Day 23410 2:00 PM
“Fear the man of one book.”
— Attributed to Thomas Aquinas
“Explain to me why she died?” I ask Doc Thunderwax’s grandson, and the man shakes like a twig.
He opens his mouth, but cannot speak. A gulp, a lick of the lips, and finally, he finds his words.
“My Liege, the queen had a weak heart, a problem with her stomach, the…” he hesitates and draws out the word. I can tell he is looking for a diplomatic answer, that means this is my fault. “Her meals today and yesterday, the alcohol, a hot bath, all of those were bad for her health.”
He lowers his gaze, but he has confirmed what I have guessed.
“You have five days. Talk to the chef and find a two-week-long meal plan of food she loves, which is healthy and will not impede her health.”
“My Liege.” Young Thunderwax shakes even harder, on the verge of tears. “The queen has passed away, no matter how we—”
“You will leave this room and do as I have ordered. The chef will not prepare food or oversee the kitchen staff until you have what I have asked for. I want a full diet plan for two weeks, down to how many glasses of water she should drink.” I glare at the young man, and he backs away. “Is that clear?”
“Yes, my Liege.” He runs out of the room and I check BSD.
[Redo cooldown - 12d 22h 09m 43s]
I have to live in a world without Her for thirteen days, and her death is my fault. I thought she would enjoy having fun, and me spoiling her, but all I have accomplished was ruin her body in a matter of hours.
“Where is Luck?” I ask, and Mathias steps out of the shadows.
“We are searching for him, Sire, but he is hiding.”
“Is he in the city?”
“I do not believe so, Sire. Your son would have returned after hearing the news.”
I nod. It makes sense.
What should I do with myself for twelve days?
I would drink until I passed out, maybe get high on enough drugs to kill an elephant. I need a distraction, but I am afraid. Afraid I would miss the ideal suicide time in twelve days and twenty-two hours.
I bury my face into my hands and sob. My world has shattered, and I have to live like a ghost for almost two weeks until I can return to life.
Manuella has done so much for me. She helped me put myself together, contributed to my person with a fresh, honest, and strong attitude, one which made a man out of the ruin I once was. My heart aches like someone had planted a sword there. A distant memory flashes through my mind, a memory of a failed life cut short, a life that did not happen in this timeline. It is exactly the same sensation.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
“Why did you leave me behind?”
“My Lord,” Mathias says, using the title I dislike. The mere mention of it is enough to drag me out of my self-pity.
“I am not a god, Matias. I am a miserable old man whose world just crumbled.”
“Of course, Sire,” he replies in empty words I am so used to from the cultists of the Lord of Battle.
“Could you please do me a favor and oversee the funeral arrangements. I do not think I can attend.” I shudder at the thought. In my mind, Manuella still lives, burying a copy of her while she is alive terrifies me.
“Yes, Sire.” He stalks out of the room, but he is already gone from my mind.
Other thoughts occupy me. How to extend Manuella’s life, how do we spend what little time we have, but my mind quickly slips into daydreams and fantasy. What kind of adventures could we have if we reincarnated together in a different world?
I owe her a lifetime of happiness, carefree years which she could enjoy. Somewhere along the way, we lost sight of what really mattered and pursued irrelevant duties, performing them because it was the right thing to do.
“Sire, your supper is ready,” Mathias snaps me out of my hallucinations. “I have made all the arrangements for tomorrow. I apologize if I am offending you, but are you certain you do not wish to bid the queen a final farewell?”
“No. I will see Manuella again soon. I just have to endure. Yes, endure.” I hear what I am saying, and I cannot believe my own words. I sound like a madman. And it was not Blunt that did the talking, I can tell.
“Yes, Sire.” Mathias did not even blink at my outburst. “What about supper?”
I want to chuck out the dinner, along with Mathias, but he is just doing his job. And he is damn good at it.
Suddenly, a crazy idea strikes me.
“Mathias, I am abdicating. From tomorrow onward, you are the regent. I will draft a document granting you control of the kingdom until two thirds of my children decide Luck is ready and able to take the throne.”
Mathias finally blinks. “What?”
“Really. Listen, you are competent, honest, hardworking, insightful, and above all else, I believe you have our kingdom’s best interests at heart.” I say the words, thinking I should bring up the idea with Manuella the next time we discuss the matter of Luck’s position. “You will be the perfect regent, and the way Luck is, I am afraid you will remain in office permanently.”
I scratch my regal beard. “I will add a clause that Luck’s children can inherit too, under the same condition as Luck. Who knows, maybe that forces him to reevaluate his life and reform. No matter how unlikely, it might happen.”
“Your supper, Sire?” Mathias tries to worm his way out of the affair, but I would never let him. The more I consider my idea, the better it sounds.
“I shall make the matter public tomorrow before all my ministers. You will make sure they are all present.” I can see him still waiting for my response regarding his question and another crazy idea strikes me, Manny must have kept them in check for ages, and now they are overflowing. “Be my guest and have my supper. I will not waste my time on eating when I can learn about cooking and medicine.”
Mathias opens his mouth to protest, but I simply raise my hand to shush him.
“Other than tomorrow morning, when I will hold the audience, I will spend all my waking hours in the kitchen, trying to improve the meal plan young Thunderwax and…” I pause, what was the chef’s name again? It is a very prestigious post, and they change every year or two. At some point, I stopped paying attention to them, since I hardly ever saw them.
“What was the chef’s name again?” I ask, probably looking like the dictionary definition of a senile old man.
“Derian, from the seventh kingdom.” Mathias calls the kingdom by its colloquial name, rather than Valoria. As my children conquered the continent, they named the kingdoms they carved for themselves after themselves, while Manny’s and my domain became the Griffonrider Kingdom or the Parent Kingdom.
“Derian.” I nod and stand. “I am off to speak with Derian and learn a bit about his craft.”
“Yes, Sire.” Mathias is unfazed as I leave the room, and he goes to prepare for what must seem like yet another eccentric outburst. I have a gut feeling the twelve days without Manuella will go down in history as the king’s grief-stricken madness, assuming time keeps rolling for this world after I die.
In truth, the only thing I want, the only thing I hope to achieve is to give my wife the perfect two weeks before she passes away. To fill them with as much joy, companionship, and everything else she desires as possible.
And I will redo these two weeks as many times as it takes until I achieve my goal.