(Written 2023.09.04. First draft took ~34 minutes to write.)
A crown on his head, forged of pure gold. Gems glittering, inlaid in the sharp, dangerous crown-spikes. He was used to its weight by now, although he was afraid it would leave a circular indent around his skull. He chuckled aloud at that thought.
He lifted the crown from his head, holding it in strong, agile fingers. He traced the edge of the crown-blades. So sharp. I wonder if I could kill someone with it.
He slid his finger along the crown's edge, testing its sharpness. And then he moved his finger to the blade-sharp tip.
Ignoring the looks of discomfort from the others, he pressed down, harder and harder. So hard that he couldn't stop his wince as the blade dug into the tip of his finger. Scarlet trickled down the crown in rivulets — tracing the intricate, geometric design. He removed his finger, glancing at the deep incision right at the fingertip.
He sighed. I thought that would be more enjoyable. But all I felt was pain.
Over three-dozen people stood in a semi-circle around his cushioned throne, their eyes locked to their feet. These were the most important people in all of Divatar, yet they were too afraid to even look him in the eye. Some shifted at the sight of blood.
He donned the now-bloody crown and, with his other hand, snapped his fingers. Immediately, a servant ran up to him. Her young, ocean-azure eyes wouldn’t meet his. She bit down on her bottom lip to stop it from quivering. And sweat — presumably from the burning-hot room — beaded on her forehead.
His gaze traced the outline of her lithe body. So tempting … But no, I’ll resist. I’m a merciful man, after all.
Without a word, he held out his finger — blood splattering on the floor. She put a metal device over it, and with a shining blue light, the pain evaporated.
His voice was half-hearted and bored. "Clean the blood."
He ignored her as she cleaned the blood from the floor. Sighing, he glanced around the deathly hot room — so hot that mirage-like heat waves swirled in the air. That was how he liked it. So why would he care if others didn’t? I’m king, not them.
Dark mahogany curtains lined the circular room, with black, angular emblems embellished into them. The floor was a dark, rich gray, polished thousands of times until it reflected like a mirror. As if the surrounding people were test subjects in his laboratory — harsh, white light beamed from a silver chandelier in the center of the ceiling — the only light source.
One person caught his attention, and he fixed his royal gaze on him. The man stood out like a king in a tavern. Muscles bulged beneath his lavish robes, and he towered over the others.
"Tall one," the King said. "Come closer."
He knew the tall man's name — it was Admiral Mewoli. But these fools didn’t deserve his respect.
The Admiral shuffled closer, his body tense — not looking up from his feet. The King held out his hand to his side, and without a word, a servant handed him an apple. It's a shame they got that command correct; I wanted to kill that servant.
He took a bite from the apple and glared at the Admiral. He chewed and, with his mouth still full, said, "I'm bored. Fix that."
The Admiral glanced up and met his gaze for a moment, causing the King's eyes to narrow. Then, with a deep, baritone voice, he said, "I'm … not sure what you mean by that, Your Majesty."
The King took another bite of the apple, deciding to stay silent. He would show mercy for now.
The silence stretched long and far. Still, the King stayed silent. Sweat was rolling down the Admiral's face even faster now. "I will find you a jester, Your Majesty —"
"No." The King took another bite, savoring both the flavor of the apple and the discomfort on the man's face. "You, my friend, will be the entertainment." He chuckled, causing himself to spit apple bits onto the floor. A servant quickly cleaned it up.
The Admiral's hands clenched, and he hid them behind his back. But the King's eyes were sharp. He saw the tiny act of insubordination. "I — I don't understand —"
"Yes, you do."
"I — I can … I can —"
The rage was too much. "IDIOT!" he roared, constricting his hand and causing the apple to explode into wet shards. He fought to control his erratic breathing and the sudden bloodlust consuming his mind.
The Admiral stumbled back, his face blanching.
His voice shook with anger. "My order was simple." He paused and strangled his anger down until his breathing normalized and his mind was calm. "But it seems you're not creative enough. So, I'll give you an idea."
His face split into a smile of its own accord. "I don't like how tall and strong you are. You see, it makes me feel weak. And we can’t have that now, can we?" His smile grew. "What's the solution?"
The Admiral stammered incoherent words before he said, “I can provide you with the best training equipment there is, Your Majesty. I can personally train you, if that is what you wish —”
The King’s face twisted, and he could feel the burning fire growing in him again — ready to explode. The Admiral noticed too and blurted, "I can … I can stop exercising, Your Majesty …”
"Good!" He grinned widely, and the rage disappeared. “I like the way you think! Keep it up!"
The Admiral shifted, and he took a shaky breath. The King noticed the rage building behind the Admiral’s eyes.
Like whimpering dogs, the people behind him tried to take up as little space as possible — in the hope he wouldn’t choose them next.
"I'll do that for the — the next year —"
"Nope! You'll do it forever."
"Yes — Yes, Your Majesty — I will. I'll also — I'll eat more." The masculine voice was trembling slightly.
"How much more? Don't wimp out on me!" The King's body was trembling with excitement. This … This! This was what he did it for! The pleasure it brought to him was enough to bring him to his knees in satisfaction.
"I — Ten-thousand calories."
The King burst out into laughter. The Admiral took another step back. "Yes! That's what I like to hear. Guess what? Double it. You’ll look like a pig in no time."
Veins were bulging in the Admiral's face, and his head seemed ready to explode from how red it was. Hmm … His head exploding … That would be a sight to see, now wouldn't it? I'll have to keep that in mind.
"Yes, your Majesty." He started backing away toward the line of other people.
"I didn't say we were done!"
The Admiral's wide eyes shot to the King's. And he scampered back to the center of the room.
The King held out another hand behind him, and a servant placed an apple in it.
He took a bite and stared at the Admiral. He looks so weak right now. But I've seen videos of him in the arena. He could probably kill everyone in this room. Except for me, of course. The King smiled as an idea popped into his head.
"Devon!" the King called out, not moving his eyes from the Admiral. "Ready the surgery room. I want tall-guy here to be four-feet tall."
“What? No! Please, Your Majesty —!”
The King giggled, and then it grew and grew until he couldn't possibly stop himself. All he heard was his own laughter — even as the Admiral shouted for mercy. Tears of laughter ran down his cheeks as he watched the masked guards push the shell-shocked, horrified Admiral out of the room.
He threw his head back and kept laughing — he couldn’t have stopped if he wanted.
When his beautiful laughter finally died down, he looked back at the sweaty, white-faced people standing around him, and said, "Who's next? Any volunteers?"
