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IML_42 t1_j6l5zbz wrote

“I don’t know what your arrangement was with my father and, frankly, I don’t care,” said King Isaac as he prepared for his coronation. “I am to receive my crown tonight and your tenure on the court shall continue—or not—at my discretion.”

Amos the Abiding—or simply ‘Amos’ to King Isaac—clad in the trappings of a jester, was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Amos was the rightful king of the Languishing Plains; Isaac’s predecessor had understood the arrangement. Too bad the bastard had died before sharing that knowledge with his heir.

“You misunderstand me, boy. I am your king and I will be addressed as such,” said Amos sharply. “I have ruled these lands for hundreds of years and I will rule them for thousands more. You will rule no more than a chisel carves wood—you are but a useful tool with which I impose my will.”

“Ah, but how would the craftsman carve without an able chisel? Would they claw impotently at the wood, their desperate finger nails bloodied? Surely not.”

“Speak plainly, boy. Your aptitude for speech does not lie in metaphor.”

“Very well. Let me speak plainly,” replied King Isaac slowly, each word dripping with disdain. “Let’s assume for a moment that I accept your premise. That I yield that you are, in fact, King Amos the Abiding. If that were true, you still have no power but through me. No?”

Amos opened his mouth to answer but King Isaac cut him off.

“And, again, if what you say is true, oh eternal one, then you need for me to keep your secret. No? Moreover, oh poor Amos the Audacious, were I to alert the court of your claims, you would be summarily burned at the stake as a witch. I assume this is why you would have undertaken such a surreptitious strategy in the first place. Am I wrong, my Lord?”

Amos considered this. Of course Isaac was right. The king’s system only worked insofar as his figurehead was compliant. The flaw of monarchy is that the power lies not with lineage or title, in name or in law but in the perception of the public. Were Amos to re-emerge after all these years, his claim would be regarded with suspicion or outright rejection. Still, even were his claim supported, the boy was right. He’d be burned at the stake. He wouldn’t die—though it sure as shit wouldn’t be a pleasant few minutes—but the damage to his station would be sustained nonetheless.

The truth was a bitter pill. He needed the boy.

Amos paced the room slowly considering his next move. The candles in the room burned low and the light grew dim. Amos took a deep breath.

“Isaac. King Isaac,” Amos began, “what you say is true. Our fates are entwined, yours and mine. Whether you like it or not—Maker knows I don’t—you need me and I need you.”

King Isaac scoffed. “What possible use could I have for an old, poorly dressed oaf who has a penchant for stories and delusions of grandeur?”

“Delusions of grandeur,” Amos couldn’t help but chuckle. “I used to suffer from delusions of grandeur. Much like you, boy. But that’s what time does to you, it wears you down, it clarifies those cloudy spots within you that allow for embellishment and self-inflation, it centers you and beats you over the head with experiences from which you either learn or you die. And I’m still here, boy.

“Since, as you say, I have a penchant for stories, why don’t you allow me one weave one last tale?”

“We haven’t all day, old man,” said King Isaac.

“I’ll be brief. Shortly after my coronation, before I had bathed in those damned waters, and long after these lands had earned their damnable name, I did—as you say—suffer from a delusion of grandeur.

“I had it in my head that a mighty king must be a mighty huntsman. And a mighty huntsman must kill himself a bear. The folly of pride. I paid a man to catch a bear in Russia, cage it, and release it in the woodlands outside this very castle.

“I set out on my hunt, the Queen by my side, my jester in tow, and spear before me. As I wandered the woods searching for the beast, I heard a roar and a rustle. Before I could react the bear was charging right at me. Mayhem ensued as my Queen and jester fled. I stood my ground and took a thrashing. I was lucky to live.

“After having my wounds treated I sent for my jester. I scolded him for having fled. How could he have been so cowardly? He should have stood by his king’s side. And then my jester admonished me with the same words with which I’ll now admonish you.

“It is greater folly to let out a bear that was already in a cage.

