“It’s about time,” said Bailof Talborne as he stood beside his father’s bed. King Mace lay in his bed, covered in thick silk blankets, white as a sheet, completely immobile, with a vile stink filling the entire room.
“Leave us,” he said to the royal guards who were in the room with him. “You as well, Doctor Skarn.”
“Very well.” Doctor Alfrit Skarn exited the room behind the guards, leaving only Bailof and his mother Jezibel. As soon as the door to the royal bedchamber closed, Bailof started shaking from head to toe, but not from sadness.
“It had to happen eventually,” said Jezibel grimly. “It’s been a long time coming.”
“I know,” Bailof quivered.
The king of the Twenty Islands, Mace Talborne had been sick for nearly a year as his body began failing him. One by one, his internal organs were shutting down, leaving him lying in bed covered in his own urine and faeces.
“Where’s Darryn?” Bailof asked.
“Most likely in his room, tormenting Lun.”
Bailof rubbed his eyes and sighed before cursing loudly.
He turned and faced Jezibel. “Now what?”
Jezibel shrugged. “We’ll have a funeral, then a coronation. Simple as that.”
Bailof paced around the bed, looking at the corpse of his dead stepfather from every angle.
“Covered in piss and shit, as you should be,” he whispered.
“The king is dead!” Someone cried from the hallway. Soon more people took up the cry.
“The king is dead!”
“How long do you think it will be before he has us living in the streets like peasants?” Bailof laughed, referring to his younger stepbrother, Darryn. “You know he’s not going to have us living here if he can help it.”
“He can’t remove us from the castle,” Jezebel reassured him. “It’s our royal right.”
“He’ll try, you know he will.”
“He won’t. Here we will remain, whether he wants us to or not.”
Bailof tapped his fingers on the side of his leg, still shaking. He closed his eyes tightly.
“Would your father let us live with him in Zirnia?”
“I believe he will. But we wouldn’t want to live there either. The place is a mess.”
“The king is dead!” came another call from somewhere in the castle.
With a loud bang, the door burst open and in rushed Mace’s mother, Fortuna, her blue dress waving behind her. Bailof jumped slightly and regained his composure, clenching his fists at his side to stop his shaking. Fortuna grimaced and covered her nose as she approached Mace’s bed.
“It stinks,” she said, the wrinkles on her face twisting with disgust. “Doctor Skarn!” She called. “Doctor Skarn! Come at once!”
Doctor Skarn limped into the room, his hands folded in front of him.
“Yes, my lady?” he droned monotonously, looking over the spectacles that sat on the end of his beak-like nose.
“Have preparations made to bring Mace to the family tomb. And get this mess cleaned up, I can abide the smell no longer.”
Doctor Skarn bowed and left the room.
“Where is Darryn?” Fortuna asked Bailof.
“I don’t know,” Bailof answered without looking at her.
“I suppose you thought you would be made king in his place?” Fortuna said accusingly.
Bailof shook his head, but said nothing, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on the stone floor.
Fortuna nodded sharply. “Good. I expect you both to remember your place as we prepare for Darryn’s coronation. Is that clear?”
“Yes grandmother,” said Bailof.
“Look at me, boy,” Fortuna demanded. Bailof raised his head slowly and looked Fortuna right in the eyes.
“I am not your grandmother,” she pointed a long crooked finger at him. “You do not belong to the Talborne family. The same goes for you,” she said to Jezibel. “I will go find Darryn and tell him that his father has passed.”
“Careful Fortuna,” said Jezibel with a slight smile. “You almost sound sad,”
“Shut your mouth, whore,” Fortuna spat as she curled her wrinkled lips. Then she turned and strode out of the room.
“You should be careful when you speak to her,” said Bailof when he was sure Fortuna was out of hearing range.
“I don’t care. The withered old hag can go to the void for all I care. It’s a wonder she hasn’t crumbled to dust already. She might as well-”
Jezebel silenced herself as three servants entered the room, followed by doctor Skarn.
“Take the king to the royal tomb and have the bed cleaned,” he instructed the servants. He hobbled over to the bed and looked over Mace’s body. “Such a shame,” he shook his head. “Such a shame.”
“The king is dead!” someone shouted.
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