The glass and blood were removed from my chambers a second time though the servants struggled to remove one particular stain from the desk. Their scrubbing only smeared my blood about creating a large red blot that dominates my vision, I can't help but see the musicians' symbols dance their way across the wood, staining the rest of the desk bright red.

"My prince?" Karis says, her voice sounding as if it's echoing throughout a cave. I look up and meet her concerned gaze. She played nurse once upon a time, helped mother clean and cook when mother still maintained most of her faculties. Then came her little incident and Karis ascended to playing mother too. She tried her hardest, but one can't expect much from a fifteen year olds hardest. I doubt it's entirely her fault, the great woods mother herself could have poured all her love and kindness into me and I reckon I'd still turn out the way I am.

"Hm?" I respond.

"How are you feeling my prince?" She repeats for me.

"Wonderful," I lie. Lines still dance across my vision, some are straight, some are wavy, when two collide it's a small explosion of colours. Their numbers diminished significantly throughout the night, as has their intensity and I reckon they'll be completely dissipated halfway through today's ceremony.

"Are you sure-"

"How did the new arrivals sleep?" I ask.

"One cried most of the night but we couldn't soothe her, the youngest drew pictures of the same man butchered in different ways again and again. The elder wrote some sort of sequence onto a sheet of paper. None slept until after the moon's apex."

"And what of their possessions?"

"The watch delivered several instruments to us including a violin and piano. No women's clothing was among Sir Steel's possessions so princess Serah kindly donated some of hers to the women."

"How generous of her," I yawn. "Such a shame she has a motivation other than kindness for doing so."

"If you don't mind my asking what do you intend for the singer?"

"She might prove adept at some other skill," I respond indifferently. "What do you care?"

"She's a tongueless singer. I assumed you wished to bed her. It'd be an improvement over painted whores-"

"What of today's event?" I query.

"The archbishop is ready, both the royal tailor and smith have completed the tasks assigned to them, the nobles have all arrived and the red army is prepared to swear allegiance once you bear the crown."

"Will I be a good king?" I ask suddenly, surprising even myself a bit.

"Your pardon my prince?"

"Will I be a good king?" I repeat. "Will I be loved? Will I be wise? Will-"

"I'm not a seer,

"Make an assumption," I request

She stares at me hard trying to form a response she thinks will please me.

"Forget I asked," I sigh. "Tell the relevant individuals that the ceremony will begin in an hour."

I assigned the sisters the grandest chambers I could find for them, Duke Simon's old chambers. As I predicted his wife pilfered all he left there before leaving to begin the process of possessing his estate. They're luxurious enough, three rooms, two feathered beds, one intended for two to lay upon and a general living space equipped with a table, couch and a view of the city streets.

I am surprised to see not three but instead four women dwelling within this room. The three musicians all face the door. The fourth figure's back faces me, she is tall and slender, her hair is long and black, her skin is pale white and the dress she is wearing is cheap, well suited for a harlot. Cousin Serah has a fondness for defying expectations, she was supposed to be a lady, turned out to prefer the thrills of a whore, some wanted her to submit so instead she dominated, grandfather just wanted her to be a quiet pawn who'd sit in the background until he could marry her off, instead she decided to make sure she was well known for fondness of the perverted, hedonism and decadence.

She could still be utilized to benefit dear grandfather however, nobles might not have respected the man but most were willing to pledge something or other to him if it gave them the chance to grace Serah's chambers for a night. She evaded the beatings, brandings and cuttings, not a single dot could be allowed to mar her beauty, if it did then she's a useless slut and suddenly the steady supply of paltry gifts would dissipate. She was given a fine knife to cut any man who took too many liberties with her and she is not hesitant to use it. Grandfather let her cut up anyone without a title, and encouraged her to bed whoever had one by chastising her for both acts. I on the other hand was forced to steal my first knife from a drunk and broaden my arsenal from there.

I set the case I brought with me gently on the ground and slam the door to draw her attention. She turns around to look at me. Her glistening green eyes look at me curiously, as if I'm a specimen to be examined and dissected.

"Hello cousin," she says. "I didn't-"

"Get out," I say politely.

"But cousin we were just having such-"

"Leave."

"Must you be so-"

"If you do not leave I guarantee that you'll never advance past being the center of petty scandal and the cause of squabbles between husbands and wives."