“That bear—unnatural in our lands—was a force of nature. It destroyed ecosystems, eliminated whole species, and caused unknowable suffering because of its unchecked wrath upon these lands.

“That bear, of course, is long dead but imagine the irreversible damage he’d have wrought were he undying.”

King Isaac was silent. He stared at Amos the Abiding with an expression of fearful resignation—a child put in his place.

He nodded at the rightful king. He may not have the knack for crafting metaphors, but he could read between the lines.

And Amos was glad to be understood.

r/InMyLife42Archive

717

FlightConscious9572 t1_j6mc89x wrote

definitely in my top 10 stories on this subreddit :)

i loved it, and

>“It is greater folly to let out a bear that was already in a cage."

my god, what a powerful character

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IML_42 t1_j6ne78r wrote

Wow - that is incredibly high praise. Thank you so much!

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sir_im_stupid t1_j6m23qc wrote

I saw your post on the canadian goose hellspawn, cant wait to read this

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IML_42 t1_j6m3wq1 wrote

I hope you enjoy! Definitely a little different tone from that story.

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SilasCrane t1_j6l6zl9 wrote

The marionette danced on the thin silken strings that ran from its limbs to the wooden frame held in Barbicayne's slender, nimble fingers. The King and most of his court laughed and applauded, as the little wooden pig dressed in nobleman's finery chased the fluffy woolen sheep the king's fool controlled with his other hand, around and around in a frantic circle.

"Around and around, that pig chased the poor ewes, sure that the shepherd would ne'er hear the news!" Barbicayne narrated the story as the dolls acted it out, tossing his head with each line of his recitation, so that the bells on his motley cap jingled.

Only two of the nobles in the audience seemed less than amused by the farce: scholarly Lord Gray, who looked oddly thoughtful, and the gaudily dressed Duke Horace, whose narrowed eyes and gritted teeth left no doubt as to his opinion of Barbicayne's show.

The latter was easy to understand, if one was observant enough: the surcoat and trousers the wooden pig wore were markedly similar in shade to the Duke's own colors, to say nothing of the tightly curled black hair on its head, which was even an even better match for that of the seething nobleman. More than that, however, it took little imagination to draw parallels between the pig puppet's amorous fixation on the ewes of the shepherd's flock, and Horace's purported disgraceful penhant for lechery with the young peasant maidens on his country estates.

"But before the young ewe could be chased into bed..." Barbicayne began, and then, with a quick sleight of hand, he snapped the sheep puppet up to his hand, and exchanged it from another he drew from behind his back. This one was a bearded farmer, with unkempt golden hair that almost resembled a crown. In one hand it held a meat cleaver, painted half red, and in the other it bore a shepherd's crook.

"...the shepherd appeared, and cried 'Off with his head!'" the fool finished. Now it was the pig's turn to be chased round in a circle by the outraged shepherd, as the court laughed and cheered, all except for Duke Horace, who stared in wide-eyed horror. Barbicayne suddenly made the puppets collide, and the impact knocked off the pig's head, which went clattering away across the marble floor.

"That silly old pig thought that he was unseen!" the fool chanted, capering from foot to foot, before raising the shepherd puppet high above the floor, and spinning it in a slow circle, as though to take in the assembled gentry. "But the shepherd sees far -- and he keeps his blade keen!"

A final ripple of applause and laughter ran through the crowd, some from King Roger himself, and Barbicayne made a comically elaborate bow. The jester's performance had marked the end of the day's court, and the king withdrew from the throne room along with a favored few while the rest filed out, and Barbicayne began collecting his juggling props and puppets.

Only one stayed behind: the somber Lord Gray. "A fine show, Master Barbicayne."

Barbicayne shrugged modestly. "You are too kind, m'lord -- I fear I am as yet but a journeyman at my craft, else I'd have had the whole court in stitches with that farce about the pig. Duke Horace, for example, looked less than amused."

