Lies And Betrayals

The marble chair felt familiar. It wasn't actually a chair, it was more like a throne. No, the polished stone overlaid with velvet cushions was a throne. But it wasn't his. Still, it brought back memories.

The man sitting on the throne that wasn't his glanced at the clock by the fireplace of the massive room. Dawn was only an hour away. He had to go back. But his work wasn't done yet.

The glass ceiling above the room reflected the fading stars. No clouds visible, today was going to be a fine day. He liked this place. The glass doors leading towards the balcony, the paintings hanging on the walls, and the plush carpet leading toward the throne from the carved entrance doors.

Torches inside the room made his silver armor flash upon the orange lights they cast. He supposed that was good. His silver armor was his trademark, after all. One look at him and everyone would know who he was.

Everyone, except the woman and the child lying motionless by the throne steps. They wouldn't know who he was, not anymore.

Because they were dead.

The servants may need to clean the mess he'd done on the polished floors since blood pooled around the gaping wounds on their chests. They were lying next to each other, and the mother had her child's hand wrapped around hers.

He was the reason they were dead. He'd knifed them straight through the heart.

The thought made him smile.

The armored man was impressed with his own kindness. He could have tortured them for days or weeks or months, but instead, he chose to grace them with quick deaths, to make it as painless as he could. Such compassion he has! And yet others don't understand. No, they don't want to understand.

Suddenly, the entrance doors of the throne room banged open, admitting a man in disheveled hair wearing a robe. He had a dozen guards with him.

"How did you get inside?" The robed man asked.

The man sitting on the throne gave a slow smile and said, "wrong question."

"Get off my throne," the robed man demanded.

"Make me."

The robed man - the king who owned the throne - curled his lips in answer. He glanced around the room, as if making sure that nothing had been taken and that nothing was amiss.

The armored man almost laughed at that. True, the throne room was a beauty, but stealing wasn't his thing, brutality was. Especially murder.

Then the king saw the woman and the child on the floor. Their pale skins, their blood. His face turned to white and horror began to fill his eyes.

"What have you done?!" He screamed as he ran towards the dead bodies.

The silver armored man laughed, "now that, Your Majesty, is the right question."

"Get a healer," the king told his guards as he cradled the bodies, "now!"

Ever obedient, half of them ran out the room.

"I don't think a healer could help," the armored man smiled wickedly, "I killed them well."

"You monster!" The king screamed. He stood up, unsheathed the sword of the guard nearest to him and attacked. "My wife, my son! They're innocent!"

The man stood up from the throne and unsheathed his own sword. This was what he had been waiting for. The rage; the anger.

He went down the steps and squared off with the monarch. He swiped his sword in the king's face then punched him in the gut. He knocked the king's sword away and kicked his knee.

The king fell.

The man bended down, curled his hand around the king's throat and bashed his head on the throne steps. Once. Twice. The sound of bone hitting marble filled the throne room. The monarch groaned in pain, his blood dripping on the floor.

Emotions made people weak. That was the downfall of this king.

"I'm a monster?" He whispered. "No, Your Majesty, you're the monster."

The armored man released his hold as he stood up. Then he placed his booted foot on the king's throat.

"Your king killed his queen and heir," he addressed the guards, they had been paralyzed with fear. "His family is dead because of his pride. So will yours, if you refuse to surrender. If you don't stop resisting me."

"Kill him," the king groaned from the floor.

The guards unsheathed their swords and loaded their bows. But the armored man could see their hesitation, so he plowed on. He liked it when people were swallowed with doubt.

"Go ahead, shoot me. Since I ordered my soldiers outside your walls that if I don't return by sunrise, they have my full blessing to start the invasion and bloodbath on your people, your families. Go ahead kill me."

A pause of silence. No one dared shoot. Or talk. The six guards looked at each other. Thinking, weighing.

Then suddenly, they threw their weapons on the floor. Swords, daggers, bow and arrows. Metal and wood clanked against marble. They had surrendered.

The armored man gave them a wicked smile.

"You fools!" The king groaned. "You think he would let us live if you surrender? He thinks nothing of us."

The armored man ignored that and said, "because of your pride that resulted in the death of your own queen and heir, I strip you off with your kingship. You are no longer king."

"You can't," the king sobbed, whether from the death of his family or from losing a kingdom, the armored man didn't know. Nor did he care.

"Hush, I've won already, and your people have surrendered." Then he pointed at the Chief Guard, "you will open the gates today and you will order the soldiers to lay down their weapons. I and my army shall march around the city to declare my ownership of this kingdom. One wrong move from anyone of you, and you die."

He removed his foot from the king's throat and sheathed his sword. This kingdom had fallen, its king now broken. His work was done. So he walked down the carpet - as if there was nothing wrong with killing people and stealing a kingdom - a smile tugging the corner of his lip. Such a fine day this was. And it hadn't even begun yet!

"One day, you will pay for all you've done," the king said.

The man glanced back. With no emotions on face he replied, "I already did."