His whole life he’d waited to be king. To sit upon the throne and wear the Crown. His mother had an unnaturally long rule and in the end it was only the lingering effects of the global pandemic that had finally cleared the way for him to fulfil his destiny. But with his own health failing it looked like his reign would be as brief as his mother’s was long. Oaths of fealty, pledges and wishes for long rule were all hollow superstitious poppycock. Less succour and solution; more like insincere wishful thinking.
But no more.
His old bones creaked as he shifted in his new throne and he rested his hand upon that of his beloved queen consort in the throne beside him. His old hand had been puffy and fat, his fingers like over stuffed sausage links. Red and swollen. Now they were slim and pale. Like ivory.
His tired and weary heart was no longer a concern. What beat in his chest now was more powerful than he could have possibly imagined before. Supernatural might filled his limbs and coruscated across his body.
He grinned, he always grinned now, as his bright and keen eyes gazed upon the loyal retainers gathered before him in the throne room of his new palace. Not everyone had been pleased with the new bodies that they had been gifted with but when the celestial agent had appeared in this very throne room on that first morning, and confirmed this divine mandate to rule, there had been no further dissent.
He’d always wanted and tried to direct the crown into a modern monarchy; to serve the kingdom rather than be served by it. But it was almost a relief now, that the true path was clear before him.
His kingdom, his United Kingdom of the British Isles, lay shattered. It’s people, his subjects, lost and scattered. As king it was his duty, his responsibility, to reunite and rule them. And rule them he would. An ivory hand in an iron gauntlet if needs required.
“ARE THEY READY?” His voice boomed, echoing off the ancient stone walls of his new throne room. Its volume and power inherent to the nature of his reincarnation. The chief of his retainers, the Master of the Household who in his old life on Earth had been known as Tony Johnston-Bert, bowed and smiled. His King’s cheerful demeanour infectious.
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“Yes, your majesty. “ His voice as soft as his king’s was powerful. “They are gathered and eagerly await your command.” The, man was the wrong word, gestured and Charles rose to his feet, Carmilla rising beside him. He offered her his arm and she took it.
Together they descended the dias from the throne and proceeded to walk from the throne room to the balcony that looked out over the new British empire. A desolate and windswept desert greeted them. A cruel and harsh sun beating mercilessly down upon the gathered soldiery. Maids rushed to Carmilla’s side before she stepped out into that despotic light, a wide dark awning held aloft and over the queen consort to protect her. The others stayed back in the shade. His brother Andrew was among them, skulking in the shadows like always. Charles needed no such protection. He strode forward to greet his troops.
They were a full Division of nearly sixteen thousand soldiers. Lined up in huge blocks and rows before him; perversely reminding him of a chessboard. The vast majority, somewhere in the region of ninety percent, weren’t strictly people but more akin to robots; constructs animated through magic. His magic. This had led to immediate promotions for all those that were still technically people. They now commanded the units of common, unthinking, soldiery. He himself could easily directly command several Companies of the mindless constructs and was keeping such in reserve to defend the palace.
As he had stepped into view the ranks of troops had stamped to attention and turned their gazes to await his commands. He spoke to them then. Telling them of his vision. Of his plan to reunite the kingdom and elevate his subjects beyond their base state. People feared change; he would make their world unchanging. They feared death; he would make them eternal. They needed leadership and so he would lead them. Sure there would be resistance. The restoration of Britain would be painful for those who had begun to grow accustom to their independence over the last few days. For that was only natural. They should not be feared or hated, but pitied, pacified and rewarded. As all would be rewarded. In time.
After all, he was a merciful monarch.
He gave the command then and his troops began to march out. Their orders had already been given. He had examined the vast map room in the heart of his palace and knew where the greatest concentrations of his subjects should be found. First he would occupy them, and then expand his forces out to claim the territories in between. It was fortunate that he was so centrally placed. No not fortune, destiny. Mirth filled him again and he let loose a stentorian laugh, the hollow sound of which filled the forsaken wastes as it swallowed the last of his forces.
The conquest of Lusfell had begun.