"You are too humble, Barbicayne." Lord Gray said, raising an eyebrow. "To admonish old Horace about his debauchery before the entire court, and warn him to mend his ways or suffer the king's wrath, all without giving him cause to object or take offense? That was a masterwork. And still rather amusing, in the bargain."

The jester's smile became suddenly brittle. "And yet, I must say that you didn't seem as entertained as the rest, your lordship."

"My mind was elsewhere." Lord Gray admitted.

"Really? You might wish to keep a closer eye on it, then, m'lord -- you never know when you'll need it." Barbicayne quipped, as he began to stuff his props and puppets into his sack a bit more swiftly.

"While the others were laughing, I was thinking," Lord Gray continued, refusing to be diverted. "Who really sits on the throne of Amberholm?"

"I'm...sure I don't know what you mean, my lord." the fool demurred.

"And I'm just as sure that you do." Lord Gray shot back. "We both know His Majesty well, Barbicayne -- he's a good man, but the Divine did not see fit to imbue him with...shall we say, a contemplative temperament. This clever farce of yours was not of his design."

"Some tasks are beneath the dignity of the monarch, my lord." Barbicayne said, quietly. "Yet they need doing, nonetheless."

"And how many such tasks has he delegated to you, Master Barbicayne?"

The fool paused, eyeing the baronet appraisingly.

"What is it that you want from me, my lord?"

"What any historian wants," Gray said, lifting his chin. "The truth."

The jester smirked. "One has only to crack a history book to give the lie to that statement, your lordship."

"And is the situation improved by concealing the truth?" Lord Gray retorted.

"Truths, my lord, are like green vegetables -- they might be good for you, but no one wants any when they're served up plain and simple." Barbicayne said. Then he held up one of his colorful marionettes, "If a cook is truly concerned for the health of those he nourishes, he must artfully conceal such unpleasant morsels in something a bit more palatable."

"In a handsome, likeable fellow wearing a crown and a royal stole, perhaps?" Gray suggested, and Barbicayne's expression darkened slightly. "Don't mistake me, Barbicayne. I've not come to try to expose you. If I'm right about half of what I suspect, I imagine that I'd...suffer an accident, before I could do any such thing."

"Then why have you come, my lord?" the jester asked.

"To know the truth." Lord Gray explained. "To do my duty to record the true history of my people, even if no one else sees it in either of our lifetimes, so that it will not be wholly forgotten."

"As long as I remember," Barbicayne said. "It won't be. And my memory is longer than you can imagine, my lord."

"As long as eternity?"

"Perhaps."

"But perhaps not?"

Barbicayne thought for a moment, and then gave a nod of concession.

"Then let me commit what you remember to the page. Keep my writings if you must, but conceal them somewhere they may be found if, one day..." Lord Gray trailed off.

"If one day there ceases to be a fool in the Court of Amberholm?" Barbicayne asked, smiling slightly. He let out a long, tired sigh. "Very well, my lord. Let me tell you a story..."

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SilasCrane t1_j6p3n0d wrote

"You have guessed, I'll warrant." said Barbicayne, "That the nature and pedigree of Barbicayne the Fool, such as it is, is not so simple as it appears to be?"

"The less canny among my peers believe you're just what you appear to be: a common man, if slightly mad, who's a savant of song and verse." Lord Gray said. "Those who are more perceptive think that you're the king's spymaster, your guise as a fool a pretense to keep you close to the monarch and his court."

"The best stories have layers," Barbicayne said, with a grin, spreading his hands expressively. "A little something for everyone."

"And the truth?" Lord Gray pressed. "You're no common man -- if you are one at all."

"Questioning my manhood? Really, Lord Gray, I'd have thought such base jibes were beneath you." Barbicayne smirked.

"Rather your humanity, Master Barbicayne." the old scholar replied.

"Ah! Well, I've given some cause to question that, over the years. But I am quite human, as it happens -- on my mother's side, at least." the jester said.

"Is this story of yours going to start soon?" Lord Gray asked, impatiently.

