The Vacant Crown
A short story
The sun fell behind the banquet hall as the cupbearer kept the goblets brimming with wine. The pig was eaten and the dancing girls were dismissed. Each man of the court raised his cup high.
“Long live the King” they chanted with full, round bellies.
At the head of the grand table sat King Claude, fat and in a drunken stupor. His hands soft, weighed down by the gold rings of his ancestors, men who gave their lives for the founding of the nation. The hair on his head, thin and greasy, topped with the crown of his father. The wine ran to his lips once more before the page boys were called to escort him to his bed chamber.
As he stumbled through the corridor, Claude looked to the portraits of his predecessors - strong, lean warriors. Their crowns were earned through the struggle of war and paid with blood.
Claude paid a different price.
He entered his chamber, then undressed. Spots and wrinkles plagued the thirty year old King’s naked body. The nightly deed aged him so.
He waited in his bed, the candles illuminated when she appeared from the dark shadows before him. Her beautiful nakedness sparked fire in the King’s heart. They laid together as they did nightly. Her curves drove him wild as his passion unleashed. The servants were instructed to leave the King to rest until the following afternoon.
At court, Claude presided over the day’s business. The squabbles of noblemen and lords bored him and the pleas of peasants did not move him. All he could hear was her. The voice was gentle and smooth in his ear. She sang to him her sweet song.
The evening came again as they finished the banquet. Claude returned to his bed weak, dazed and pale. The woman appeared again to him and he fell to her in his lust.
At court, Claude aged considerably. The face of the young King was disheveled and exhausted. The seat of his throne dripped with his waste and the men of the court gathered around him, some concerned while others looked on with wide eyes of greed.
In the King’s chambers, the men watched and waited. Their monarch laid in his bed, eyes white and mouth foaming with blood. Claude could hear the whispers slithering in his ear, “who will be next?” they asked.
Claude’s face ran hot with boils, sweat, and fear as he clung on as best he could. He cried out a feminine name, one that the men did not recognize.
The King reached out his hand and screamed. His white eyes melted in his skull. Claude would join his ancestors soon though not with honor or dignity. As he cried, the woman of the night appeared before him. Though no man could see her, she slithered through the floor in her true scaly shape and wrapped herself around the bed post, watching her prey rot from within.
The sun fell, silence swept the room, and each man of the court gazed at the vacant crown.
“Who will be next?” they asked.
“Yes,” the serpent smiled, “Who will be next?”
Gruesome and nice!
Awesome! A tale of corruption a la Beowulf.