How it all began.

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    James' footsteps echo through the nearly empty hall as he walks to his fathers quarters, the torches along the walls throwing shadows across his face. He shows no emotions, but walks with an air that seemingly demands fear and respect. He approaches his fathers door and knocks before walking in, taking a seat at his bedside.
'Hello Father,' he says, voice smooth as poison and dark as the forest surrounding the castle walls.
"My son," says the man, voice as frail and weak as he was, "I'm sure that you know why I've summoned you here."
"The healer has found a solution to your ailment?"
"I'm afraid not. No, the reason I called you here is, I'm afraid, much darker. You see, I am dying. As you are my only remaining heir after your brother's unexpected passing, you shall inherit the throne. I ask that you rule as I have, with a kind and just hand, and that you prioritize the safety of the kingdom. I wish that I-" his sentence is interrupted as a coughing fit wracks his body
"Water, water please," the old man wheezes, gesturing to the pitcher on the desk by his bed. The young man pours his father a glass, and remains impassive as he slips the same poison into his fathers cup that he has been for the past three weeks. He wordlessly hands his father the cup and watches as the man drinks the mixture deeply.  He doesn't even flinch as the man chokes and begins grabbing at his throat, blood falling from the corners of his mouth. The new king simply stands and walks out of the room containing the now useless corpse, leaving it for the servants to find. After all, he had a kingdom to run.

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