"It started long ago, m'lord." Barbicayne replied crisply. "My story begins before great Sigismund the Wanderer first looked upon these fair lands while they dozed beneath a layer of orange autumn leaves, and fell in love with his new 'Amber Home'."

"There are no primary sources that authenticate the tale of Sigismund; that's just an old legend." Lord Gray protested.

"Then it's in good company with me," the fool retorted, crisply. "Now where was I? In those days this world was still new, like a young child still surrounded by its jostling elder siblings. Once such older sister to the world of man coveted its youth and beauty, and her children sought to lay claim on it."

"The Magi speak of a time beyond memory, when worlds overlapped and converged..." Lord Gray mused.

"At the moment, I speak of it." Barbicayne observed, testily.

Lord Gray raised his hands in placation, and the jester continued.

"The denizens of that world were powerful, with vast knowledge born of countless eons. And yet, the world they sought was not made for them. Too many substances common to this land proved to be their bane. Iron, hawthorn wood -- the sort of thing every peasant farmer trusts to ward away evil spirits, even today." Barbicayne went on. "Still, they were unwilling to abandon their conquest, even though this world was all but poison to them. Instead, they beget children with mortals, offspring who could have both a share in the power of these Outer Lords, and birthright to the world they coveted."

"You...you are..." Lord Gray said, eyes widening.

"A changeling? A fetch? A hellspawned wretch?" Barbicayne wryly rhymed. "We have been called such, my lord, and not without cause. But before we were any of those things, we were but children. What more can be asked of a child, than that he learn the lessons his parents teach, and do as they bid him?"

"Do you...do their bidding still?" he asked, uneasily.

The jester shook his head. "That ended long ago. The worlds were pulled apart by forces even the Outer Lords could not resist, and their voices could no longer reach the progeny they left behind."

"So you were abandoned." Lord Gray said, his expression softening.

"Yes. But this is not the sad part of the story, my lord." Barbicayne said. "We were better for it. We were bereft of our parents' power, yes, but we had a measure of that in our own right. More importantly, we had our freedom. Though many of us abandoned the ambition of ruling over this world, which was never really our ambition to begin with, the children of our second and now only home were not quick to forgive. We were hunted, and despite our power we were few, and they were many."

Lord Gray frowned. "So it often fares with men among each other, as well. The lust for vengeance is a bloody circle."

"Until one decides to break it." the fool observed. "As did the warrior sent to hunt me down: Sigismund of the Red Blade."

"The Wanderer?" Lord Gray exclaimed. "You're saying he actually was real?"

"Real indeed, though not called 'Wanderer' then. That epithet came afterward, when he was exiled from the mountains he hailed from, for the crime of sparing the monster he'd been commanded to dispatch." Barbicayne sighed. "His own kith and kin turned their backs on him, spat upon his name, and banished him on pain of death should he ever return."

"Incredible..." the scholar murmured. "The stories were always fragmentary, but most thought he was called wanderer because he was an explorer, not an outcast."

"Time does strange things to history, as you well know. It did even stranger things, before you started writing it down." Barbicayne said. "But don't look so glum. That is not the sad part of the story, either."

The jester leaned against the wall. "As you may have guessed, I decided to travel with Sigismund. I was already gravely injured when he found me, and needed time to regain my strength -- at the time, he was the only man I could trust not to kill me, if given the chance. He was an extraordinary man, and eventually became the closest thing to a brother, to me. I stayed with him even when he settled in his beloved Amber Home, and he founded what would eventually become the royal line."

"And that is how you came to be the power behind the throne?" Lord Gray demanded. "Ruler of your friend's kingdom in all but name, his descendants merely your puppets?"

Barbicayne sighed. "As I have said, the ambition to rule was never mine -- that was the will of the Outer Lords, and I am long since free of it. No, my lord, that is not why I do what I do. Before he died, Sigismund called me to his side, and asked me to protect his kingdom, and guide his heirs. Amber Home was still a tiny kingdom then, with wild and quarrelsome lands upon its borders, and he feared for its survival when he was no longer there to protect it. So, I gave him my word that I would do as he asked."

