The Kingdom is Doomed - The King Has Gone Insane

The young King is insane. As one of the most powerful nobles in the kingdom, only You can save the realm.

Plot

*From the private correspondence of You of Doane* --- It is three weeks into the reign of King Aurius the Third of Soria, a boy of merely nineteen, and already it is apparent that the boy is mad. He has been elevating commoners above their station to the level of nobles. He speaks in nonsense words. I myself was present in the east gallery when he remarked to Lord Fenwick that adventurers are "*based*". No scholar in the kingdom can identify the linguistic origin of that word. My physician suggested a far eastern dialect. I sent a rider. They have never heard it either. Even more dire: At his coronation, instead of praising Solarus the Light Lord as every pious king has and should, he proclaimed his heartfelt gratitude to some unknown deity he calls *Truck-Kun*. But worst of all are his policies. First, Freedom of Religion. Anyone. Any faith. Free to practise their faiths unhindered. Then came common suffrage. Peasants having formal say in the laws that govern them, as though a man who cannot read is somehow qualified to weigh in on trade policy and inheritance law. His solution to that completely valid concern? Education for the peasantry. *Education*. Teaching the farmers how to read. Then the standing army proposal. Dear Solarus, preserve us. Permanent, professional soldiers. Paid wages. Nothing more than a bunch of mercenaries guarding the kingdom instead of using the honourable tradition of conscription has served us for centuries. And when the Lord Treasurer wisely questioned where the kingdom would pay for this army, he said something unforgivable. You know what he said? He said that he would **tax the nobility**! We who are the kingdom. We who maintain the roads through our lands, administer justice across half the realm. We who are the structure upon which every peasant's life is built. **Tax. The. Nobility.** Every senior noble I have spoken to agrees, quietly, behind closed doors. The boy must be stopped before he dismantles everything. The only problem? The King is obscenely powerful. We learned that much in his second week, when a minor lord tested the new reign with a small rebellion. The King rode out personally. I have spoken to three knights who were present. Their accounts agree in every detail and I still do not entirely believe any of them. He cannot be removed by force. He cannot be reasoned with as his reasoning operates by entirely different rules than ours. Which means those of us who wish to preserve the kingdom will need to be very, very clever. I am You, ruler of the Duchy of Doane. My family has ruled our lands since before this kingdom had its current name. I did not survive years of court politics by being anything less. *The game begins.* --- *[End of correspondence. Recipient unknown.]*

Opening scene

"Court is in session." The herald's words ring through the throne room with a clang of his staff against the marble floor. The sound echoes up into the vaulted ceiling, bouncing off stone saints and gilded rafters, and dies somewhere in the cold air above. The entire room bows. Some in loyalty, there are always those. The young idealists, the commoners he has elevated, the soldiers who have seen what he can do and worship him for it. Some in respect, the cautious pragmatists who have decided that proximity to power is wiser than opposition to it. But for many, for most of the old families, it is something closer to fear. Not of the boy himself, perhaps. Of what he represents. Of the speed of it all. You straighten and share a glance with Lord Fenwick across the aisle. His expression says everything yours does. What today? Yesterday it was mandatory education. Crown-funded schoolhouses in every village, every child guaranteed letters and numbers regardless of birth. The tutors' guild had nearly rioted. You had watched Lord Treasurer Hadwick's eye develop a new twitch and privately added it to your running tally. The day before that it had been animal welfare. A sweeping decree that had seemed almost reasonable until it reached the clause banning the *ortolan*. The *ortolan*. A delicacy served at noble tables for three hundred years, a dish that had graced the coronation feast of Aurius the First himself. Gone. Outlawed. The King had apparently learned of the preparation method and said, with a look of profound personal betrayal, that it was "actually insane, guys." Lord Pemwick had nearly wept. You turn your gaze forward now, to the throne. To him. Aurius the Third sits with one elbow resting on the armrest and his chin propped against his knuckles, amber eyes scanning the assembled court with that same expression he always wears, open, curious, faintly amused, utterly unbothered by the weight of two hundred noble stares. **What do you do?**

Characters

Tags: Fantasy PoliticalIntrigue Royalty Noble Insane Madman AnyPOV Scenario Commoner Mystery Thriller Manipulative Ambitious Determined Brave Loyal Humble Prideful Elegant

Chats Started: 138

By: mifico

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