The Stolen Kingdom
Sir Roth stood before the king’s throne, flanked by both Taylor and Robert. His expression was grave, his eyes wandering. A loud silence permeated the room, and all could taste its utter bitterness.
“Your Highness,” Sir Roth pleaded, his voice desperate but cautious, “I beg of you to reconsider.”
“Sir Roth,” the King said, “don’t you see…If I had any other choice…”
“We could fight,” cried Robert, in youthful exuberance.
“In vain only,” the King responded. “Young Robert, you are still a bit naïve. We don’t have the manpower. Plus, Rahavi gave me his word. Why fight when we don’t have to?”
“Because we will be forced to fight anyway,” Taylor interjected. “The Dark Duke is too powerful and too ambitious.”
“The boy is right,” Sir Roth cautioned. “The Dark Duke cannot be trusted.”
“You don’t know that!” the King replied. “I think that King Harris has already been satiated. He means us no harm. Why accuse him of such ambition?”
Sir Roth looked at Taylor. Their eyes spoke to each other. Was this the time? Just a week ago, it had seemed unnecessary, but the news of King Peter’s deal with the Dark Duke appeared to change all that.
Taylor’s brow depressed. Sir Roth’s eyes fell.
“Your Highness,” he said, “permit me please to step away from the throne for a moment and have a word with my boys.”
The King waved his hand.
“If you please,” he said, evidently irritated by the entire situation. “So long as you keep it to a minimum.”
The three stepped away and headed toward the back of the room.
“Taylor,” Sir Roth began when they were out of the King’s earshot, “what say you now? The situation has changed, I confess, and it is evident that the King must know what you told me some days ago of your true history – the urgency is there. Bargaining with the Dark Duke is a dangerous proposition, and he must know the true nature of this man who stole from you so much.”
“My father is right,” Robert added. “By letting him know of your history, you will let him know of the Dark Duke’s history as well.”
Taylor nodded.
“But what will come of it?” he asked.
“Maybe nothing,” the Duke of Roth replied, “but the King must be given the knowledge. If he does nothing, then at least you are absolved. That is the worst case scenario.”
Taylor swallowed.
“I shall tell him, then.”
Sir Roth put his hand on his shoulder.
“The King has great respect for you,” he said. “He will value your words. Now come, and let us do this thing together.”
The three walked back to the throne, and Taylor stood before the King.
“What is it?” said King Peter, sensing his discomfort.
“There is something you should know, Your Highness,” Sir Roth began. “A history that you are unaware of. If you will give Taylor the time, he will explain.”
“Very well,” said the King. “Proceed.”
In a low, muddled voice, Taylor began to tell King Peter of his life, and how he had been torn from his royal position by the Dark Duke and his men. The King listened with the utmost interest, his hand fixed to his chin, never interrupting except for an occasional question here and there, which Taylor answered as best he could. By the end of Taylor’s monologue, the King was as perplexed as he was surprised.
“The entire story is true,” Sir Roth confirmed. “He has the cloth to prove it.”
“My God,” said the King, a bewildered expression upon his usually serious face. “What you’re saying, then, young Taylor, is that King Harris has stolen your heritage.”
“Indeed, Sire,” Taylor James replied.
The King shook his head in amazement.
“I see that I was mistaken as to King Harris’s character,” he said, “but what am I to do now? The deal has been made.”
“Preserve the army,” answered Sir Roth affirmatively, “including the Sarburians. They will be of good use to us.”
“Against the covenant?” the King questioned.
“Your Highness, be certain that the Dark Duke has no intention of upholding his end,” Taylor James stated pointedly, “Furthermore, since you made the agreement with ‘the King of Belsden,’ and, as you now know, he is not truly the king, the agreement is void.”
King Peter sighed.
“Very well.” He shook his head and pounded his fist on his lap, his eyes tearing in frustration. “Why are men like this?” he cried.
Chapter 18
The Dark Duke’s Plans
Sarbury was his. The army grew. And grew. Taxes he needed, taxes he got. Soon Monastero, and then Who knows?, maybe Dermer.
And then?
Only the boy king bothered him. The haunting dream. Dead, for certain, he had to be, but still the thought. Many newborns slaughtered that day, but who could be certain, who could be sure?
The lion tended his claws.
Chapter 19
Soothie’s Vision