"And have you?" Lord Gray pressed. "Is this...charade truly what he desired?"

Barbicayne shook his head, slowly. "Of course not. But it is not what I desired, either. For generations, I stood by the throne, and offered my advice and insight. Only Sigismund knew the full extent of what I was, and what I could do, of course, and that remained his secret. His heirs knew only that I was something old and wise, whose counsel could be trusted -- but that became a problem."

"Their trust was a problem?"

"A great one. They trusted me implicitly. Eventually, they sought my advice on virtually every decision, and could make none for themselves. I saw what this was doing to them, and I withdrew into hiding, working only behind the scenes, counseling them only through third parties, but that did not correct the problem. The heirs of Sigismund no longer believed they had a mystical counsellor whose insight bordered on prophecy. They now believe that they simply lead charmed lives -- somehow or other, things always seem to just work out for them." Barbicayne said closing his eyes as if in pain. "I settled on this role several centuries back, and the king's favored fool became a convenient tradition. Every few decades, I simply don a new comical mask, and I am able to be where I am most needed."

"Could you not have withdrawn entirely? Let the royal line stumble from time to time, so it could learn to stand on its own?"

The jester smiled wanly. "I have a share of my sire's powers, my lord, but also a share of his weaknesses -- like a being of that Outer World, I am bound by the letter of my word as if by iron fetters. In haste, and in love, I carelessly agreed to do as Sigismund asked: guide his descendants, and protect his kingdom. I cannot now do otherwise, even if in doing so I make my beloved brother's progeny little more than pleasant throne room ornaments, dancing at the end of the strings I pull from the shadows."

Lord Gray was silent, his eyes on the ground as he contemplated the weight of Barbicayne's words.

"And that, my lord," Barbicayne said, with a sigh. "Is the sad part of the story."

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Czorzhais t1_j6ldcn7 wrote

I love it! All the metaphors are quite fun. Do you plan to write a part 2?

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ThatTubaGuy03 t1_j6lzitp wrote

Fantastic. I know you completed the prompt to perfection, and we can't ask for more, but if you have a bit of free time to tell us the fools story, I'd love to hear it.

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mrspear1995 t1_j6lvqzs wrote

What great dialogue, smart and charming all the way

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PlantainSame t1_j6n1e72 wrote

This hole setup gives my vibes the doctor from doctor who or murlin

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xadonn t1_j6n3rrn wrote

The jester does a cartwheel, followed by a backflip, then losing their footing falling into a tub full of water for a different act up next for the King. Everyone laughs boastfully, the embassy from the east was very pleased about how good the acts have been.

“That’s the best jester in the land, Igar.” He holds up his large mug and declares his love for this country's entertainment. The whole room is bursting with excitement and joy. The long tables are full of nobles and knights. The staff join in the party after all the food is served and big production is done. Another big success for the Kingdom of Alabaster. Known for being the best in every way imaginable to man.

Taking a long look around the room, the jester smiles. After all these years as the Shadow King, I think being the jester has been the most fun of the positions I have hidden myself in. The jester goes and sits down thinking about their times as the advisor in the early days, generals in the great wars, and one time as the Queen. This peace is because of this demon's love for this kingdom. They tried to convince these people long ago that an immortal hell spawn would be the best King but being as they can make themselves look however they want and have the power to do whatever they want, the collective fear outweighed the trust of the First puppet king.

But that fun was about to come to an end. A plucky young historian that loves to go over the history of kings and all the different changes and rulings over the last several centuries was coming to an awfully large realization. All the kings after the demon wars, had the exact same policies, ruled in similar ways, and were described as being loyal to the previous Kings ideologies. Not just a couple but the last 15 Kings had all acted and behaved as if they were the exact same king. She would write about her suspicion of a Shadow Demon King in secret notebooks at night. Everyone knows that the Demons could no longer dwell in this realm. The war ended with that being the agreement. But what if not all of them left. These thoughts plagued her mind and journal entries and over the months she would spend time after her daily duties as the Head Historian's apprentice researching this. Looking for any proof of her Shadow King. She was even suspicious that it could be him.