Serah groans and looks at the musicians one final time before rising from her seat and brushing past me and pushing through the door.

"Apologies," I say to the musicians, forcing a polite smile onto my face, "but I must discuss something with my cousin in private."

I turn on my heel and glide through the door.

"Oh cousin," Serah sighs as soon as I'm out of the room. "You are so spiteful sometimes, I wonder-"

"What do you want with them?" I ask bluntly.

"They're pretty and low class," Serah shrugs. "I want everything I can get out of them. Why do you care? They're-"

"Lay a finger on one of them without their prior consent and I'll personally break it."

"Why do you care so much about who plays with your toys, little cousin?" Serah inquires teasingly. "Soon you'll have a whole kingdom of them to play whatever perverse games you can construct with or you can talk them halfway to suicide like you do with your whores. Why can't you share these three? Surely the lack of a tongue only presents the later-"

"Because whenever you have a habit of breaking open toys to see how they work," I state. "Both literally and figuratively."

"Three mutes who may be able to string together a few pleasant bits of music," Serah yawns. "Hardly the most rare, versatile or irreplaceable things."

"And yet somehow should you break them apart I in turn will hang you by your neck."

"Have you grown soft, dear cousin? Have you suddenly found a heart somewhere within that ribcage? Do you now feel woe over the injustices these women have suffered? I hope not, I'd hate to see you turn boring."

"You still think we're playing grandfather's game," I snap. "You think I too am a weak idiot who relies upon a whore to negotiate on his behalf. You still believe you're a necessary piece to continue playing! This is my game we're playing now and in this game I can discard old pieces should they prove inconvenient to keep and easy to replace."

"What makes Terrence so irreplaceable? We could put a boy of twelve in his place and most would probably report an increase in general efficiency and mood. And Martin? Why not put that mad dog down? There's hundreds of soldiers-"

"Terrence entertains me and if I were to slip poison into his water Martin would be to dumb to die."

"You've grown soft," she sneers. "I remember watching you cut Lord Stephen with your silverware, I remember being fascinated as you carved a smile into his face. Impressed even. Now you've degenerated into this boring common man."

"Touch the musicians and tools much less fine than silver will be used."

Serah turns and walks off, clearly disappointed with me. I wonder if today's arrangements will bore her too. I doubt it, my intentions will attract the attention of even the most indifferent deity.

I sir before the musicians, Nissifer looks me in the eye, the other two frequently glance at the case I've placed by my side curiously.

"Have you been treated well?" I inquire.

They nod.

"That's wonderful. Now tell me, what do you want in life?"

They all stare at me inquisitively before Nissifer scribbles: "Steel" onto the page. The other two nod in agreement with that.

"And what would you like after Steel is removed from this existence?"

They stare at the page blankly. The pen doesn't move an inch.

"From me, from the world, from anyone? Wealth, land, titles, knowledge, anything?"

They continue to stare.

"Tell me this instead," I yawn. "How did you come into the service of Steel?"

"Sold," Nissifer scratches. "First to a circus. Then sold again to Steel."

"Why did steel buy you all?"

"Liked our music. Had money."

"And why did your parents sell you?"

"Needed money."

"When?"

"I was six."

Sally holds up eight fingers and Katherine holds up four.

"So for most of your life you've all been glorified slaves?"

They all nod.

"How would you like power then?"

They look at me curiously, the mention of power seems to have demanded the full attention of Katherine and Sally.

"If you meet my expectations you might one day rise to be my equals, to be masters, to hold power over whatever you please."

A smile graces Nissifer's lips, Katherine appears unmoved but her fist is clenched and she seems to be putting fervent concentration into maintaining control and Sally still seems to be lost in fantasizing about this notion.

"If you prove capable of being equal to me you'll have power over your lives, the lives of others, follow me to the very end and you'll be able to hold the whole world hostage. Before this though we must take the first step."

I bring the case I brought with me onto the table and open it.

"Now Nissifer you can no longer sing," I sigh glumly as I rummage through the case. "However, your drawings made me wonder." I withdraw a long wicked dagger and a lump of soft clay. Nissifer delicately takes both. "They looked more organic to me. I would like to see one rendered in three dimensions."

I then pull out a violin made of some pale white wood, strung with sinew along with a bow and I hand it to Sally.

