Although Damon knew that the medieval world was disgusting, he wasn’t ready to see a drunk king piss in the corner of a church. That’s if this building could be called that. It didn’t have the distinct cross shaped architecture but more of a stick with a circle as the apse shape.

No, that wasn’t the subject matter at hand. That was the king who lied unconscious on the ground. Right now, all the nobles had gathered around him. Even the two princes didn’t seem too surprised nor disgusted at the sight. The two servants who acted as cup holders were also on the ground as they had been dragged down with him.

One of the servants stumbled onto his feet, looked around for a few seconds. After receiving the stares of a hundred people who could kill him without impunity. He pulled up the other servant, took one arm of the king, and with the help of his compatriot dragged the monarch back onto the chair. They fiddled with his head, picked up the dented silver crown and placed it on his head.

The gathering stood silently and slowly resumed their conversations. None respected the king, they had all accepted his incompetence and the future war. This night was the last one where they could drunkenly hug their future enemies. Lines had been drawn and swords sharpened. All they waited for was for someone to finish off the king, although that could wait until after tomorrow, after all his hangover would be worse than death.

As the murmurs grew louder, another cling rang. The crown had fallen once again onto the church floor. The crowd turned back to the servants who had already fitted the silverware onto the king’s head, they sported a weary smile. Under this renewed pressure, they placed the crown down on the floor. However, just as people had gotten enough of this play, the king slumped down and fell onto the floor once again. The crown’s spikes impaled his neck. Blood spewed everywhere and painted bright red streaks on the marble floor.

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“No, my king!” screamed the servants who fell to their knees and pulled the crown out of the king’s neck.

Blood exploded out of the king’s jugular, the two servants were now entirely red. They started to scream, and tears started to form.

The crowd dressed in layers of fur and cloth grew cold. Although this event served their political aims, they were horrified at the kings gruesome and dishonorable death.

“Oh fuck.” Whispered Damon mentally.

“What happened?” asked Stolas who had stayed back to organize the sect.

“The king … the king is dead.”

“WHAT? Who killed him, we aren’t prepared yet. Didn’t I make my orders clear enough? Find the bastards now, an un-loyal servant is worse than a competent enemy. Kill them, kill them now!” He yelled.

The screams of the owl filled Damon’s mind and snapped him out of his trans. “No, this seems to be a complete accident. The king got black out drunk and fell onto his crown. His neck, well his neck is all chopped up.”

Stolas didn’t respond. In the audience, the princes didn’t know what to say nor do, the nobles stepped back. No one dared steal the incentive and accuse anyone. The fiery start all parties expected turned out to be a flaccid one. A cold, crumpled up, shriveled up start to a civil war.