A figure lounged in a throne that appeared gigantic in comparison. His clothes were a mix of rags and finery: a ragged shirt and pants torn from his trips through the castle’s passageways and stained with drops of blood. On top of that sat a bright red royal cloak with a white fur trim that previously belonged to his father, ripped off partway down to sit around his elbows.
On his head sat a golden crown inlaid with rubies and sapphires, a crown made for a grown man that slid down his forehead.
Astem’s head rested on his arm, one of his legs dangling over the other armrest, as he surveyed the empty throne room before him.
There were always servants here before, standing in front of the walls, waiting to serve the royals. There were councilmen going in and out, guards by the king’s side...now you could hear a pin drop.
Astem scowled. He was the king now. There was no one else left, and he wore the crown, so where the hell was everyone? Where was his coronation? He slammed his fist against the throne.
The sound echoed through the empty hall, but it brought to his attention another sound that echoed through the air. Footsteps.
His hand reflexively touched the dagger at his waist, though it would not have been anywhere else. He listened intently, but still heard only one set of footsteps. Tap, tap, tap, getting closer and closer.
He stretched his neck to see the doorway from where the sounds came, and soon saw the source of the sound. Someone he recognized, but he couldn’t remember his name. A council member? No, they liked to show off, his clothes were too plain for that.
The man wore simple black pants and a collared shirt with a few white decorations. Though the outfit was simple, it wasn’t cheap.
His eyes met Astem’s, and he smiled as he approached.
Astem raised an eyebrow. His hand rested near his knife, but though he didn’t know what to expect, he wasn’t threatened by this old man. "I can take him if I have to.” He thought, excited for a moment by the thought of some action.
Though he came in through a side door, the man moved around the raised area where the throne sat and stood in front of him. He looked up again, his worn face bearing an unreadable expression, a small smile that almost rubbed Astem the wrong way.
Without missing a beat, the man put his hand to his chest and knelt down on one knee.
Astem raised his eyebrows.
“Your majesty,” he spoke. His voice was smooth and strong, showing no hint of fear. “Allow me to be the first to congratulate you on your ascension to the throne.”
“Finally! Took you long enough.” Astem said. He was a little surprised, but pleasantly. “Who are you? You c’n get up by the way.”
“Ah, so you don’t remember me...No matter, I am the head of your Majesty’s Secret Police, my name is Secht Armengdon.”
“Oh, so you control the spies and stuff.”
“Yes, that’s one way to put it. The Secret Police are much more than just spies...but that hardly matters. Your majesty, might I be frank?”
“Go ahead. But I might kill you if I don’t like what you say.”
His smile didn’t falter, and that bothered Astem, but he was much more curious about this unreadable man.
“Well, your majesty, for starters, your claim to the throne is irrefutable.”
“Of course.” Astem cut in.
“Right, but as you can see, this kind of transfer of power is...unusual. While the crown is yours, well, I’m afraid these simple servants of the crown don’t know how to react. Are you following me so far?”
“Huh. Of course. Hurry up and get to the point.” Astem impatiently tapped his finger on the hilt of his knife. “That makes sense, I guess,” he thought.
“Well, as the leader of the Secret Police, I wield a good amount of political power. And that, your majesty, is exactly what I am willing to give you. With my help, the King’s Council and the army will come together under you. They simply need some...reassurance. Reassurance which will come as soon as they see me by your side.”
Astem grinned. “So that’s what you want huh? To be my right-hand man? This was perfect. Having advisors to ignore would be just like he’d imagined.
“I am an ambitious man, your majesty.” Secht smirked.
Astem jumped up from the chair, his royal cloak trailing behind him and extended his hand. The signet ring didn’t fit either, but he twisted it with his other fingers so the signet faced upwards.
Secht bowed down and kissed the ring. With a dramatic flourish of his ragged cloak, Astem skipped back up the steps and plopped down on the throne.
“Well? Get to work.”
“Of course, your Majesty, however,” he paused, “there is one little detail we have yet to sort out.” Sech said.
“Huh?”
“I said your claim to the throne is irrefutable, but there is one remaining who might challenge you.”
“What? Who? That rat who left? He said he didn’t want to be part of the family.”
“Exactly, your majesty, him. Though he renounced any claim to the throne, were he ever to return, he would be the oldest male member of the family, and therefore he could pose a significant threat. I hear he also has a son of around nineteen or twenty. But not to worry!” He added as Astem’s expression darkened. “I have foreseen this possibility; I am just confirming your majesty’s permission to take the necessary steps.”
“And? What’re those steps?”
“Simple.” He gave his nasty smile. “I have already sent a sizeable force against his clan. If his majesty has no objection, they will reach there soon and destroy all traces of his existence.”
“You didn’t wait to ask me?” Astem exclaimed. But he relaxed again as he thought about it. What did it matter? This saved time.
He studied Secht for a moment. The man was awfully accepting. It seemed slightly suspicious coming from this person, whose motives he didn’t know, but, after all, he was the king! Acceptance and loyalty were the least he deserved.
“I’ll excuse it. Go for it, get rid of him and anyone else who’d challenge me.”
Secht bowed again. “Thank you, your majesty, it shall be done. Now if you will excuse me, I’ll send some servants up shortly, along with some of my best men as bodyguards to your majesty.”
A wicked grin flashed across Secht’s face after he turned to leave. This could not have gone better. A selfish, malleable, young ruler. As long as he kept up appearances, this little psycho would be easy to control.
As he opened the door from the hall, he turned once more to the little tyrant lounging on the throne, pushing the crown up and out of his face.
Secht stifled a grin and bowed as he addressed the boy once more.
“Achrom will be dead before the week’s end.”
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