Montclair was a cautious man. A man who measured threats before they had fully materialized, who defeated opposition before it could take hold.
But paranoia had its dangers. And Aric had every intention of turning that blade inward.
The first stroke was masterful manipulation.
Now that Lord Revelle was in his debt, Aric had no hesitation in employing him.
"Start whispering doubts in Montclair's ear."
Revelle complied.
At first, the changes were minor—slight nuances of tone, reluctance over words. He gave false information, warning Montclair that some of the nobles were becoming restless, that there were hidden enemies, that even his most faithful men weren't quite so faithful as they appeared.
Montclair was faster than ever, didn't reply right away.
But Aric had known men such as him.
A ruler who ruled with suspicion would always fall back on it.
With Montclair's suspicions piling up, Aric moved to his next step—inciting a crisis.
With his subtle informant, he circulated this rumor:
"Montclair's treasury is less full than it ought to be."
One rumor in the proper ears flowered into whispered conjecture in court. Those whispers were now conjecture. Conjecture expanded into fear.
Before long, nobles were eyeing Montclair suspiciously.
Aric knew the ultimate push had to be emotional.
Montclair's most trusted confidant was Baron Duthane—a friend of his for years. Betraying him would be as easy as sending a message:
"He no longer trusts anyone."
So Aric staged a betrayal.
Late one night, a forged letter crept into Montclair's office—penning it in the Baron's own handwriting, with condemning words:
"Montclair has become weak. When the time is here, I shall not be beside him."
All Montclair had to witness.
By morning, Duthane was in jail.
And so began Montclair's downfall.