The
King was a very smart and powerful man. He ruled his Kingdom fair and true.
None doubted his reign.
“This
enchanted ring gives me my power,” he once said after too many ales.
Over
the years, this scuttlebutt caused many a scoundrel and some members of his
court to remark, “With that magic ring, I could be King.”
One
day, his lay-about son stole into the King’s chamber and took the ring.
Striding to the throne room where the King sat alone, he announced, “Father, I
have your ring, I am now King.”
“Take
my crown too,” the King replied, “The ring is my might, the crown my reason.”
The
crown, forged too large, slipped over the boy’s eyes.
“I
feel the same,” the son complained.
“These
robes provide my poise,” the King said wrapping his son up in cloth.
“Mal,
scores before you have tried to take my place,” King Adroit sighed. “Thinking
greatness comes from possessions, they give themselves away stealing trinkets
rather than coming after the real source of power in the Kingdom. Me.”
The
son drew his final breath, from a throat his father had slit.
The
King was a very smart and powerful man.
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