She quickly walked down the halls with a book that she found deep within the library that looks to not have been open for ages. The title was something she couldn’t ignore, “Tales of Demons”. She was so excited about what could be in here, nearly all the information was destroyed during the great wars, after the Kingdom of Celist to the west came through and sought to wipe them off the planet. This was only a few short years after the demon wars. It's why the castle commissioned historians and preservationists, so much was lost, that they didn’t want it to happen again. Just another thing that all the King’s believed was important. However, caught up in her thoughts she didn’t notice the jester walking down hallways backwards with the King and ran directly into the jester's back knocking herself down to the floor with the book.

“Oh!” The Jester shrieked and dramatically fell to the floor as well. The King laughed. “I have been slain.” reaching their hands into the air and then playing dead for a second, before helping her up. However the Jester picked up the book first then handed it to her. She was mortified. Did he read the title? Thoughts raced through her head. It was known that the King did not much care for demon talk. What if he tells the king, I could get fired. She quickly grabbed the book and hugged it closely. “Sorry. Excuse me.” she managed to muster out and do a quick bow of respect to the King. Moving quickly and out of sight. Before it dawned on her. It's the middle of night, Why would the Jester be with the King at this hour? She turned around and peeped down the hall but they were no longer there.

“That was close.” The King stated as he started to get undressed. His large and luxurious room, filled with things made of gold, bones, and pearls. If it was expensive and rare, it might as well be here.

“Maybe we shouldn’t meet for a while, my liege, that historian girl was carrying the oldest book from the library. A book about demons. I’m rarely wrong with my reading of people. She is definitely suspicious of something involving demons.” the Shadow King suggested as he materialized a chair to relax in.

“That’s why I don’t like talking about that type of history, look too close and it's troublesome for this kingdom. You know I respect that you do this but eventually you gonna get found out.”

“Oh please after 15 Kings, doubtful. Plus,” the Shadow King held out their hand and sparks crackles from their growing claw of a hand “ I think I can take care of them.”

“Even after nearly a thousand years, people can find out the truth.” The King made a point that the Shadow King could not argue with just sigh as if the whole thing was exhausting.

“Sometimes I wish I never became a Shadow King. But with humans' disdain towards Demons this was the only way to create peace between the two realms. If I step down the demons will start another war, as long as I am at least a Shadow King they are happy and you are happy. However my ambassador said that some believe that it shouldn’t be necessary to hide any more and we should work on integrating to the realms once more.” He looked around and gestured vaguely before continuing “I don’t think humans have that ability yet, we’ve barely managed to keep peace between the human nations.”

The King nodded his head and then laid down in his bed. “I wish I wasn’t born as the successor of a puppet king. But it is what it is. However it is nice to at least be a King.” Crawling into bed with the King, the Shadow King playfully turns themselves into a woman with piercing blue eyes and fiery red hair.

“But aren’t I just the best?” The Shadow King smiled. Mocking the King who just angrily turned away.

“I told you not to do that, I would prefer a human wife. Also aren’t you technically family. Filthy old demon.” The Shadow demon gasped as if shocked by the words.

“Hey, He died like 300 years ago. Plus it wasn’t me that had the children, he had lots of bastard children. That's why there are so many noble families now.” The king just looked disapprovingly of this conversation lasting any longer. “Alright, goodnight, and hopefully all is well in the morning. We did good with the east, now back to work with the west. After what we heard today, it seems as if they are back to no longer being happy with us.” Then they dissipated into black smoke.

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xadonn t1_j6n3xdu wrote

She couldn’t sleep a wink last night. The thoughts of The Jester being the Shadow King were almost too silly for her to grasp her head around. There is no status, no power, not even a good reason for them to be close with each other. It's almost too suspicious, she then thought maybe the King might be into men, but then remembered that time he hit on her while drunk and asked her to be queen. Before vomiting all over her shoes. However as a jester they would be allowed to be at the castle at all hours and talking to the King wouldn’t be out of the question. However in the middle of the night it was too much. However she did learn something very interesting about Demons that she didn’t think that anyone else knew, that some had the power and ability to change their appearance. Which gave her so much joy she screamed with satisfaction.

