Chapter Text
Everything felt so obscenely wrong, be it the wetness upon his gloved hands, or the dismal light in a chamber once elegantly covered with gold befitting his station, or even the agitation that riled through his mind beyond the helmet devoid of its rightful fineries.
Now, he was reduced to cleaning off the very fruits of his labor, the magically stained brickworks being scrubbed down to their base unrefined palate. The returned usurper obviously was undeserving of this level of extravagance. However, to force him to rob his rightful castle of such was inconceivable and undeserving of his station.
The sound of metal and water resounded once more to his right, as he thrust his hand and the undignified tools of his labor into the crude metal container of common washing soaps that were to rid the walls of his extravagance. He continued to scrub at the walls, a difficult task beneath his station it may be, he would not be upstaged by mere common servants.
With how little natural light the chamber held at that hour the decadent knight figured his day’s work was nearly done. Almost as if on que the resounding metallic footsteps of one of the castle’s armored knights grew closer to him.
They bore a lesser silver coloration upon their armor and their helm bore no face plate to obscure the old features of this knight captain. King obviously didn’t commit any energy to remembering their name, but he knew of their station and the captain had done this task often enough.
With a calloused hand along the pommel of his blade the captain paused about ten paces away before deigning to speak.
“Well Golden Brat, your shift is up for the day. A meal will be sent to your room within the hour, come along now.”
“That is King Knight to you!”
All King Knight got in response was a simple grunt as the captain continued to stand at his vigil. A stern glare in the captain’s eyes stating his distaste for any further discussion on the matter.
King Knight didn’t Acquiesce to the man’s orders per se, to do so for a mere captain would beneath him. However, he stood and began walking back to his quarters because he himself had wished to suffer the indignity of this hallway no longer.
The pair began to find their way through the various halls of Pridemoor Keep with a simple ten paces between them as they went. The captain was particular in that fashion. They passed from the lower reaches of the structure up several sets of now familiar stairs until at last reaching their destination. At the top of the staircase lay a green set of double doors leading to his current abode.
The captain halted at the top of the stairs behind him as King Knight let himself in of his own accord. The captain would likely stand vigil for a while more before sauntering off on his other ‘more important’ duties.
As if there was anything of the sort!
The inside of his tower top home or prison depending on the day was altogether adequate for his tastes. On one side lay his bed, large and ornate enough to sleep in but nowhere near as bouncy as the one he had before. It held all the typical fineries of a castle residence with a vanity, bookshelf, dresser, cabinet, table with a pair chairs, and a window that lay partially askew showing how high up he truly was.
It's far too small a space…
He strode over to his desk and threw his gloves off to the side unceremoniously. The gloves themselves were stained through an artificial gold hue and their necessity irked King to no end. However, he would rather perish than risk his gauntlets having a chance at rust.
As King settled down on the seat of his desk he held his gaze on the equipment in question. His gauntlets were where they had been left on the desktop at the day’s inception, their golden covering still polished and a beauty to behold. He slipped them on and settled down somewhat with a familiar weight upon his hands once again.
He sat there for a moment still as a statue with his gaze held on the mirror in front of him. He was wearing his original suit of armor that carried him out of the door of his mother’s home over a year ago. It was after all his finest possession made with the help of his… enough of that.
A sigh escaped the gilded suit as he began the process of slipping individual pieces of his armor onto the desk to be polished. It was a daily task of his own design killing time before supper and pushing away the deserved agitation of a day’s injustice. It took him around half an hour to finish, as experienced as he was with the task.
Thankfully the wait of staring in silence at his sheen and reflection was short-lived as a proper servant of the palace knocked on his doors. He got up from his reverie and opened the door to an empty hallway and a silver plate with a similar cloche over the top of it. He took the thing to his table and sat down showing a simple meal of Pork, A few slices of toast, some dried fruit, and a portion of cheese.
It was fine and well presented but it was nothing compared to his favorite meals. He would eat it anyway as no self-respecting lord would let himself go hungry and show weakness. However, in doing so he was inevitably driven towards thoughts of her.
I haven’t seen her in a while, why haven’t I seen her?!
Pridemore hasn’t mentioned mother in a while, but I haven’t approached him in well over a week.
Why was it whenever she visited it always seemed to involve him?
The train of thought continued onwards in an endless series of questions on a matter he couldn’t quite puzzle after all this time. He was never the introspective sort prior to his current entanglement but the constraint in locale certainly led his mind to wander behind his golden helmet. The one factor that always eluded him was that of his mother, the disconnection from what little interaction they had managed, the contemplation of this inevitably caused his agitation to return.
With a sudden scraping noise, he quickly sat up and grabbed the silver plate before walking up to a certain wooden board and sliding it up. He then then slid the rest of the remaining cheese and scraps to the excited chittering and clambering of his ‘Starter subjects’ well only subjects as of now. The action distracted him for a moment though and that was enough for him. He idly guessed that the reason there was such a prolific rodent presence even now was his doing.
He slid the board back and placed his plate upon the table before returning to his vanity desk. His mind was turning back towards its previous subject of interest, and he was drawn to something within the desk’s drawers. With the clink of a gauntlet grasping metal, he slid open the lowest drawer on his left side and pulled out a wooden container.
It was painted blue with a golden crown stamped onto its lid. The crown was his doing the day after he had acquired the thing in a duel with the conniving specter. As he blew dust of the thing and delicately opened it he was faced with a scant few cards he still held.
After his abolition of the game to assure his position as king of cards (It was an ingenious first decree) he had thrown out most of his save for about half a dozen. Among these were a few of the different images of his starter subjects he was mildly biased for, his own wonderfully made card, and… his mother’s.
They had captured a closeup smile of her, one King hadn’t seen in quite some time, soft and warm always pushing towards something. What had happened? He tried to wrack his mind but a year of rule and another of squalor alongside the many shovel induced injuries at his cranium left that time a bit hazy.
A thought however occurred to him as he flipped her card through his fingers. His eyes shifted towards the last of the cards he kept in that box, the enchantress, it was rare enough to be a valuable keepsake he had once thought. An idea clicked into place and his eyes widened.
Perhaps… mother had seen through it all? Seen that he was never truly made a king, but a vassal!
Yes… she had turned away from him because he had deigned to lower his head for another. She must have known what would become of servitude to that witch!
Lord Pridemoor for all I loathe him he bows to no one! That must be it!
Mother was always sharp like that, if only I could have beaten that knave, then, I could have proclaimed myself as a king and made that sorceress to serve me! How could I have been so foolish?!
As his agitation and wondering turned to realization and internal cursing a low rumbling sound echoed from outside his window. After a moment with a large thump outside his window was his reverie rudely interrupted.
He had half a mind to throw something outside to hit whatever bird had been foolish enough to collide with HIS tower until a familiar voice echoed from a pointed beak over the windowsill.
“Hee Hee, mind lending me a hand Kingy?”