This is the part where I tell you exactly how the king died. For starters, our butler called us together just as the suns started setting. I remember that part distinctly, because when the suns start setting, the east one sends its mighty rays directly into the eyeballs of whomever is standing across from the last window on the right in the servants’ dining room. Guess who was standing directly across from the last window on the right in the servants’ dining room. You got it—this guy. Welcome to my life.

We received our instructions for the evening. I’m only seventeen, so I was the youngest server by a considerable margin. I was likely the strongest, though. I grew up fighting. You have to grow up fighting when you’re poor. It comes with the territory.

I was assigned the wine, per usual. The butler would guide the royal plate past the king’s right shoulder. The split second he was finished, I would pour the royal wine kinda over his left shoulder. We performed this routine for Lord Thrindian nightly, so it was normal behavior.

The stakes were higher than usual, of course, but you never would have known it by looking at the butler’s face. He was just as stoic as ever. Or, at least, I think he was. I really couldn’t see with the sun in my eyes. I was looking forward to wrapping up these instructions and getting into the dining room.

When we finally made it to the dining room, all went according to plan. I was surprised to see the king’s special guards in the corners of the room, but I suppose that’s normal. Wherever the king is, they go, too. Alameda, dressed in silver, sat next to her mother, who looked stunning but serious in her deep blue evening gown. Her black hair matched her eyes, and it was easy to see what the king saw all those years ago.

Lord Thrindian gave a little speech about how blah, blah, blah we are that his majesty was blessing us with his presence. May he live a long life, etc., and then it was time to eat. The butler guided the royal steak past the royal elbow. As soon as he did, I poured the royal wine. I did not spill a single drop.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

The split second I was finished, the king stood up and proposed a toast: “To the lord of Fortenbare Manor, past, present, and future! May his riches increase, may his family endure, and may he easily control the people on this end of the island.”

“Here, here!” shouted everyone, and they drank. The king then attempted the very difficult task of setting his wine back on the table without spilling it. He was unsuccessful. The bottom ring of his golden goblet caught the edge of his plate, and he spilled his wine everywhere.

There was a scramble to clean it up. The queen, the princess, Lord and Lady Thrindian, and Baron and Baroness Barbley from Green Vale all tried to stop the flow of the wine with their napkins. Then came the reinforcements, yours truly included, and the wine was sopped up in no time.

The king laughed heartily about the whole affair and insisted that he would not like a new plate, no matter how bad this one was at its job. He had already fallen in love with his current steak due to its scent and appearance, and he would have none other. There was no wine in the yaca beans or the salad, so all was well with the world. He did request a new goblet of wine, which I promptly poured and served him. All was ready for the feast.

There were stories and riddles and really bad jokes, all of which are normal at a feast like this one. The king got all the gossip from this end of the island, and most of it made him laugh. A couple of things seemed to make him angry, but he got over them quickly. He was like that, our king. He could switch moods faster than a frog catching a fly.

I heard the first cough during a story about Lady Northrigg’s lopsided cat. The second and third coughs came during Lord Thrindian’s account of a man with no left nostril, and the fourth, fifth, and sixth coughs occurred during Baroness Barbley’s story about a purple pig.

The seventh cough was the knockout punch. It was so powerful that the king sprang up as if the force of the cough had pulled him to his feet. He wobbled there on the spot for about three seconds, then fell on the table. He knocked over his wine again, but no one jumped up to clean it this time. Instead, they all stood in silence. The king was dead.