#themadking

 Years passed slowly, and his bitterness remained. He was willing to let it rot, willing to let it freeze deep inside. For father was now dead, a nasty business involving poison and turncoats and 6 hanging bodies overlooking the City Square. No need for new seeds of bitterness to be sown when the object of your envy is six feet under. He thought he was at rest, happy to play little brother to the Rightful King. A kind and generous ruler to his people and in turn his brother. But despite this newfound love he did not forget, for how could he? It is hard to forget when whispers from an old friend continue to sound. You can only forget so much, and forgive so little when the misdoings of your brother are repeated endlessly. Yet, for now, he was able to deafen the whispers, and the shadow of his childhood slowly slithered away.

 And laid in wait, til the day of your arrival. 

The youngest child of a large royal family is a frightening and often lonely place to be. Filled with kindness, yes, but ambition can be a cruel drug, severing even the strongest of bonds. Best to send those unneeded to faraway lands, where they can be of some use, before they start to dream of a crown of their own. Despite no dreaming on your end, you were deemed to be an excess and a potential threat (no matter how small) and thus sent away to a kingdom and a king needing an heir. An alliance was made, something regarding timber and coal, although it was purely formalities. You were nothing more but livestock to be bred and tamed. 

 Even kind Kings are still men. 

 The younger brother had heard of you. A foreign royal to be tied to his brother in holy matrimony. Nothing more than a decoration to be admired. Like a pretty painting of swans on a lake. 

 But if ambition is a cruel drug, love is a crueller disease still.

 The long silent whispers became shouts when you stepped from the carriage. Your face glowed in the setting sun, but your smile was the brightest light of the day. You were introduced to both the Rightful King and the younger brother. You were courteous and gave both the same attention. But was that a look of admiration from your eyes when you looked at his brother? Or was it just the sun? No, came the shouts. Admiration, desire, want and lust was in your eyes. For him. For that stupid, gorging pig still selfishly taking and taking and taking and taking and taking. 

 What more could he possibly take? He took your father's love from you, he took your rightful place on the throne (the throne?), yes your rightful place ruling and leading. Your place as a king among men and a god among kings. And now look at him, lusting and drooling after a poor, helpless, innocent lamb. Like a wolf who strays too close to the flock. But they are yours (mine?), yours, (Mine). Do not let this thief, this rouge, this Judas steal from you again. He is not your brother but a traitor. Just as traitorous as those mutts that killed your father (a mutt), a rabid, foul dog who will taint them, destroy them, corrupt them (never). what are rabid mutts good for? (nothing but death).

 It was easy to discard his love for his brother. He wonders if he ever really loved him. Or did he just mould his hatred into a similar emotion? The stage was set and the pieces were in place. A day of hunting, together, alone, was proposed. A celebration of his brother's luck in procuring such a stunning specimen. They left early, guards half awake, the sun cresting softly, shadows following close behind. Into the forest, dark and cold, does and stags, vixen and kits, all theirs to be slain. But the younger brother was not hunting mere beasts, he was hunting a King. 

 Stopping by a stream to rest, they began to speak of their childhood. A mother only the oldest could remember, a father they both adored, and a foreign royal claimed by one but desired by another.

 It was not a quick or honourable death. It was not the death the Rightful King deserved. But why the fuck would the younger brother care for that? His task was completed, finally and truly. As his older brother lay half submerged in the creek, water lapping at his open eyes, the younger brother snatched the crown that fell in the tussle from the ground. He stared at the gaping mouth of his kin and began to revel in his good luck. He was now King and with that came you. Pure, innocent, lustful you. How his luck has changed! 

 Now what to tell the good people of his kingdom? People do not quickly forget dead kings. 

 The truth? Because in the end, is it his fault?