Prologue: A Madman for a King
October 7, 1788. Kew Palace, Richmond, England
Walls...
Chains...
Doctors...
Medicine...
Chairs...
They were his only friends. They were the only ones that embraced him. The bare white walls of the manor was his solace as he wasted away in isolation. The straps on his chair gently caressed him during his tantrums. He watched with his head on his breast as the doctors came and went. Occasionally, the doctors would shove bitter medicine in his mouth, practically ignoring his protests. The cold wood of his 'coronation chair' was a constant reminder of his both his status but also his predicament.
Currently, he sat in the library. His face was buried in a book, a script of William Shakespeare's "King Lear". He hummed in interest when he reached to certain parts in the play, and scribbled notes on the page next a profound line or paragragh.
He saw himself in King Lear. They were both monarchs who had succumbed to their crumbling minds. The difference was that the titutar king found happiness and peace with his family, while he was stuck rotting away in isolation with his family seemingly have no care in the world.
His family...
They didn't visit him. He constantly begged to see them, but he was always told it was too dangerous. He was too unpredictable.
To tell you the truth he didn't know what was the strange illness that plagued him, but there were whispers of the word 'madness' that slipped off the servants' and doctors' tongues.
They were unbearable.
He knew that he was not mad. He was just nervous. There was nothing to worry about. But as time went on, he found that very hard to believe. There was something definitely wrong with him.
He was not sane.
Suddenly his head snapped up from his book when he heard a creak. He frantically looked around, his heart rate doubling each second.
"Hello?" He called. His voice broke when said the word. His own voice was foreign to him.
There was no answer.
He promptly walked to the door.
He opened it, then groaned in annoyance when his eyes meet those of the agent of the devil on the other side. The doctor, a rather short man of little importance, stood casually. His right arm lazily held a leather notebook against his side. However his eyes were focused.
The king knew what he was here for. They always came for this particular purpose.
"Good Evening, Your Majesty. What are you doing here?" The Devil's Agent enquired. His light tenor made the question sound caring, the king knew better.
The king debated inside his head whether he should answer the question or ignore him.
One...
Two...
Three...
Three seconds of silence passed before he finally made his decision.
"Yes," he answered. Goddamn, why was his voice so hoarse. He moved aside to allow the Agent to enter. The demon of a doctor walked into the large room, his eyes surveying the organised space before finally settling down when sat in the observation chair in the corner.
The monarch took his orginal place in at the desk with his books. He traced his hands across the page and let out a deep sigh. He was ready to be completely semerged into the world of Shakespeare.
It was about a minute, when his vision became blurry. Blasted eyesight, he thought. Bad vision was a symptom of his mysterious illness. Often times he couldn't see far away objects like the portrait on the wall twenty feet before him.
Now he couldn't see the words of the book that was only a few centimetres away from his face.
As if on cue, the devilish physician in the corner was animated, and the king could hear the scratching of quil and ink on paper.
"How long have you been reading, Majesty?" The stoic man asked. The royal man supressed a groan. This was the second time that this devil had dared to question him. What an insolent bottom feeder.
"Two hours, sir," he started. He could sense that he was going to ramble. The words were spinning in his head stemming from the most precuilar of topics. "I was reading the likes of Shakespeare before you insolently interrupted me. And for what for? To scratch your quil against your paper like you always do... the lot of you! A mad man can't have peace. Oh God there is a fog over my eyes... You are devils sent here to torment me!"
The doctor rose from his seat in the corner and approaced the rambling man.
"Your Majesty?" He spoke.
He reaches out to comfort him, only to have the king sprung upright and violently slap his hand away. The doctor is unfazed by this. In fact it encourages him to continue.
He grabbed the king by his shoulders and immediately the royal man squirms around in his grasp. He shoves him against the wall, but rather gently because of his undying respect for his king.
The harmony of the birds chirping outside was now intertwined with the doctor's harsh breaths and the king's nonsensical rantings. The monarch's eyes narrowed slightly. They burned which such intensity that the doctor had feared that he would attrack him.
The doctor was now looking the king in the eye.
Rage was practically seeping through every vein in the king's body. The audacity that this physician had to look him in the eye. He proposed the Devil's Agent was abiding by his Devil's example.
An eternity passed, and the doctor released his monarch. He stepped back in relief, then he scribbled some quick notes in his book.
The king watched him in silence.
"Your Majesty, it would best if I escorted you to your room." He finalised. There was that caring tone again. But even so, the king heard the words that were left unspoken. Something in his eyes and tone made them as clear as day.
The chief physician will hear of this.
