Noémie checked the time: already 10:30 AM. After clearing the table and washing the dishes, she stretched out on the couch to rest a bit, the TV tuned to the KingTV channel.
She wasn't much of a fan of politics or the king. The country's current economy was a disaster and only getting worse.
"Haa..." she sighed. "I'm so sick of this king and this country. Sometimes I think Dad is right to live out by the forest, away from all the mess cities bring."
The king appeared on screen. He was a crude character, in every sense of the word. Short and pudgy, he wore elegant clothes that still somehow made him look like a fool. Yes, a fool. King Tribulio had once been the court jester to the previous king, but some turn of events had seemingly landed him on the throne.
"Ahem, ehem..."
The king cleared his throat.
"Can everyone hear me? Alright, anyway, um..."
He looked at his prompter, then whispered, covering the mic with his hand so he wouldn't be heard:
"What was I supposed to say again?"
The prompter was a scrawny twenty-four-year-old, shaking like a leaf—no doubt from the stress.
"Y-Yes, King Tribulio! You were supposed to announce that you'll be making a major statement at 6:00 PM, seated at a grand table with many illustrious figures!"
The king's face brightened.
"Ah, yes, there we go, that's right!"
He pulled his hand away from the mic, cleared his throat once more, and declared:
"Alright um, at 6:00 PM, be there in front of your TVs, my dear people... Well, if you can even afford one, haha! A major announcement will be made, concerning the country! And so... you, the people."
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He turned his back to the mic, took two steps forward, and struck a ridiculous pose with his arms raised. He was wearing a red cape, on which you could make out the words: "Best king, the strongest, the most handsome," and other nonsense like that. A commercial started, signaling the end of the broadcast.
"Pfft, a major announcement, huh?" Noémie muttered, grumpy and exhausted. "Probably just more taxes to pay. I can't even imagine what the working class goes through..."
Indeed, the Strauss family was part of a fairly well-off middle class. Not wealthy enough to be considered noble or bourgeois, but enough to eat their fill and live decently. Which was not the case for the vast majority of the people.
— ✦ —
『 Royal Palace, Throne Room — 26 Everi, 11:23 AM 』
"Y-Yes, my king?"
Tribulio casually rested his foot on his servant's back.
"I didn't quite catch that just now. When I asked you what I had to say, what was it you said I MUST say? Huh, my little Piolet?"
Under the weight of the royal foot crushing his back, the young man, drenched in sweat, trembled in pain, but also in sheer terror.
"M-My king, I-I... I'm sorry! I didn't mean it like that! A thousand pardons!"
The king pressed down even harder, pinning the scrawny man to the floor, and trampled him.
"I MUST? I MUST??? As a KING! Me, the great TRIBULIO, I must do something?!" he shrieked, sounding almost hysterical.
The man wept in fear. Words tangled in his mind, the terror pushing him to the brink of madness. His body was covered in scratches, bleeding from the blows.
"M-My great king, I am truly sorry! I beg you, forgive me!"
Tribulio stopped. Piolet half-rose, his knees knocking, his face covered in blood.
The king adjusted his crown—shaped like a jester's hat—then crossed his arms.
"Hmm. Alright, I forgive you..."
Piolet's eyes lit up for a moment, clouded with tears of joy.
"T-Thank you, my king!"
Tribulio glanced at the two guards stationed on either side of the throne.
"Take him to the pyre."
Piolet's face crumbled. The two guards, in their gleaming golden armor, their closed bascinets and sharp spears, violently grabbed the servant's arms and dragged him across the floor.
"M-My king!!! I beg you! My king!!!" Piolet screamed until his vocal cords nearly snapped.
His eyes were red, his tears mixing with the blood running down his bruised skin.
Tribulio couldn't care less. He had already slumped back onto his throne, his eyes drifting to a plate where red grapes and a bluish exotic fruit were beckoning to him.
The great door opened to let the guards dragging Piolet through, then slammed heavily shut behind them.
"Hey, Ponzi! Bring the harlots to the baths, I feel like relaxing," Tribulio said as he stuffed his face with fruit.
The other servant bowed briefly.
"Yes, my king. I will prepare the baths and the women for you."