Hatchetfield.

King's Court

There was something very... off about the royal family these days.

After the former king and queen had passed within months of each other, the crown prince was pushed to the throne. He had only been twelve. That was too young to put the weight of the world on his shoulders, but desperate times call for desperate measures. The kingdom couldn't go without a king.

For a while, nothing changed much outside the castle. Life went on as normal, though with a funeral fresh in the citizens' minds. The new king mainly listened to his advisors, which kept the kingdom in prosperity. As the king grew into his own, however, the water in the well grew stale.

It wasn't anything noticeable to the common folk at first. A few rather odd guard placements, a few strange adjustments to the price of things, but nothing out of the ordinary to a new reign. The king was hardly new at this point, but it was about the age where he'd be making decisions for himself without the help of his advisors.

Then, trade shut down.

~

Tinky sat in the library, nursing a glass of something amber-colored. He hadn't bothered to check the label before pouring out a glass for himself—if it was poison, well, so be it. It definitely had some alcohol in it, which was all he cared about.

Lord, he wasn't made to get drunk in a quiet room by himself. He was made to throw feasts and festivals and bring merriment to the kingdom through wonderful little games. He was made to keep the populace happy. He was made to rule. By now, he should've been king. It was his right by blood.

He stewed in his resentment, picking up the plan he'd always worked on whenever the bitter taste of envy laid thick on his tongue. Assassination, if failed, would almost certainly lead to his execution. He could prove the king inept, but his brother was nothing if not an unbreakable public image. Then, of course, the problem of the crown prince.

Tinky was third in line for the throne. He'd have to incapacitate two of his own flesh and blood before taking the crown. Morally, he had no issue; both of them were just as wicked as he. That, actually, was where the issue revealed itself as a snake in uncut gardens. His brothers would have just as many qualms about killing him as he did they, which was to say, none.

He groaned into the open air, hope diminishing.

"Prince--er, Your Royal Highness?" He heard a voice say.

One of the more controversial overhauls in the new reign, to his eyes, was the remodeling of the castle. Each of the heirs got their own wing, which made for either a dragon to put the skies themselves to shame or a majorly fucked-up bird. As a consequence, Tinky spent most of his time in mock-solitude, which was both a blessing and a curse. There did have to be guards and servants—his safety was ranked third in importance, after all—but he was generally undisturbed. Those that dared to bother him for something other than mandatory duties were dealt with.

So, when he whipped his head around to observe the poor servant who'd be the newest victim of his pent-up aggression, he was not, in fact, prepared to see the familiar arched eyebrows of Theodore.

"Ted!" He said, face splitting into a grin. He leaned back in his chair. "Just what I needed to brighten up my day."

"I can see that," Theodore said with a tone all too casual for any other servant. Theodore was special, though. He spoke to Tinky like an old friend rather than someone who could have him executed at a moment's notice, because that's exactly what he was. Tinky's oldest friend. "Drinking yourself blind again? The morning hasn't even passed yet."

Tinky mumbled some faux excuse that he was sure Theodore couldn't hear.

"What even is this?" Theodore picked up Tinky's glass and stole a careful sip from it, the bastard. His nose wrinkled. "Eurgh. Invite me next time. If you're going to kill yourself with this stuff, at least drink something worthy of drinking."