"I'm not a King."
--But you're wearing a crown...---
"I'm a servant.
---I don't understand....----
He goes to the window and points to the cities and lands stretching far and wide. "I serve them. They are MY Kings and Queens."
The thief nods in confusion as they are not being punished, but being offered more funds to help feed their family. -- The New Guy
What are kings? Conquerers and bullies. Greedy guzzling gourmands with cloth-of-gold over their guts. Gilded shoes. Gilded buttons. Gilded coaches. Golden plates and golden forks.
Sneering down at people up to their knees in mud and wearing only rags.
I hate them. They only know how to make war and how to make those already suffering to suffer all the more. This new one is no different to all the others. The fact that he's here is a mistake. I'm about to end someone's dynasty. I'm about to collapse their grand empire or whatever they're calling it.
My name isn't important. I won't be remembered. People like me are never remembered. I am just a knife in the dark.
This fool king is staying at the local inn! No guards. No security. Not even a latch on any of the windows. What shocked me next was that he was not staying in the highest-class rooms available.
I crept out of the room to find someone waiting in the hall. A Tiefling in fine clothes, sitting on a chair pulled from the tavern below. "Looking for someone?" he said. He lit a lamp. Blue skin. White shirt. What got my attention was the glittering jewellery attached to his horns.
"You're him! You're the devilborn king!"
"Ugh. Is that what they're calling me?" he had a Teutonian accent. "Disgusting. You have an objection to kings. So do I. It's not like I want to go conquering but those assholes who used to run this place forced my hand. Believe it or not, you're exactly the kind of person I need to talk to."
"I need to end your reign of terror," I argued.
"Ja, I'm sure the old regime would call it that. You're hungry, yes? How about I buy you a bowl of stew and you tell me everything that's wrong in this realm." He stood, gesturing towards the stairs. "You will not come to harm."
Damn liar! This was a trap! I lunged when his back was turned and-- the demon king wasn't there. The world spun, and there was a pain in my wrist... and then I was sitting at a table in the tavern. My own knife vibrating to a halt in the wood before me.
The demon king sat calmly opposite. "Please don't try that again."
The sinking realisation hit my heart like slow-creeping ice. He never had a guard because he never needed a guard. "Just kill me quickly. Don't torment me with hope."
"And miss an opportunity for your perspective? I'd rather have an advisor to tell me everything that's wrong with this particular patch of the world." He had a small notebook and a pencil. "Take your time. Tell me everything."
"No! You're going to destroy my way of life!"
"And how's that way of life working for you, junge?"
I started ranting about kings. About how all they did was take and flaunt their wealth while people starved. How their gilded lives left them weak and entitled, how they had no idea what it was like to live in the mud or to scrape the gutters for enough to buy a simple meal.
The pencil never stopped. Taking down, if not every word, then the very heart of my words. I named lords, I named businessmen, I named the most vile and pinch-penny egotists. One of them had crushed my hand when I was sick and begging for alms.
"...and assault on a free citizen in need of assistance," muttered the demon king. "Plenty more than enough to convict that particular lordship. Are you willing to testify in my court under the influence of a truth spell?"
"You're not going to hang me? Behead me? Throw me in irons?"
"The motto of my bloodline is Never Again in Chains. Nein. I'm not in favour of persecuting the victims. Now I understand you might not want to answer, but... how many others do you know in your situation?"
The stew was not fit for a king, but it was better than I had had in months. I knew I could do nothing against him. I said, "There's acres full of us. Just look anywhere the weeds cover us from the sight of the roads."
"Sehr gut. Dankeschoen. For the rest of the night, you can take your pick of the rooms in Herr Maccabaeus' summer mansion. The Sergeant will show you the way when you're done with your meal."
I expected a knife in the dark. What I got was a friendly escort to the mansion in question, a tour of which, and the promise that the demon king was, "Not an oathbreaking Tiefling."
The ex-lord Maccabaeus was stripped to his underwear and held in pillory in the town square, the next morning. So too were many of his fellow lordships. Gilt by association. Their mansions and pallaces turned to residences for everyone currently without residence or land. Their treasuries turned to the welfare of those formerly suffering under their rule.
It was quite a change. In the end, the Demon Lord of Whitekeep did upend my way of life. I have been politely invited to join the council of advisors. I have watched pallaces and grand estates turned into acre farmlands with an attached cottage. I have been given one acre, a cottage, ten chickens and a pig, as well as an education and help as to how to manage it.
I even had a lady Druid come by to talk to my land, my crops, and my livestock. Just to check that all was well. She was friendly, and gave good advice. She even recommended a potion of eggshells dissolved in vinegar to help remedy our rickets.
It was months later that I learned it was Her Majesty the Princess Consort of Whitekeep. Wife of the Demon Lord.
He never wanted to be the Thrice Sworn King. Prophecies have a way of coming true, regardless of who wants them.
[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / Rastan]
If you like my stories, please Check out my blog and Follow me. Or share them with your friends!
[69 remaining prompts] Please don't send any more prompts for now. Thank you.