THE KING IS DEAD

06

VI. The Banquet
° • ♚♛♜♝♞ • °

❝PERFECT.❞
*ృ༅*. 𝕻𝖔𝖎𝖘𝖔𝖓 laced within wine was typical and unoriginal, Sonic would admit, but it would guarantee death—as well as it was the easiest thing to get his hands on and keep him from becoming the blame.

Best thing about poisoning someone's drink was that it could be anyone. The waiter, the server, the passerby—anyone. Sonic would not be the right-away suspect; the finger wouldn't be pointed at him first.

Not to mention, the people mistook Sonic's sudden indifference these few weeks and placed it on the death of his father. They believed their blue prince hurt himself and kept quiet and was oddly cold because he was mourning.

The idiocy made Sonic laugh maniacally in the dead of the night.

(People probably mistook that for grieving, too.)

An idiot king governing over idiots—this thought almost made Sonic falter. Let Scourge be the king, when the people were just as thick in the head as he was.

But Sonic shook his head. He already got this far. He had to finish, or kill himself.

Sonic just hated that he took this long.

Pretty, pretty Shadow was a terrible distraction. Pretty face, pretty eyes, pretty lips—!

Damn it, damn it, damn it.

Sonic released a long, long sigh of frustration, but he finished up in good time. He had his poison. He had his plan. The banquet was an hour away. Scourge would be a sitting duck. A dumb, dumb duck.

So Sonic erased Shadow from his mind—he didn't love him, anyway—oh but Chaos, he did—and Scourge's death was above all else. Number one. Top thing.

He went over his plan in his head once, twice, thrice. No mistakes, none. He would win.

The crown would be his.

♚♛♜♝♞

❝HAIL THE KING.❞
*ృ༅*. 𝕿𝖍𝖊 entire ballroom clapped and cheered and bowed respectfully as Scourge was announced, elbow linked with his current girlfriend. (Although, whore was, no doubt, the much better word to describe her, Sonic knew.)

King Scourge gave a pretty little speech and the banquet commenced.

Sonic drank as much as possible, wandering and speaking to no one. He was so utterly glad Shadow was too busy patrolling the halls to attend. Pretty Shadow was a terrible, terrible distraction and Sonic would rather die right now than be distracted.

Scourge's death was in the palm of his hand.

The poison was tucked within the folds of his glove. A drug, a pill, that would disintegrate in liquid. Flavorless, odorless, colorless. Perfection. All Sonic had to do was slip the pill in, watch it melt, and one sip would kill a whale.

And that was just what he did.

Poured wine for two, in silver chalices, popped in poison, and approached his brother. Scourge and his woman sat at the royal table, Sonic joining them.

If Scourge denied him, if he did not want a drink, Sonic would not mind, no. He had spare poisons.

No matter what, Scourge would die tonight.

"Brother," murmured Sonic, offering a chalice. To his great joy, Scourge took it gratefully. "Whassup?"

Scourge was quiet a minute, chalice in one hand, fingers undulating against the tabletop with the other.

"Sonic," he began, drifted, paused.

"Uh-huh?"

". . . I, I gave it a try . . . I did my best . . . but I'm no king," he whispered. "On the first of next month, you'll wear Dad's crown."

Lightning could have stuck before Sonic, but such a fantastic phenomenon would not have shocked him, struck him, wounded him as those words had. Nothing would ever come close. Never.

. . . What a shame.

And—how—utterly—too—damn—late.

How terrible.

A terrible shame Scourge was minutes from death.

Where were those words, those feelings, weeks ago?

Sonic sighed. Of course. What did he expect?

Everything to do with Scourge was utter disappointment. He was like one of those infuriating dolls that opened to reveal another and another and another. That was Scourge, that infuriating doll—open him up and one will find disappointment after disappointment after disappointment.

Scourge went on, melancholy as ever. "I never wanted to be king, and I was never meant to be one. You're king material, Sonic. Not me."

Sonic met his eyes. For the briefest moment, he took back every nasty thing he ever thought of his elder twin. For a moment, Sonic felt the heavy, heavy, heavy weight of guilt. His brother, neon green—but Sonic was the green one: green with poisonous envy.

"I love you, little brother." Scourge raised his chalice, filled with wine, poisoned. "To you, the true king of Green Hills."

"I love you, too," said Sonic, and he meant it. For that moment, the envy was gone. Hatred, annoyance, all of it.

All of it just . . . melted. Replaced with instant regret.

He almost smacked the drink out of Scourge's hand.

. . . But now it was too late.

Because Scourge took a sip from his chalice. Swallowed. Sighed.

And then he coughed.

And then he choked.

And then he was dead.