Being King Is So Great

His death rattle lasted quite a long time. Hisssssss. I remember that. Like a tyre with a hole in it.

Anyway. Dead he was. Most defiantly. Emaciated, yellowed as a butter cup with his dying jaundice. His long white hair had been falling out in clumps for a few weeks now. Eyes as glassy as a toad's.

Everyone was so sad. And the worst part was the way they had thought I would be sad too. He was old, one hundred and seventeen. I hated the bastard. He was always pissed off that my dad and older brother had died before me and him.

Well, I say died. More murdered really. By me of course, not personally obviously, I have people. Jekob, my brother, loved hunting grizzlies. Who knew that he wasn't prepared for every single trusted member of his hunting party to all accidentally mistake him for a bear at once? My family is tough, but twenty seven crossbow bolts to the head kills anybody. Shake that one off Jek. Ah, Good times.

But Pop though, now there was a paranoid guy. They say Prince Donavan used to wear his stab vest while he was sleeping, and that in the ten years following the birth of his first son, he built up a resistance to every single popular royal poison there is in the history books. Had to try a few times with Dad. Fist couple of goes involved booby traps in bed springs and aftershave that melted your face. Sadly unsuccessful, but his screams where hilarious. However, even royalty has to crap. Paid a very resourceful young chap, named Henry I think, to plant a bomb right in his loo. Oh Henry, you knew your tricks. Too bad I knew more. Always be the second person to taste the champagne, pretty much deserved it for forgetting THAT.
Well, with Dad gone, Crowned Prince Dalesko I became. And the only thing between me and that nice shiny hat was maybe four weeks of bromide in his highnesses' tea. Natural causes they still think.

They did the whole "The Old king is dead, long live the blah blah blah" and absolute power was mine. I'm going to have a huge party after the official business is done with. And if the aristocratic babes won't dance with the king, well, watching them scream for mercy is just as fun. More sometimes.

Yep. I could get used to this.

Location: Bedroom