By The King's Authority

The hour struck midnight. The only souls awake in the castle were the night guards patrolling the grounds inside and out and the ruler of said Castle Watercrest, King Morain. It was never unusual for him to be up this late. It did annoy his beloved Queen, feeling her husband getting out of bed for his nightly ritual. For the King, the witching hour was the best time to clear his mind and develop solutions to tasks right then, rather than wait for the morning as it limited the number of voices that distracted him. This was his way of things, and it helped him maintain a strong hold over his subjects for over twenty years. Usually, these occupied thoughts dealt with how to better manage his kingdom; tonight, something else stood front in the centre of his mind.

His attire was simple: a light green royal nightgown that lowered to his ankles, buttoned from neck to chest, large enough to conceal the true proportions of his bulkier frame, sandals, and, of course, his wedding band, which fit around the finger of His Majesty as snugly as it could have. This allowed him to remain quiet as he strolled through the castle, both for his safety and to allow the other residents to sleep.

Rounding a corner, he was approached by a figure in the dark coming toward him. At first, the dark of the night made it difficult for King Morain to know who it was, prompting him to be ready for an encounter. As the man drew closer, the King relaxed as he recognized the man before him, offering a smile and a bowed head to his midnight companion.

"It's a little late for ye to be walking the halls this day, isn't it, old friend? I almost struck ye, skulking the palace without a torch."

Now identified as his advisor Jerric, the man placed a hand over his heart and bowed deeply at the King's presence. "As I should say the same to you, Your Majesty. The only fools awake this hour are the drunks and the rats."

"And my men...?"

"They are obliged by duty to ensure your safety and yours, of course! However, this is a better opportunity to stress that these nightly walks you insist on having should not be done alone or in the dark. One of your station should never be found lacking protection, even in his own castle."

King Morain waved and offed the notion. "Eh, ye say that, but I know my men. They are almost as good as bloodhounds and just as cunning as panthers. If there's a stone upturned, they won't rest until they find the shoe that kicked it from its place. What about ye, Jerric? Why out so late yerself?"

Jerric straightened himself up, pulling down his embroidered doublet to look more presentable despite the diminished light. 

"I know Your Majesty has spent time processing the news as well, but I still cannot help but be alarmed by the possibility of an attack in our kingdom. How such a threatening missive was delivered to us without a messenger being seen, slipped through the bloodhounds you praised... I cannot fathom the types of tactics this gentleman could accomplish should he and his cohorts put their plan into action. That is why we double our security and have you accompanied by at least two guards. What if he were here now, Your Majesty? They make for an attempt at your life, and yet you continue on as if it were a Tuesday. I, for one, couldn't sleep thinking of such a possibility, so I skulk the shadows now. Not to find this individual, of course, but because of my poor mind's inability to settle in fear for you."

King Morain shook his head and gestured to Jerric to follow as he ventured through the dark castle, to which the advisor accepted silently and stood behind him as they moved. "Ye can't fear the unknown all the time, Jerric," he said, "if I did, the Queen would have the only seat on the throne while I laid in bed, petrified to leave. A proper king must plan for everything, but he cannot foresee everything and everyone."

"You mean to say you do not fear your fate, my King?"

He said nothing but continued to lead his advisor down the halls and stairs until they reached the throne room of Castle Watercrest. The room itself was darker than the rest of the castle, and the torches produced only so much light in the large enough to discern the placements of the thrones and their platform, the pillars where the torches were hung, and the shape of the carpet leading to the thrones.

Jerric stopped and watched intently as his King continued further into the room. All he heard were the royal footsteps before him and the tiny crackles of the flames around them. There were no guards in the immediate vicinity. They were alone. He took a deep breath and, as silently as he could, while he unlaced the top of his doublet, grabbed a Kris knife from a sheath hidden closely on his person. Jerric then started to follow, which caused the Morain to stop his footsteps.

"Ye see, Jerric," he began to say, lowering his head. "Ye cannot fear something ye make plans for. Someday, I'll die, aye, and the kingdom will either go to my lovely bride or to the offspring blessed to me by the gods. However, I will not die of illness. I will not die to any godless creature who dares to set food on my grounds. I will not die to those fools who think me a tyrant. I will not die today." Morain lifted his right hand over his head, Jerric watching it carefully. "And I won't die to you."

Morain snapped his fingers, and in the dark corners of the room, two arrows shot forth toward the would-be assassin, piercing his shoulders long before he had the chance to register the actions of the King in front of him. As body and mind caught up to one another, the searing pain from the arrows sent shockwaves through him, causing his hand to release Kris and the man to wail in pain. Morain made it to the throne and sat on it, watching with disdain he who tried to end his regal life screaming in agony.

"There are ten archers in this room, all trained on ye. They're keeping an eye on ye before ye try anything else. Now, be a good advisor, and kneel before yer ruler."

"No!"

Morain sighed and snapped his finger again. Another arrow shot out from the dark from behind, this time aimed behind the left kneecap. When the arrow found its mark, Jerric had even less time to acknowledge what happened as his left leg buckled on him, instantly forcing him to the ground. His screams were more pronounced, the blood streaming out of his wounds steadily flowing more with each second, yet despite that, Jerric felt the adrenaline revive him a little, just enough to get him onto his right leg. He was kneeling, but not because he wanted to.

"Good boy..." Morain said, crossing a leg over another, looking down at the man who wanted to kill him. "Ye came to my house. We broke bread and sang songs off of mead and merriment. Ye danced with my wife at the fall festival, for god's sake. Then, out of the blue, one day, ye give me that letter. Ye made with the theatrics that I should be careful of an assassin in my midst, and I should do this and then that. But then ye just asked the question I was curious about myself... how did the letter come without anyone noticing, and how did ye get it first?"

Jerric growled through the pain and hatred of the man above him. "I did what I had to do to get closer to you. You oppress your own people and work them to death! You spill blood on farmlands and expect healthy vegetables to spring forth from it! You are the true murderer and villain, not me!"

Morain pinched his nose and sighed. "Yer lot are all alike... Kill a few dissidents in yer own realm, and suddenly yer a monster. Tax the people a little more, and yer branded a greedy bugger. Sentence a man for stealing in yer kingdom, and yer a god's damned tyrant. Yet no one sings yer glory when ye make trade that prospers the people, or keeps ye safe from the bandits and criminals outside our walls. And who's funding the military might that has prevented Watercrest from falling? Who pays the blacksmiths to keep their weapons prime and the armour they wear perfect? If ye wish to label me a demon, then yer looking at bloody Lucifer himself."

"And what about the regions you've conquered for your kingdom? What about the hometowns you've razed and demolished because they refused to pay your fines? What about my family you left to hang?!"

Morain lifted his head in slight recognition, and a small smile formed on his lips. "Oh, I wouldn't worry about them too much. In fact, ye should be happy. For this day, ye get to be reunited with them."

"You arrogant monster! I hope you burn in Hell, you piece o-"

With another snap of the finger, another arrow shot forth, this time finding its place dead centre between his eyes. Jerric's body could only fall backwards after the force of the shot. He was long gone before his head had rolled back forty degrees. Watching the body crumple, Morain stood up from the throne, descended the steps, exited the throne room, and stepped over the body as he did. The men would dispose of the body in the best way possible. There would be no other threats to his person for a while now. In fact, there wasn't much to think about for the rest of the night. He was now ready for bed.