Status: hiatus

Love, and Other Torture Devices

Overthrow

Carlyle looks up from the papers adorning the table before him when the heavy door to the room slams open against the wall. “Excuse yourself, my son.”

With a tightened jaw, Edmund glares at his father’s servants. “Give us a moment?”

Almost immediately the servants bow and exit the room, closing the door as they leave, to give the Father and Son some privacy.

“I am no son of yours,” Edmund growls, tightening his grip on the sword’s handle.

Carlyle laughs loudly, “Don’t be silly, boy. You’re my son and you always will be.”

“No father would try to do anything to his son like what you’re doing to me,” Edmund spits the words out, like venom. “You call yourself a father.”

The older man smiles, “You may not accept me as your father, but you will accept me as your King. You’re embarrassing us both by acting this way.”

“You’re the embarrassment! Trying to seduce your son’s future wife… that’s disgusting!”

“You may not understand now, but you will one day,” Carlyle nods.

Edmund quickly raises the sword, pointing it at his father. “I’m never going to be like you!” Jabbing the long, sharp object at his father, he shakes his head, “What don’t you understand about that?!”

The King snorts, “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

Saying nothing, Edmund does not move the sword.

“Are you planning to kill me, Son?”

The younger man speaks through clenched teeth, “Don’t call me that.”

“Son,” Carlyle smirks. “Think about what you’re doing. They’ll kill you.”

Edmund shakes his head, stepping closer with the sword pointing at Latovia’s king. “I would be doing my kingdom an honor by killing you.”

Carlyle snorts, putting half of his weight on the table through his hands. “I am sure you mean my kingdom. But, honestly… are you intoxicated? You’re going to risk getting beheaded over a wench?”

“She’s a Princess, and she will soon be my Queen,” Edmund steps closer, jabbing the sword toward the unmoving king. “And the people of my kingdom do not honor you like they honor me. When I kill you, they will cheer for their new, righteous King.”

Carlyle glares at his son as he stands up straight, “Your actions right now are far from righteous, boy.”

“They are just, therefore they are righteous… you would know nothing about that, though.”

Shaking his head, Carlyle clears his throat. “You know nothing about being king; therefore you cannot judge my actions, Edmund.”

“You’re a murderer!” Edmund nearly closes the space between his sword and his father, causing the older man to back away slightly. “You killed my mother, and the rest of your wives. And you have the audacity to attempt and take my future wife away from me!”

“You are acting on pure, naïve emotion, Edmund,” Carlyle says quietly. “If you put your sword down—”

Edmund holds his breath, releasing the sword before stepping back.

Carlyle sighs loudly, allowing his gaze to fall to his stomach. His bejeweled hands rest on the sides of his bloated stomach. Mouth ajar, he silently gasps for air. He finds none, before struggling to his knees.

Edmund blinks, watching his father slowly fall onto his side. Sitting down at the head of the large table after his father stills, Edmund leans back into the cushioned chair and releases a loud sigh of his own. His eyes slowly move from the body – with his sword visible on both sides of the corpse, laying less than three feet away from him – toward the decorated ceiling. He begins to blink rapidly, forcefully gripping the arms of the chair. His voice cracks when he speaks, “I-I’m so sorry.”