In the Garden Primeval, where I'll pray for you.

The father and the prince

Once upon a time there was a father and a prince. They ruled a prosperous--but warring--land. The prince was kind and caring, and, unlike his father, a bit dim-witted. The king was a curt and resourceful widower, whose wife only bore his one son. With his keen mind and unyielding voice, the king was spited by the court. He was a sore winner, for he never lost. They challenged him to chess; he never lost a single pawn. They asked him out for ale and darts; he said he would never drink nor game. When offered hearty sums and treasures  he took not a gift, then proceeded to smile and whoop at their looks of distaste.

One night, the prince was approached by the nobility. They offered their armies and strength to the boy if he would have his king killed. They shared with him their plights under the king. They spoke of the nobles' heavy taxes. Of how they were jailed for the most minor of things. And of how their possessions were so often seized by their unjust and unfair king. The prince agreed with them, as he had been against many of his father's policies for a very long time.

They had the tyrannical king removed that night, and celebrated with the court's food and wine and women. 

The young prince was soon crowned the new king and began making reforms in his kingdom. He put in place laws to protect his people, to keep their possessions or money from ever being taken. He gave them all food and wine to keep them fed. He made clinic and priest visits free to keep his people well. He removed the ability for people who had committed petty crimes to be jailed.

Sitting back, he was proud of his work, and arranged for a carriage ride the next day so that he could see the fruits of his toil.

As impatient as he was, he set out at the break of dawn. He rode for hours from his newly-made castle to the town. Along the streets were swollen and unailing  commoners. The markets were merry and bursting, filled with a verity of beautiful goods and plump peasants. The crowd wore their best--in clothing and expression--and, unbeknownst to the new king, only did so because of either handsome payments and threats they were receiving from the nobility and the nobles' soldiers.

This morning, fruit had been imported from neighboring nations to fill the stalls. The streets had been swept for the first time since the previous king's passing. Straw had been stuffed into the actors' clothing to triple their size. A show had been put on for a single carriage, and the wires that had been set on the former prince were firmly tied into place. Today, the inexperienced king proved his place as a puppet, and the court, like always, were his puppeteers.