"And you may play this. Katherine, I apologize for the inability to test your aptitude but a piano is much harder to transport. I'll assume your capability to be similar to the others."

Nissifer takes the knife in a delicate grip and begins to eye up the clay while Sally rests the violin on her shoulder.

"Begin."

Blood still steadily drips from my nose, I could fill cups with it at this rate. Three decently sized rags have been soaked with my blood, occasionally a red tear drips down my face and my ears, oh my ears still flood with the stuff. The agony has subsided and an ocean of bliss came to take its place, or perhaps the two just came together merging to form an ungodly sensation. The melodies crawl through my head, pulling at the strings of my body and the unnatural shapes dance in the shadows of my mind broadening my senses. The walls between what should and shouldn't be dissolved, queer shapes construct themselves and hide between the membranes of my mind. Some insidious voice whispers things that I shouldn't know into my left ear, the violin echoes into my right. A smile split across my face so wide it almost ripped my face in two. I left the sisters with instructions as to what to do for tonight and left to attend to other matters. There's a nice line of blood to the dungeons for the guards to follow me to.

"Come on boys!" I yell at the guards through laughter. "These men must be ready for their pardoning! Don't worry about being gentle, I'm sure they won't be terribly upset by some brutality!"

That seems to be all the prompting the guards need, dragging the filth out, cracking skulls sometimes with reason, mostly because they can. Blood soaked teeth litter the floor like breadcrumbs.

I see darkness shroud some of these scum. Not the natural gloom of the dungeons, something like a black mist, something alive that shadows these men. Mostly it's the filthy ones who have a wild look in their eyes who possess such an apparition. I grab one of these men as they are being dragged by.

"I'll commandeer this one good sir," I barely manage to force through the laughter. The guard shrugs and walks away. I wonder what he'll think of all the blood and the smile. I wonder what they all think. I wonder if I'll come to regret this appearance.

"Tell me my fellow, what's wrong with you?" I inquire putting my arm around his shoulder as if we were friends.

"My eyes," the man groans. "The light hurts my eyes-"

The words repeat again and again in my head, eventually shuffling into a random order. They jumble around again and again until they return to the original sentence

"Mine hurt too, it's wonderful isn't it!"

The man's shadow squirms away from my touch, as if I scare the darkness, as if I'm a light.

"Please extinguish them-"

"But then we wouldn't be able to see! And oh is there so much I long to see. So many things I didn't think I could see. However I don't think your eyes are what's wrong."

"Haven't slept since I've been here," the man groans. "The screaming, the shapes, they won't leave my dreams."

"What shapes?"

"Faces that melt together, measurements that don't add up."

"Well that's an awful shame. I'm sure you'll get more sleep when free of this wretched place then it'll all return to normality."

I offer him my bloodied hand and he takes it hesitantly. His face melts into the shroud degrading into an obscure mess,

"Now get out and I'll be with you all in the courtyard soon."

The man scurries away, being corralled by the guards.

I stumble through the filth laughing all the way as blood stains my sleeve. Eventually I find Roger's cell, his breathing is shallow, ragged. Infection seems to have set in rapidly. The exposed muscle is multiple disgusting shades of red and yellow and drips pus . His lidless eyes are more red than white and he appears to have exposed bone himself. The message I left with him seems to be nowhere to be found. His shroud is larger than the others, blacker, more intimidating. If I was in the right state of mind I'd probably lock the door and leave Roger to rot for a few weeks before having his cell cleansed with fire. Instead I open the door and step inside. The bars twist and wrap around my hand, their cold grip feels comforting, kind loving. It feels wrong when they let go. I feel alone.

"Good afternoon Roger," I begin cheerily. "How are you feeling today?"

He groans in response. His shroud stares at me, looks into my tainted soul, looks like it's prepared to consume it. More blood spills out from me and mixes with the filth on the floor..

"Well that's not good," I yawn. "You appear to have cut your face. Don't worry about it, I'm sure it'll heal up nicely once you feel the sunshine on your… muscle."

Roger gurgles something that vaguely sounds like a word. After the whispers repeat it a few times I finally hear a 'he'. The shroud wraps round hIs head, for a brief second it melts into an obscure mess of darkness and Roger yells out as if in pain. I wonder if this creature is real or if I just share a delusion with Roger.

