A/N Whoops, I haven't updated this story in quite a long time. For that, I'm sorry. I actually really liked where this was going and had some very promising ideas for it. I'm having a sort of writer's block for my other active fanfic, so this one will be getting a little love and care. This one is short, but I hope it gives you all a taste good enough for you to stick by!

While the Ghale family had a wonderful evening of romance and tenderness, it was dinner time at Pagan Min's palace. Like most nights, Pagan was sat alone at a table covered in dozens colourful delicacies and dishes at sunset, candles in beautiful golden holders and flowers setting the atmosphere. Naturally, he wasn't going to eat everything and he had no one to impress with the magnificent display but he liked reminding himself how rich he was and how he could actually afford all of that food. It would later be fed to the pigs.

The dining room's large doors burst open and Omar Langhari, Pagan's royal advisor, stormed in. It was a difficult job to have since Pagan didn't like to be told the opposite of what he wanted, which often ended in a gory death, but Omar had been the longest lasting advisor to date.

"What do you want with a simple village woman?" Omar asked, shocked upon hearing that he had invited her to the palace,"A village woman with a child had no place in the world of politics!"

"She has good ideas, Omar," Pagan said in a sing-songy voice, care free and dipping a crab finger into some sauce that cost more than what a villager would earn in a year. Omar scoffed, irritated at Pagan's care-free and simple minded attitude.

"But-"

"-You know," Pagan continued, waving the crab finger at Omar, "You'd be a lot more relaxed if you just sat down and had dinner with me. Come on, pour out some wine, kick back and relax. I know what I'm doing... unless you doubt that." His voice had dropped at the last part of his sentence and he eyed him up carefully. Omar suddenly realised that he was hinting a threat and remembered who Pagan Min was. He chuckled nervously and knew better than to refuse food from the king.

"O-of course," he stammered nervously, sitting down at the table, "I could never refuse dinner from my king."

"Excellent!" Pagan clapped his hands happily, "You must try these crabsticks, they are sensational." He waved at his head chef to come to him, who'd been waiting on the balcony as per his commandment for every meal. "Who made these?"

"Um, Shakri, my king."

"My deepest compliments to Shakri!"

"Um, you had him executed this morning, my king, for putting goats milk instead of cows milk into your coffee."

"Ohh yes." He laughed. He was quiet for a while and just ate, which made Omar nervous. When the king was quiet it was never a good sign, and everyone who worked at the palace knew that.

"See the thing is, my people don't like me very much. Not at all, to be honest. I haven't been the benevolent ruler that I've always wanted to be. I think that listening to an active member of the Kyrat community would be beneficial, for both my people and myself."

"Are we acting on their requests?"

"I don't know. Maybe. We'll see how well taking in their request fares with them and if it's more positive than negative then we can just... leave them alone."

"So we're taking their ideas but not acting upon them?" Omar questioned.

"Well, yes."

"What happens when they realise that's what you're doing?"

Pagan stopped eating his food and placed down his knife and fork. He went dead silent and stared at the table for a minute or two. The entire room held its breath, sensing that whatever was going to happen next wouldn't be good. Finally, Pagan looked up at Omar with a smile. It was a kind smile, though the meaning behind it was anything but.

"What I'm doing?" repeated Pagan.

"Did I say you? I meant we. I definitely meant we," Omar corrected quickly. Hope for him, however, was long lost . The minute he questioned Pagan Min was the minute he'd signed his own death warrant. There were many psychological issues with Pagan and he was aware of all of them. They were mostly to do with his upbringing of Chinese mob activity, and his cruel father who'd never fully accepted him for being gay. He'd spoken to every therapist and doctor that was available to him until the story of his brain chemistry got rather boring to him. He didn't want to hear about what's wrong with him anymore. No one ever praised him for what he did right and that's what set him off. As king, he felt as though people only ever questioned him and for him that was the biggest trigger of them all. That was the reason behind his impulsive decisions and snap of the finger executions.

The truth in this case was that Pagan had gotten bored of Omar around a week ago, and set him up to slip the wrong words off his tongue so he could have him killed.

"I heard 'I'm'," Pagan said, standing up. He turned to his chef once more, "Did you hear 'I'm'?"

"Y-Yes, I did," the chef replied automatically.

"See? You said 'I'm'." He picked up the little pot of sauce he'd used to dip the crab fingers in. He showed it to Omar, slowly approaching him, "I quite like spicy foods, Omar. The crabsticks go amazingly with this one here. Made with the Reaper Pepper, I believe?" Without warning, he poured the sauce into Omar's eyes. He cried out in pain as the strong chilli burned him, but his injuries weren't life threatening.

Yet.