The crown that sits upon my head is priceless- an heirloom passed from generations before me to the many generations to come.

It’s fashioned of precious gold and stunning rubies, pointed sharply at the tip like the edge of a blade, each gem glinting like freshly spilled blood.

Personally I find it a bit gaudy.

But I suppose it’s necessary- after all, how else do you know who to kill?

“Your Highness,” Artimus starts, no doubt ready to launch into yet another tirade about civilian unrest or assassination plans or whatever he heard from the maid this morning.

It’s not that he’s a bad advisor, Artimus. His intelligence has saved my life more than once, his strategies remarkable for his young age.

He just doesn’t know when to shut up.

“I have heard murmurings in the castle,” he begins, and I silence him with a raised palm.

I can almost hear Alena hiss with disappointment, but she hides it with a dainty cough into her handkerchief.

She’s been pretending to be ill for a few months now, but I’ve seen plagues take lives in days. She’s bundled in two wolf skins, despite the summer heat.

I see a single bead of sweat run down from her hairline.

It’s more than likely she’s going to be the one to murder me, or at least attempt to. Being my brother’s bride, she has more than enough motive to want me dead, especially considering I turned her down first.

It’d be amusing if it wasn’t so obvious.

I stand, rising to my full length, the point of the crown tipping me just over six foot five.

I look around the table, taking in each face. Artimus, sitting quietly by my side, looks up with eyes of blue under his wiry spectacles. He’d almost look naive if I didn’t know better.

Alena sits to my right, face reddening from the heat but eyes still as cold metal gray as usual.

Does she really think she needs to make herself look more feeble to catch me by surprise? Does she think my face of death will be twisted in shock when she pulls that dagger from her boot or shawl or corset?

She’s a fool, then, and Titran, hanging around outside, was a fool to have married her.

Seated next to her, scooted as far away from her “illness” as possible, is my sister, Samilah.

Samilah is a little harder to read. She took our father’s words to heart when he said women are to be seen and not heard, staying silent at his funeral while strangers wept over their lost king.

Her green eyes were clear, determined, but with a dark shadow of secrets hidden somewhere underneath.

Her husband, Victor, sits beside her with his arms folded impatiently.

His dark hair had made him an unsavory marriage candidate for Samilah (the court would rather the kings heirs be blonde and green eyed like the rest of us), but it was decided that it wouldn’t matter considering her children would never rule.

You could see the knowledge of this written on every line on Victors face.

The last two faces were very identical to each other, brown hair and eyes clashing with their silver armor.

Liscus and Loitus were born to be knights, at least that’s what they always said. They’d trained extensively to become part of my royal guard, and have earned enough trust to be in this room now, at least.

“I care not for murmurings,” I mutter, then clear my throat and speak louder, like father taught me.

“There have been threats made against me, yes, as with every other king in my lineage.” I see Victor flinch just a tick at the word “king”.

I know what they see when they look at me. A child. A boy.

An easy target.

I lower my gaze to the map laid out in front of me, each enemy territory marked with a red slash, like a line of blood.

As if anyone outside these walls could be more dangerous than those within.

I take my father’s thick dagger out of the stealth in my pants, burying it in the wooden table to the hilt.

The table jumps with surprise, fear. Even the brothers flinch and instinctively reach for their swords.

“I say let them try,” I growl.

Not one pair of eyes meets mine.

Artimus shrinks a little in his seat while Alena wraps her shawls tighter around her, Victor scowling at the knife in the table.

It almost hurts to see Samilah wither further into herself, no doubt terrified of what I was capable of. What I would do to keep this kingdom in order.

Maybe that’s how the rest of my life will be built- on threats and showmanship, proclamations and fear mongering- even here, among those I’m supposed to trust.

Or maybe I’ll be dead far before then.

Either way, what a bitter end.

What a bitter life.

My father taught me these things early- your life will be sacred, but morose. You must live even if you don’t want to, even when life tries to rip you from this mortal coil you must live despite, despite, despite.

He said spite lives longer than despair, and he rose from me a fire of rage and paranoia. Maybe, in another life, I could’ve shaken his toxins, corroded his evils.

But the life of a king is not valiant or prideful.

It is bitter and unwavering.

It is sin.

But it is a sin I must carry. For my heritage, my kingdom.

Even if it means being a monster.

I rip the dagger from the table in one quick movement, examining the blade with care.

“I apologize for the outburst, that was inappropriate,” I lie. I hold a hand to my face in feigned exhaustion.

I feel the tension in the room lessen, just a touch.

I let Artimus continue his tirade, something about the library having secret rooms behind the bookcases. I wave his suggestions off, though I know he is right.

He doesn’t need to know what we keep in there.

By the time he’s finished the sun is setting on the horizon, painting the sky a pastel orange.

I rub my eyes, as if fighting off sleep.

“It seems as though it may be time for dinner,” I yawn, standing and stretching.

The table nods in agreement, and begins to follow me to the great dining hall.

“But first,” I say suddenly, spinning on one heal to face the group.

“There’s something you all have to see.”

I lead them outside, through the rose bushes and willow trees, past the grand fountain and the royal carriage, pulled by four large horses.

I lead them to the gallows.

Alena screams in horror, running to the hanging man above us, no longer weak with sickness.

Titran’s face is purple and dazed, looking off toward some distant dream.

I let Alena wail for another minute before signaling the guards to approach.

Liscus and Loitus join the approaching army, letting their helmets disguise themselves as they herd the rest of our group up to the gallows- loyal always.

I take a long look at each person as the guards bind their hands, slip the rope under their chins.

The shock falls off of each of their faces quickly, replaced by desperation and rage.

“You’d kill your whole family?!” Samilah shouts in terror. Her legs shake on the hard wooden platform. “Over a few rumors?!”

I chuckle a little at that, seems like she can only express herself when her life is on the line. How tragic.

“Let’s not bullshit anymore, family,” I draw out the word, letting them know I haven’t seen them as such for a long time.

“I have eyes and ears all around this kingdom, do you think father raised me a fool?” I ask angrily, not expecting an answer.

“I know everything that happens in my kingdom. I know when someone falls ill- or pretends to,” I say pointedly. Alena doesn’t look at me, only staring at the swollen face of her almost-king.

“I know when my sister is hiding a pregnancy, when her husband convinces her that their children should rule,” I continue, smiling at Samilah, who spits in my direction.

“And,” I start again, “I know when my trusted advisor starts making up rumors of assassination to distract me,” I finish, eyes landing on Artimus, his frames cracked from the scuffle.

He looks at me with such contempt, the kind you have to hide for a long time, and it confirms my suspicions.

They all want me dead.

So I don’t cry for them, I don’t give them any last words, don’t give them another chance to lie to my face.

I simply turn around, and with a heavy sigh of relief, I let them fall.