"Come now Roger you can't leach off of me for this luxurious accommodation for the remainder of your life."

I grab Roger by his arm and haul him to his feet. The entity that clings to him reaches out an ink black tendril and touches my arm. The shadow penetrates me while somehow not breaking the skin. It feels as if acid pumps through my veins, the intensity of the sounds of the dungeon as well as those within my mind all magnify exponentially till everything merges into one great continuous noise. It's like hundreds of insect wings all flapping about inside my ear.

"Today my friend I'll set you free," I say, though I can't hear myself over the mess of noise. I begin to drag him out of the dungeons, each step I take let's me see more and more. The guards' faces disintegrate and I see confusion, worry and doubt squirm about beneath their flesh, like dozens of fat black worms. Who can blame them? They don't have the luxury of my perspective. I'm sure the later events I intend to host will destroy these undesirable thoughts and replace them with respect or at the very least fear. I turn my attention to the prisoners. Some of them are riddled with hope, great bulbous cysts filled with it protrude from them, shining brightly in the darkness. It astounds me that some of these idiots think they're actually walking out of this city. Most are dominated by fear, it has made a home within them like corruption, the grey smog infests their hearts and minds. They breathe it out infecting others through the air like a plague; it escapes through pores, words and whimperings. The only reason they keep moving is they're more afraid of what will happen if they stop.

Eventually each and every criminal stands in the courtyard, save for Roger, he chose to roll about in the dirt moaning as if in agony, covering his lidless eyes from the pleasant light of the sun. After losing contact with him and his shade some of the world returned to normal, the noiseless blare within my ear subsided and it became harder to see through men's skin though not impossible. Days in the dark seem to have done none of them any good, most have wrapped tattered rags around their eyes and still look uncomfortable in the light. They have all weakened to some degree, hardly surprising considering they received no food and little water during their stay. Some merely stumbled a bit on their way here, others had to be dragged out by the guards because their leg muscles had degenerated that much.

The light only makes the shrouds clearer. Those that possess ones appear more haggard, weak, broken than the others. Everyone's parasite is unique, some imitate the shape of the one they cling to but most have failed at some aspect, six fingers on one hand, a lump here, indentation there, misshapen head, limbs that are skeletally thin or monstrously thick, none have perfected their host. One has taken the form of an eye looming ominously behind his victim, the pupil is similar to that of a goat, tendrils of dark emerge from the iris. Another has the torso and legs of a man but eight arms each ending in a razor sharp point and no head. Roger's is a mess of blades, drills and pain.

"Right!" I yell with a smile. The word repeats itself in my head again and again and again, a hundred times in a second, then a thousand, then ten thousand, repeating itself till all meaning is stripped from the word. "You have a few hours to become accustomed to this light before I return!"

Without further addition I turn on my heel and leave, allowing the sweet cacophony of colours, sensations and noise to guide me, trusting them to steer me true, trusting them to lead me to power.

With the assistance of several rags I managed to stop most of the bleeding and remove most of the stains from my face. Now I kneel upon a platform just outside Castle Black before the archbishop for both nobles and commoners alike to see. The cold cuts through my clothes and rakes its fingers across my flesh, transcribing its lessons into my skin. A bonfire crackles to my left, spitting out little heat but it's much more interesting to listen to than the ceremony. It whispers the most delightful secrets to me, they burn through my head like a fever, branding my brain with words that can't exist. Time is ground away easily, minutes pass within seconds and entire lineages and rights are recited in the blink of an eye. I stare at the archbishop and see no trace of humanity within the brute no matter how deeply I dig into him, no thought, no feeling, not even a semblance of sentience can be found. Instead there's just hollowness. The creature wears traditional long ash grey robes and wields a large sceptre which holds a bright red ruby in its iron grip. Several men of the church of fire stand behind me, all prepared to serve some pointless purpose in this little story. The archbishop asks something, I can't hear the words.

"Yes," I respond, knowing I could tell him to take his staff and fuck himself with it and it wouldn't make much of a difference to the end result.

I feel the blind eyes of the archbishop's ward digging into the side of my skull somewhere in that crowd, he's filled with more than common greed, something more powerful, more consuming. Bishop Gerard has graced me with the honour of his presence too, he towers above the others. Someone would have carved out his throat by now if they could reach it. If he wasn't such a great big scary fucker. Behind the walls of muscle lie a scared weakling, wondering how it can worm its way into my good graces, how it can move from grandfather's cold corpse to my body.

