Doubt dwells in my heart. Some may call it cowardice but I call it a will to survive. The Throne stands like a slaughtered beast, and we nobles circle above like carrion eaters, eying the prize and one another.
The first to swoop shall be the first to die. Others shall fall upon his carcass, feeding on the spoils of the dead. The feeding frenzy will insure all our deaths. In the end I see an empty throne with littered corpses of foolish men surrounding the un-claimable prize.
I shall not attack until the frenzy is clear. Until all have died and only the wise and the cautious remain. I'll survive. I shall win the prize.
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