Shocked but unbowed, the King offered nothing but praise for his army. Commending their bravery and diligence that kept the Tower safe.
After that day, the King did not visit the Queen nor checked on his daughter’s progress. Which had actually been inspiring to the Queen. Her daughter had shown no sense for the unseen nor did her creations beam with the same powers that the Queen’s did. Instead, the daughter had a gift of foresight, often forestalling problems long before they became an issue.
Her sharp mind could also bend like the most gnarled root, often making those with petty or selfish intentions learn the futility of such an action. Despite her maturity, the Princess still retained a playful side, making games that she could play with her captive parent.
It was during one such bout between parent and child that news arrived. The Queen and Daughter would be required for a meeting. The King would be inviting his former servants into the Tower to discuss making a treaty that would last years.
Exhilarated by the prospect of being involved in a political event, the Daughter spent much of the following night charting potential courses for her lands. Cutting deals and shaping the land in her mind into a thriving land beyond even the King’s designs. That night, the ringing from the Queen’s forge was ceaseless.
Days piled up, eclipsed only by the anxiety of the Tower’s residents. Details were attended to in quintuplet. Any faults found could reflect poorly on a King for whom his pride had become everything. Punishments were readily handed out in the days leading up to the meeting.
Guarded and guided down into the meeting hall, the Queen dressed in the same items that she’d worn on the day she was given the title. Adjustments and new jewels glittered on the headdress. A smaller one decorated the head of the Daughter.
Their entrance made the King stand up and made a show of complimenting both of them enough to make him seem cordial. The guards guided the pair to their position, flanking the King on one side. On the other was the priest, several followers all adorned in shadows.
The daylight filled the chamber as the guests arrived one by one. Each flanked by their own most trusted guards. The King had even permitted a limited force of their private armies into the Tower.
The first day was spent on introductions, titles and making positions clear.
On the second day, brisk deliberations began with veiled threats of might behind them.
Third and fourth days were bogged down by minutia and absentees.
During days five through ten heated arguments over boundary lines raged.
It was on the fourteenth day of deliberations that the King entered the chamber, flanked by the Queen and their daughter. But, more so, by the Priest and their more numerous servants. All cloaked in black, they dominated the back part of the audience chamber.
Determined to not be cowed by the display, the former servants and would-be kings tried to begin deliberations. The King silenced them with a wave of his hand and made an announcement; He would be retaking all his rightful lands. Explaining that none of the traitors to the King would be leaving the chamber and thanked them for their sacrifice.
Immediately, weapons were drawn but even the mightiest warrior was overwhelmed by the Priest’s followers. The Queen demanded an explanation. Eager to boast, the King told her that he’d poisoned all of them and would sacrifice them in a rite to bestow him with their power. Their daughter recoiled in horror as the King admitted that the only way to be sure they were poisoned was to poison the tanks that all drank from.
Outside, the screams of slaughter and violence raged. The King giggled and laughed as he hurried out to the square. Below, soldiers and civilians slaughtered each other. Passing through the violence untouched were the Priest’s followers. Placing symbols on every corpse they passed.
The King began to emit an aura of hatred. The Queen and Daughter found themselves hating him. The King smiled and The Queen’s eyes widened. The unseen ones whispered in her ear what had begun; He’d given up his personhood, morality and individuality for the Power to rule. He was a monster that grew off hatred. Hatred of him. His Hatred of others. Hatred of their sparse world. Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate.
The Aura of anger grew becoming tangible so none could approach the King. Worst still, his orders were still followed by those who weren’t weakened by the poison. And the Tower was consumed in hatred and chaos. Blood followed.