One of the men comes to me and drapes grandfather's cloak around my shoulders. It's made of the skin of a bear. He wore this filthy cloak day and night to symbolise his strength. It smells like decay and irritates my skin.

The archbishop asks another question.

"Will you be just?" The words don't sound right, as if they've been broken out of other sentences and crudely mangled together to form this one. I look at the archbishop's face, if I focus on any specific part it features and gives way to grey.

"I'll be fair to an extent," I answer truthfully.

Another man comes and places grandfather's sceptre before me. A handle of oak, an anatomically correct skull resides on top, made from iron with pain put into every detail. Missing teeth, scratched eye sockets, a jaw forever fixed open as if to scream. I take the handle and the man leaves.

"Will you be merciful?"

"I will be king," I state. "If my throne must rest on a foundation of carcasses then so be it.".

The final man comes and delicately places the iron crown upon my head. Whatever made my progenitor cast aside the gold variant in exchange for this crude lump of cripplingly heavy metal I curse him for it.

"I declare you king Harold the second."

I rise to my feet using the sceptre as a cane. For a moment I observe it in silence before removing the cloak from my shoulders and folding it up. The street is as silent as a crypt. I turn to face the crowd.

"This cloak tells a story," I begin solemnly. "A story of my predecessor, my grandfather. A story of the man who may as well have put this crown upon my head. A story of the man who raised me."

I go silent again to let the words sink in as I walk to be closer to the fire.

"I'm sure you've all heard it. The creature that once wore this skin ambushed grandfather, scared his horse which bucked him right off. With the beast bearing down on him, prepared to rip him apart, what does grandfather do? Most would scream, piss themselves, yell out for their mother… but not grandfather. No, he had no difficulty finding his courage. He took his dagger and jammed it into the monster again and again and again."

I allow silence to descend once more for dramatic effect.

"The story a depraved, senile fool repeated over and over again," I add maintaining calmness. "And the story is a lie unfortunately. The royal hunter found the creature laying in the mud half dead and just put an arrow in its eye. Grandfather merely wanted some extra warmth for the winter. That old bastard could barely find his prick in the cold, you think he'd find courage in a pinch? This lie among others is what an old man built his reputation on. I don't want for his pathetic legacy."

I take the cloak and stuff it into the flames. The crowd are reacting, my ears are too clouded with roaring to judge the nature of this reaction but at least they hear what I say.

"Now if you put a young girl in front of him," I continue. "Ten maybe twelve, well then you'd have trouble concealing his manhood. Not a closet big enough to hide that bone in. It's a miracle he managed to sire a child, degenerate usually grew bored of them before they developed the ability to mother!"

As instructed, half a dozen guards emerge from street corners carrying crates filled with captured images of his crimes as well as documents, letters, witness statements and transcriptions all purchased from the oh so helpful lady Irene that expose other noble lords as well. They set it all before the crowd for them to browse at their leisure.

"Take whatever you wish, there's enough proof for all that the revered King Henry would have gladly taken your children into Castle Black but not without demanding ungodly services from them! Spread that far and spread it wide for all to know!"

I take the sceptre in a firm grip.

"And this is the tool he used to inspire fear! The stick he used to beat the dog when it misbehaved! That's what he saw you as! Dogs! Subservient beasts to be beaten when bored."

I strike the platform on which I stand with the sceptre with all my might crushing a significant portion of the skull, once again, twice and thrice then it snaps clean off. I toss the staff into the flames.

"You are not dogs! You are law abiding men and women in my eyes! Each worth my care, my attention, my love, I should serve you, I should improve your lives, make it so you can live like lords not the other way around!"

They're cheering now. I can see that they're cheering.

"Burn your pictures of Harry! Piss on his memory! Vandalise his likeness! Obliterate whatever dregs of his soul still haunt this kingdom! Spread it far! Spread it fucking wide! Harry is dead, body mind and spirit all decaying in the pits of whatever hell will take them!"

