Mattias Yorvik held the ring up to the sun and gazed upon the lustrous emerald light it produced. One more day, he thought. One more day until his coronation, and the ring would be his. He closed his eyes and allowed his thoughts to simmer. His arms tingled, as if he already could feel the power it would bring him.

He brought his gaze lower to his mother sitting at the table in the dining hall, watching him. Mattias ignored her furrowed brow and anxious eyes as they passed from the ring to him, and back again.

His eyes gleaned as the snake’s eyes do right before it strikes the unsuspecting victim. Lowering the ring, he passed it back to the ring-bearer with no more thought than if he had been handling a muffin. As it were, the boy had no worries as of then. Those would come all too soon…

The villagers craned their necks as Mattias’s short form was crowned King of Dashun. They trembled as he raised his hand, clutching the jewel studded scepter his father had held only weeks before. “Long live Kong Mattias,” the people roared, eyes wide as owls.

The king, seemingly satisfied, raised his left hand in a frozen wave as the ring bearer slipped the shining stone onto his hand and shuffled backwards, half bent as he went.

The crowd held their breath as they watched the king set hungry eyes on the shining ring. He slowly lowered his hand until it pointed at his people, palm down. Everyone kneeled and bent forward, heads down. No one dared utter a sound.

One by one, King Mattias called on every man of each household in the village to come forth and pledge their allegiance. And one by one every man went, swift enough so as not to appear drudging, yet slow enough so as not to appear desperate. Lowering each their head and kissing the repulsive Ring of Dashun.