The King

Later that evening, during the most despicable hour of night, three grubby men were seated around a table in the dark pub of Renegade Alley. None of them were in a good mood as they grumbled to each other over pints of ale. They had had one simple task that day, and they couldn't even get the job done. And they always got the job done.

"You know, he's not going to be happy," Harry grumbled, gripping the glass in his hand a little tighter as he looked up at his companions through greasy, black hair.

"We can only hope that he doesn't find out," Thomas agreed, nodding his head as he threw back another gulp of ale.

"You both know he already knows," Winston, the leader of the pack, said as he stared at the other two. He didn't know who they were trying to fool.

"Well, maybe he doesn't. He-"

"Harry, you know just as well as I do that he always knows," Winston barked, causing the portly man to cower back in his seat.

"I really hate the King," Thomas muttered, his eyes focusing on the grains of the wooden table. "And that son of his doesn't seem too bright.... Prince Brian," he scoffed.

"If it weren't for the King and his royal family, we'd be able to take over the kingdom. And then we'd be in charge," Harry guffawed.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that..." Winston warned, trailing his finger around the rim of his glass.

"Doesn't change the fact that I hate royalty and all it stands for," Thomas spat once more.

"Oh, surely us royalty aren't all that bad," a slimy voice called from behind them, making all three men jump in fright. There was something about that voice that always kept them on edge.

Bartholomew had a sly grin across his lips as he stepped out of the shadows. He liked the fact that his power still enforced fear in them.

"You're different," Thomas sighed in relief, leaning back in his seat. "I mean, you're just the King's brother. You lost all chance of inheriting the throne when the Prince was born."

Quickly Bartholomew's eyes narrowed, his glare of malice causing Thomas to cower before him again.

"And here I was, about to pay for your dinners..." He spat, wrenching the empty chair back from the table before he took a seat. "How could you possibly let them get away?" he hissed, referring to Brian and Lyndsey. Without waiting for answers, he continued. "I had it all planned out perfectly. The Prince wouldn't even have wandered beyond the borders if I hadn't manipulated his curiosity."

"Well he wasn't exactly alone," Harry stuttered. "We couldn't kill the Prince in front of the girl."

"Why not?" Bartholomew asked, pounding his fist down on the table, causing the glasses to rattle. "You could have killed the girl first...made the Prince suffer. I've seen the way he watches that girl. If he understood his own feelings, he'd practically be worshipping the ground she walked on. And then, once he'd been tortured enough watching her die, you could have put him out of his misery. Is it really that difficult?" Bartholomew growled.

"We would have sire, but the King showed up right as I had the two young ones cornered. It was all I could do to keep him from not slaying me then and there," Winston said, slowly hanging his head in the shame he knew he was rightly feeling. "What did you want us to do? Kill the King?"

Looking up into the glinting eyes of the king's brother, Winston guessed the answer he was about to receive.

"Exactly. For too long I've watched my older brother prance around on his high horse. I will become the King, and I will kill anyone who gets in my way of the throne. And you, my boys, are going to help me." Standing, Bartholomew looked down on his three men. "The King and his beloved Prince will fall." And with that, he turned and began to walk to the door.

"...What do you want us to do?" Winston called out, and Bartholomew halted, looking over his shoulder.

"For now...be prepared."