I spread my arms wide, the royal tailor comes up behind me silent as an assassin and with delicate fingers places the new cloak I had him make upon my shoulders. Masterfully crafted, sinfully comfortable and as requested, as plain as can be. It is cinnabar red with no insignia, patterns or oddities.

The royal smith approaches from the left, carrying a long sword with him, drops to one knee and offers the weapon to me. I gently pick it up, it's weight is impressive but other than that it's a remarkably unremarkable tool. It bears no engravings, etchings, insignia or any decorative qualities. It only consists of four feet of razor sharp steel and a handle wrapped with leather. I marvel at the simplicity of the weapon before letting it fall to my side.

"All of you may follow me," I order. "I've organised a spectacle for all to see!"

I turn on my heel, hop off the platform and walk through the gates of Castle Black. The crowd follows me cheering all the way.

Eventually we reach the courtyard. Most of the criminals are still standing with the exception of Roger, they seem to have grown more accustomed to the light and hope seems to have died in all of them. Royal guards stand five feet apart at the perimeter.

"These men dug up graves!" I inform the crowd. "Stole the dead,your dead. Sold your mother's, father's, children's, friend's memory to be dissected, butchered and fucked by lecherous wretches! They expect to walk free from these crimes!"

That receives a roar of disapproval.

"But the only thing that will be freed are their souls!"

And with that the starter commences. The guards move in with weapons at the ready, slowly, methodically like predators prepared to pounce. The criminals conversely scramble backwards like cornered animals converging into a mass, crushing those at the centre. Choked screams can be vaguely heard underneath the cries for mercy.

"You can't do this!" One criminal yells, his pitch so high it's almost girlish. "You promised us mercy! You said you'd be merciful if we told you what you wanted to know! We told you everything!"

I hold up my fist and the guards suddenly stop but don't leave their killing stance. Calm briefly flourishes as I approach the speaker. His face is covered in fat ugly blisters, his nose is crooked, teeth a rotting grey and hair wiry and infested with all manner of creatures.

"It's true," I say softly, laying my hand gently on the man's shoulder as if I was comforting him. "I promised each and every one of the men standing here my mercy!" I say it loud enough to be heard by all.

Then in one quick movement I drive my longsword through his gut and apply enough effort to force it out the other end of him. He stares at it blankly for a moment struggling to comprehend that I've just killed him.

"This is my mercy!" I declare. "Would you prefer me to be cruel?"

I twist the blade and rip it free, with that the guards get to slaughtering and I join them.

Blood permeates everything when we're done. The dirt, the walls, some of the audience, my boots, my hands and my sword are slick with the stuff. My wet cloak clings to me, weighing heavy on my shoulders. I watch the shadows wither and die while away from their hosts, thinning and thinning in the sunlight till they no longer exist. The crowd loved every second of the carnage, I gave them a monster and I butchered it before their eyes and they cheered for every second.

"Can Lord Thomas Wolf step forward please," I request politely.

"I am yours, my king!" He cries out stepping forward. He looks rather jolly, fat bellied, red round face, bright smile. I walk up to him and in twelve seconds his jolly face is smashed inwards by the blade of my sword and now confusion infects the crowd.

"Grandfather's chief child snatcher," I yawn. Seven other men soon collapse to the floor with knives lodged in the back of their necks.

"As were lords Robert, Edward, Harry the golden and Gregory the mute," I add. "Those who allow such deeds to be committed against children and then take on the task of cutting their throats afterwards cannot be forgiven. Only granted the gift of my mercy."

Some spit on the high class corpses and good humour returns.

I wipe my blade clean on Thomas' coat and straighten myself up.

"As you can all see this cloak is red," I state altering its positioning. "Red for the warmth I will give you. Red for the fires I shall spark for you. Red for the wine I'll give you. Red for the meat I'll feed you. Red for the bridges I'll burn for you. Red for the sins I'll commit for you. But most importantly, red for each and every drop of blood I'll spill for you. And this blade will be the tool I employ to serve this purpose."

"King Harold!" They cheer. "King Harold! King Harold! King Harold!-"

I've painted a courtyard red and they cheer my name. I've committed mass slaughtering of unarmed men and they love me for it. I need not lie to appease this mass, I need not hide behind a polite facade, I just have to direct myself.

Prince Harold the whoring, lying, savage boy had died; he burned with his grandfather's cloak. His story is over, now it is the time for king Harold the red.