"I don't want the throne, I don't want that kind of power."
"I'm sorry, but it's your duty."
"But I'm scared, please don't make me do this?"
"If we find good, honorable, people to help you, will you, then, accept what you must do?"
"You promise they will be honorable, so I don't do something really bad by mistake?"
"I promise." -- The New Guy
The Reign of the Blood Throne was not what one might expect by the name. For a start, the ruler of the realm was decreed by an inherited artifact that judged their ability to treat the people fairly. If one couldn't "light the chair" then one was "out of there".
Kormwind Eleven had introduced himself as 'El' to his adventuring friends. Afraid, in his time of roaming, to tell them all the truth. Something like Kormwind Arachis Felbourne Whitekeep, eleventh of the name, Prince of the White Keep, and all its associated titles, tended to quell casual conversation.
It was astonishingly freeing, being a commoner. Astonishingly eye-opening to see that two generations of Hellkin "demonic" Kings had not dampened any prejudice against the less noble devilborn. They couldn't outlaw all of it, but at least the persecuted Hellkin had legal ways to complain.
The letter came with a courier in black. Somber face. Addressing him as, "Your Majesty." He didn't need to say, "Dire news," as El already knew.
Something had happened to his Dad.
El sighed and put down his lute. He'd rather liked being a Bard. "Well," he said to his friends. "Now you know why I was so twitchy around Nobles. They... might have recognised me."
"Your majesty?" echoed the Wizard Itrix. "Does that mean you've been holding out on us when it's your shout?"
Oh gods. Now he had to explain the terms of the time of roaming. "Heirs of the crown are encouraged to live as common folk for at least a year. That means we toil as common folk, and live off what we earn." He gestured towards his lute. "I learned very fast to play that thing well, and connect that with having food at the end of the day."
The dour messenger said, "The regent has provided a purse to ensure safe travel for yourself and... any of your friends."
Of course they did. "Anyone else want to travel like a king?" he asked. "I'm going to need friends in the next few weeks. Is dad-- Is my father the King dead or dying?"
"He is ill, Your Majesty. The sickness takes minds away. The survivors see phantoms and... it never goes well."
Even worse. He would be returning to the ruins of a person he knew and loved. Even more heartbreaking. "I'm really going to need friends. And advisors. And decent fucking people in my cabinet."
"We'll make sure they are," said Pelas, the Rogue. If anyone knew a twisty manipulator from a standing start, it was him. He was the second-best that El knew.
First place went to Gran'da. Always. He began from a position of distrust and worked outwards from there. He was the one who coined the phrase, "Keep your friends close and a dagger up your sleeve for any enemies. Just in case."
Interesting times were ahead. El started to pray for boring, even though, as the third Demon King of the Mountain, 'boring' would never have a chance.
[Image by Daoud Abismail on Unsplash]
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