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His Majesty surveyed his kingdom with smug satisfaction in his heart. All was as it should be at the Last Light. All that dreadful nonsense with those towers and that man that refused to stay dead was over and done with, the lying cleric had finally given him his milk, and best of all… Someone had forgotten to lock the door to the pantry, and the mice in there were fat, lazy and delicious .
It was not a bad day to be a ruler, even if one’s domain was on the less extravagant side. He’d argue it is exactly the right size, of course. One mustn’t be too greedy.
His Majesty decided he would take his nap in the taproom today where the largest proportion of his subjects might bask in his presence at once. He was doing them a favor, really.
“Ahem.” Several turned to face him, one making an ungodly cooing sound he wished to immediately banish from his memory. “You are allowed to behold my glory. For now,” he amended, eyes narrowed.
His Majesty arranged himself just so on a convenient perch and observed. A good ruler must keep track of his subjects. And His Majesty prided himself on being a very good ruler. Why, he was positively benevolent!
All seemed to be in order. For now. One must remain vigilant. After all, it hadn’t been long since all that nonsense had spilled into his domain. Most unacceptable. The whole kerfuffle had quite ruined his afternoon sunbathing. That there had been no sunbeams in his domain due to the effects of that dreadful curse was entirely irrelevant. Why, the mess had taken days to clean up! Not that he had done any of it himself, of course. That’s what underlings were for.
Speaking of…
“Excuse me.” See, he was even being polite. Truly a ruler of the unwashed masses. Dreadful business. Couldn’t one be king of a civilized kingdom? One composed of other, obviously lesser, felines, perhaps. Instead, he was stuck with these dreadful Harpers, Fists and hangers-on. Horrid. “Bring me my lunch. Tuna would be preferred, but herring is acceptable as well.”
No response. Perhaps his subjects were deaf as well as dim?
“ Excuse me! Lunch, posthaste, if you would not mind.”
The coo-er (who was hanging on by a thread. He might have to consider exile or worse if this continued) looked over. But instead of rushing to obey his eminently reasonable demands, they instead bowed down, hand outstretched. “Who’s a good kitty?”
His hackles raised as he bared his teeth in an almighty HISS! The audacity! The impudence! The sheer, unadulterated disrespect! He was not a good kitty , he was a king! The finest of specimens even among the proud felines, a prince among paupers, majesty incarnate! And this imbecile dared to address him like a common housecat?!
Very gratifyingly, his soon-to-be-exiled subject winced and backed away, hands raised in surrender. “Whoa, whoa, I didn’t mean you any harm, little guy.”
Little guy?! Hanging was looking more and more attractive by the minute. Or perhaps drawing and quartering. It seemed an appropriate punishment for insulting one’s monarch so grievously!
“Tuna!” His Majesty demanded. “At once! And I may yet spare your life!”
The traitor fled the scene, hopefully to bring him his much-delayed lunch. If they performed acceptably in this easy, even downright foolproof task, they may yet be allowed to live. Perhaps. If he felt merciful.
His Majesty licked at his paw, inspecting it carefully for any imperfections. A monarch must always be flawless in their appearance, after all.
It was good to be king. Some may consider the throne a lonely place, raised above all, equal to none. But His Majesty had never seen it as such. It was only his due. He had no need of such petty matters as friends . They would only distract from basking in his own exalted magnificence.
All was as it should be, and all respected his authority. If they did not, well… they would see the business end of his claws. Why, he had even sharpened them this morning.