11. TWO WRONGS DON'T MAKE A DIVINE RIGHT.
The irate roar from the Count Offset’r family mansion was hard to miss.
Charles desperately ducked a flying teacup, then the saucer, and the remaining tea-set, then the serving tray, which to his horror embedded itself in the wall behind his head. While the count bellowed. “What do you mean the witch failed? Get her here to answer for her incompetence.”
“umm, that might be difficult”, replied Charles. “Nobody knows where she is; on the positive side, after a magical feedback that powerful, she won’t be answering any questions, your excellency.”
Count Offsett’r stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I suppose there is that, and we have other ways to deal with our little..... problem, in time.”
With the sinister chuckle that came from his mouth, the count really needed a moustache to swirl or a goatee. Sadly for him, whatever gods handed out the facial fuzz had left him somewhat deficient in this particular trait. He didn’t wallow in excess either (after all, overt displays of wealth are a dead giveaway that has been the undoing of many an amateur embezzler, and whatever else he may be, he was certainly no amateur.) In fact, were it not for his temper, he would appear, at least on the outside, to be a perfect gentleman.
Scrupulously maintained brown hair and a well-tailored suit, however, could not hide the nasty look on his face at the moment. He was absolutely livid. It had taken months of searching to find an untitled witch with enough power and lacking enough common sense to be useful. Even longer to convince her that the princess was the sole cause of all their woes. Countless bribes to get that commoner into the palace. Yet somehow, she had STILL managed to balls it all up.
“Well, Charles, it’s time to clean up. Please ensure the mess is properly taken care of, and make sure all the pieces are properly disposed of; after all, we wouldn’t want anybody getting hurt now, would we?” He chuckled.
With a low bow, Charles saw himself out, gesturing to a maid to clear up the broken tea-set as he exited.
From the flowerbed under the window, there was a rustling. James, the gardener’s apprentice, figured it was time to get back to his real job. He quickly pulled together his possessions, ready to make a run for it. He could have sworn he heard a noise as he paused for a moment. Then for a lot longer as he felt cold steel at his throat before it all went black.
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“How does this Princess thing work anyway? From what I can see, you just have a really, really big territory.” Mibbet asked Rosalind as the guards worked together to retrieve and calm the horses. Haul the carriage back upright, and lead it back to the clearing. Then give the poor driver who had just had the shock of his life a nice cup of tea to settle his nerves.
“Quite simple really, I’m a princess, that means that everybody has to do what I tell them to do.”
Of course, this clarified absolutely everything for Mibbet, save for one teeny, tiny, little question.“Why?”
“What do you mean, WHY? I’m a princess, my father is the king, that puts him in charge”. At this point, Rosalind had somehow practically managed to make the spoiled rich girl temper tantrum foot stomp audible. “You don’t argue with the royal family.”
”Ohhhhhhhhhh so that’s it.......... Why?”
Rosalind suppressed a scream. “This isn’t complicated; how aren’t you getting it? Kings rule by the divine right of inheritance or by the divine right of conquest. Without us, there would be an outright war for the crown and a tyrant on the throne.”
“Tyrant?” Mibbet questioned.
“A tyrant is a man or woman who rules not by divine right, but by stealing the throne. They kill off their rivals until nobody dares to question it. They rule by conquest but not a divine right
“OHHHHHH, So they rule by conquest, but that doesn’t help; what’s the difference between Conquest and the divine right of Conquest?”
“Who survives to write it down, mostly,” Rosalind replied with a snicker.
Mibbet shook her head; humans were really, really confusing creatures.
“Why can’t you all just croak at each other really, really loudly and let the loudest croak be the boss? It works for us.”
“Because letting the biggest mouth think they’re in charge just because they yell the loudest, even when there is literally nothing memorable about them, but a big mouth just gets you nationalism in humans. And before you ask no, you really do not want to know what that is.”
Mibbet really did want to know until Rosalind flashed a few mental images in her mind, then all of a sudden, she wanted nothing more than to unknow what she now knew. “How the hell are there any humans still left?” she asked breathlessly, “it seems you kill each other all the time.”
“We don’t fight all the time, just sometimes,” Rosalind replied, as a guard informed them that the carriage was ready, and they were heading out.
This time there was no escaping her unfortunate fate for Mibbet as she unceremoniously bundled into the carriage, apparently “for your own safety.” To add insult to injury, little Alba had decided her lap was the cosiest spot in the carriage and plonked herself down despite Mibbet's objections. Well, Mibbet sighed to herself; this was going to be a long trip.