Crown of Thorns

KINSMORE. CENTRAL CASTILLAR                     COLD TO the touch, he could tell that there had been no blood flowing through the veins beneath the pale skin for quite some time. The deceased laid in his bed, resting on his back with both arms on either side of his motionless body. He looked peaceful lying there with his eyes closed, despite the fact that his chest was no longer rising as it filled with air. No, instead, his double chin remained utterly still – not flapping beneath the man's face, as Lord Steffon Harrington and physician Crom were so used to seeing. His usual chubby cheeks sunk into the hollows of his skull, as well. His body stiffened, as his skin had paled to a ghastly grayish blue hue. All that looked the same of him was that blasphemous graying hair circling a single bald spot on the top of his head he called a hairdo, and the wrinkles running across his forehead, connecting with the crinkles at either corner of his eyes. It was a wonder how this man managed to stay alive this long. It was no wonder why this man never managed to breed with any of his wives. "Died about the time he lied down," physician Crom stated, his voice interrupting the lingering silence in the large bed chamber. Lord Harrington lowered his eyebrows, questioning, "Murdered?" Crom shook his head, "Doesn't seem so." "Poisoned?" "I'm afraid the king simply perished in his sleep," Crom clasped his hands together in front of himself, "due to natural causes." Steffon sighed, before peering over his shoulder at the physician, commanding, "You and your men: get him ready for his funeral service. I will stay here and see if he wrote a Decree of Succession." Crom nodded his head, "Yes, my lord." With that, the physician exited the room, while the nobleman made his way to the barely lit fireplace. Steffon would have preferred to step out into the castle's halls to fetch a fire striker, for he, himself, never even lit his own ingle, but glancing over his shoulder to see the fat oaf lying dead, he knew he had to manage it himself. With the finely piled sticks set beside the hearth, he began tossing them into the small flames, watching as the room grew brighter. Steffon then made his way to the King's private desk, where stacks of papers remained. Unfolding notes and reading over scribbled ink, he continuously spun around to toss the useless scraps into the fire. One single statement was all that he needed to find – just one sentence written by the king, himself, stating whom was to rule the Central Kingdom after his demise. The nobleman continued through the papers, reading over letters to other nobles, marriage proposals – more than likely for the king to attempt to produce an heir for himself, but Steffon rolled his eyes, seeing that he had wasted much of his life not reproducing, rather being a mere fool – and notes to remind himself to simply bathe. What a poor excuse of a man. The door to the room then opened wide, Dr. Crom and a few of his assistants stepped inside, each of their eyes widening at the sight of the deceased king. Steffon unfolded the last piece of paper, reading over it as Crom asked, "My Lord, have you found what you were searching for?" Lord Harrington rose from the desk's chair, tossing the last note into the burning orange flames, before shaking his head as he sighed, "It seems our great king did not choose a successor." "My God," the physician frowned, gazing down at the dead body before him. "What are we to do then?" Steffon clasped his hands in front of himself, making his way toward the door, "You and your men, here, will prepare the king a proper funeral ceremony. I will go inform the people of this tragedy." With that, Lord Harrington exited the largest bedchamber in the entire castle to make his way down the corridors. He kept the same stoic posture as he always had: shoulders back, back straight, head high. His face remained emotionless – just as he pertained on a daily basis. "You," he pointed at a guard, as he stepped toward the man standing with his back against the stone wall. "Go tell the Bell Keeper that it is time for him to do his job – immediately." "May I ask why, my lord?" the man asked, lowering his brows, for the castle's bell hadn't been rung for years. Steffon kept his hands clasped in front of him, his voice in a calming hushed tone as he stated, "There is urgent news that all of the Kingdom of Kinsmore need to hear." The guard's lips parted, puzzled as to what the problem could be, but the man nodded his head and dashed off down the hall to inform the Bell Keeper that after years of waiting to ring the castle's bell, the time has come again. Steffon continued on his way to the front of the castle, exiting through the opened gate, stepping out into the sunlight. His boots tapped against the stone path he followed, leading just outside of the castle's courtyard. Beyond the bright green grass stood an iron gate, circling around the castle's yard perimeter, keeping the common folk on their side of the kingdom and the rich on the other. The gatekeepers pulled the gate open as they watched the nobleman approaching, and just as he stepped out of the safety inside the gate, the castle's copper bell was heard ringing throughout the perimeter and beyond. Steffon took in a deep inhalation, seeing the puzzled and alarmed expressions placed upon those whom had began to gather around the wooden stage just outside of the iron gate – mostly used for hanging criminals. He was the only one to make his way up the wooden steps, facing the people as they gathered. The bell continued to ring, echoing for miles beyond the castle. The sun's rays beamed down on the lord, as if shining a spotlight upon him. Oh, how the sun shone on such a pitiful day. The crowd surrounding him chattered amongst themselves, taking guesses as to why the kingdom bell was chiming. For some had never even witnessed the bell's powerful blare before, so they had the most frightful looks plastered upon their faces. Steffon clasped his hands in front of himself, his body still tall and stiff. He cleared his throat as enough people – both rich and poor – had gathered around the stage to spread the word to their neighbors and others around the kingdom whom hadn't made it over. Everyone quieted down, ready to hear what the man was to tell them. "I come baring grave news to the Kingdom of Kinsmore and surrounding Kingdoms of Castillar," Steffon stated, making the crowd immediately fall to silence. "We discovered this morning that, without an heir, the Central King is dead."