Holding a bloody crown in his hands and looking down from his lofty balcony, Urdurel takes in the cheers and applause from the chanting crowd below.
“The King is dead. Long live the King!”
At just eighteen-years-old, Urdurel had already succeeded in the first two of his promises; he’d killed the drunken Captain Glabella while he’d been naked and distracted in a brothel and, after raising a small army, he’d beheaded King Vagitus the IV during a well organised coup. All of the royals in the castle; men, women and children, were given the axe with the surviving soldiers and servants offered a simple choice; Serve under Urdurel or share their Master’s fate.
He wasn’t finished though, not even remotely. If he was going to retain this Kingdom, he’d need to destroy all who would oppose him and that meant any remaining enemies within his realm and the royal families of all six of the Kingdoms along their border. Stowan’s largest boundary though, stretched along the Fey wilds, a land that he could safely ignore whilst warring against all the other Human realms.
Below him the large crowd continued to chant his name.
“Long live King Urdurel! Long live King Urdurel! Long live King Urdurel!”
His expression momentarily souring, Urdurel considers his new title. Would it be so wrong to be called ‘King’? Surely it was different if their King was one of them, one of the common people and not some high-born, inbred and entitled popinjay?!
Urged on by the crowd, Urdurel takes Vagitus’ blood splattered crown, raises it over his head and then pulls it down, firmly into place.
King Urdurel?
He could learn to live with that.
No comments:
Post a Comment