As months passed and the days were normal, she started to follow the jester around the castle. He would sometimes be in the library reading books about acting and such from other lands. She noticed two things, he was never really where he was supposed to be and met with the King at least once every couple weeks. Tonight surely after the news that the advisor to the King of the West would be visiting in a week's time, the Shadow King would visit his puppet. She thought to herself while hiding in the King's room, she was also thinking about how crazy easy it was for her to get in here, thinking that maybe it was a trap, but she must know the truth. She waited for what seemed like a lifetime trapped, hidden under the bed.

“So, this visit. You think it will be a friendly one.” The King said allowed, after quietly closing the door. She could barely contain herself. She knew it. He wasn’t alone. However it was too early to tell whether or not it was the jester.

“Probably not. More like a warning.” the jester said, and she smiled so big under the bed. She knew it. She was right. It was the jester, but was he a demon or was he a lover? What if he was both? But her thoughts were cut short from the sudden bonk to the head from the King sitting down hard enough on the bed it knocked her out.

Coming too, she opened her eyes to the jester, taking care of her injuries. “What the fuck were you doing under the bed?” The King looked unphased by this development.

“Take care of this Cal. We don’t have time for her silly stalking anymore.” Her face burned with embarrassment. Cal rolled their eyes and waved at them to hush.

“I have a solution already planned but wanted to wait until the moment was right.”

“Well, this is the moment if there ever was one.”

“You two get married and then she can just be let in on our little secret.”

“Absolutely not.” He looked mortified.

“Oh, come one, I remember when you first hired her, you said that she was your future wife, if you ever got the chance to pick one out.”

“That was before.” Cal looked confused and raised an eyebrow in his general direction. “I made a fool of myself in front of her enough to last a lifetime. I do not need to be reminded of that everyday any more than I do.”

“Hey, don’t I have a say in this?” saying it louder than she expected too, and with lots of anger.

“Of course darling, what would you like? I know the ladies love a spring wedding but I hear, fall weddings are going to be the next big thing from the kitchen staff.” the historian brushed Cal off of her before standing up, and then sitting back down due to the dizziness.

“No, about getting married!” She screamed instead. “Plus I don’t need to know about anyone's secrets.” She said convincing no one.

“Oh really? Why were you under the bed?” Cal poked. “What about all those journal entries you made about demons, not to mention the demon book, and all sorts of demon related contraband in your room I found.” Her heart started racing, this was not the way she thought this night would go. She swallowed the last bit of spit in her mouth before she saw the King's hand hit Cal’s head.

“You snoop.” The King sighed “I guess marriage really is the only option that makes the most since. It's not like we can afford to lose our next Head of Historian’s. Hank is already nearing 70 and refuses to train any more new students.” Shocked by the Kings words she forgot all about what they were talking about prior.

“Hank thinks I should be the next Head?” She was nearly in tears from overwhelming joy, Hank is the whole reason she became a historian.

“Yes, of course.” The King said as if it was decided long ago. She was so touched she started crying and the pain in her head was becoming unbearable.

“So the wedding is on! I do love a good wedding!” With that The Shadow King gave her a devilish smile. “I’ll get to planning.” Then he disappeared in front of her. Leaving her alone with the King. He walked over to a cart full of liquor and poured two drinks and gave her one. They both sat in silence drinking until the King eventually escorted her back to her room.

“I’ll be awaiting your response.” He said and gave the proper bow signifying an official offer of marriage before leaving her alone.

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AutoModerator t1_j6kkg4k wrote

Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

Reminders:

>* No AI-generated reponses 🤖 >* Stories 100 words+. Poems 30+ but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* [RF] and [SP] for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

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