you are thinking about breaking any of my dishes, chairs, or tables, let me remind you . . .Viktor is right outside that door.”

Viktor, once a soldier serving as a king’s bodyguard, came to Veritaville without a coin to his name. His hair was jet black in his younger years, now streaked with grey showing his age and wisdom. Head and shoulders taller than average men, he stood at least a foot taller than the tallest man in Veritaville. Quiet, stern, and soft spoken, he didn’t speak much. He didn’t need to. Viktor cleared the tavern with a look. And the council knew his strength could match the look.

The tavern door creaked open, Viktor ducking his head low enough to enter. Once inside he could stand up, his head almost touching the ceiling. Viktor aided the villagers when storms blew the thatch off the roofs. Any tall person job was automatically given to him, whether or not he wanted to do it. He looked to Arabella, raising his eyebrows. The air was sucked out of the room when he opened the door. Silence from everyone inside. “Go back outside Viktor,” Arabella ushered him out of the tavern. “I’ll have food and mead brought to you.” Before exiting Viktor looked around, making eye contact with Alexander and Julian.

“Was that really necessary?” Alexander whispered to Julian. “What did you do to him, anyway?”

“I wasn’t the only one!” Julian hissed. “We were all responsible.”

“Yes, but wasn’t it you who gave the order?”

“Not without Seraphina. I wouldn’t have made a move without her.”

“Women and men of Veritaville,” Seraphina said loud enough to be heard by all inside, “We’ve lived by politics and one stranger almost upended our whole way of life. Politics are necessary, yes. But we need to figure out a way to elect someone approved by the people. The buy-in of our village is needed for them to follow their newly elected leader. The only way to do that? We have to decide, collectively,” she eyed those trying to disrupt the meeting, “who will stand up for the people and give them a choice. Now.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Who is going to stand up for the people?”

Gabriel, a young man and bartender employed by Evangeline as a manager and general caretaker of her various cottages and farmers, stood up. “Has anyone considered Viktor as our leader? He’s taller than all of us, commands respect from even those who would question his authority. And,” he pointed at the door, “is it just me, or does he not look like a king?”