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Adam had heard of tales from one of the neighboring kingdoms. As a king himself, news of assassination of a fellow ruler would travel quickly to his ears.
With the king fatally poisoned, the throne was devoid of a occupant—and many were quick to express their eagerness to fill it. The crown prince, the late king’s eldest, was naturally the first in line, but the sudden vacuum of power created a sense of urgency never seen in the coronation’s history. Royals and nobles alike scrambled to either prove their worthiness of the throne, or to take it by force regardless. No one yet knew who was responsible for their ruler’s untimely death, and fingers were pointed in every which way. A duke said this, a princess said that. The castle halls thrummed with the whispers of conspiracy and deceit.
Naturally, the decision of whose head the crown would fall upon was not for the masses to make. As the lords and ladies of the land were caught up in their squabbles, the commonfolk were left to bear the brunt of the blows traded. Serfs were neglected their pay, funds were allocated to defamation campaigns, and the constant pressure made most magnates quick to anger at the slightest show of imperfection. Families went hungry, many falling ill. Any unfavored word expressed on who should be the rightful ruler would be swiftly silenced by sword.
The kingdom was sent into political and economic turmoil. But somehow, someway, a new king had emerged amidst it all. Adam had heard quite a bit about him, too—and if rumors were to be believed, this king was not a royal at all.
His closest connection with the crown was that he hailed from a clan of writers, painters, and playwrights, and that the royal family were patrons of the arts. The late king and his family relished and reveled in the art that they would share with them, and the artists were happy to provide and be provided for in turn. But neither he nor his kin had a drop of blue blood, nor were they rich enough to be among nobility.
As the powers that be descended into madness, one member of the family—a young man—could no longer bear watching the kingdom eat itself alive. He could no longer sit idly by as his fellow countrymen were starved and maimed and disappeared, like sheep to bickering butchers. Adam did not know how—neither did anyone who told him such news—but that young man ended up taking the crown. Much to the dismay and disgust of the kingdom’s elites, he—a poet, the child of a painter and a musician, practically a commoner in their eyes—became their new king. King Andrew, he was called, though many in his court still spit the name from their mouths.
Adam did not know much about this King Andrew. However, he had received a message from him, a call for help. Although King Andrew had royal advisers, he barely had any experience on how to run a kingdom. So, with Adam being the nearest neighboring ruler, he decided to turn to him for help.
Adam knew what it was like to be clueless, overwhelmed, breathless under the weight of such a foreign and demanding role. While he was being trained for kingship a few years prior, he was fortunate enough to have parents and role models who taught him much of what he knows and embodies now.
And so, who was he to refuse others the same help?