Blinded

The boy was small, in more ways than one. He lived a small life in a small town in a very small kingdom. A little river ran through his little town, twisting and winding through the bumpy landscape, and sparse trees that the map makers called the Ingensi Forest. The small boy was walking along this little river, kicking pebbles along the lane as he made his way home. A fragile looking man in drab rags blew past him, knocking him to the side without even a wave or a mutter in apology. The boy shrugged, continuing along his well-trodden path, straightening his jacket and wiping his hands on his already dusty pants. After a while, he heard the faint, unmistakable jingling of bells, and he turned.

The King flashed a wide grin from his carriage as he made his way to the next city on his map. The sun glinted off the brightly painted woodwork of the cab, and clop of the horses’ hooves echoed around the empty street. Past the boy on the street, past the homes on the outskirts of the city, and past the posters on the walls and street signs lining the road. Beside the smiling king, in his billowing purple robes and gleaming crown, a petite woman sat. Back straight, and head held high, her eyes darted carefully around the street, surveying buildings and reading notices posted about the place. A poster telling of the reward for an escaped criminal was stuck to the wall of the local pub, and the curling, wrinkled corner of the royal couple’s wedding announcement flapped noisily in the breeze. The king gazed down at his new queen, looking down his nose at the boy walking along the river. As the boy turned, the king turned up his nose again and looked forward as the boy bowed obediently. The queen looked at the child as he smiled a practiced beam of admiration. She returned the gesture sincerely and looked back to her new husband.

“See, love,” he said quietly and reassuringly, “the people love you.”

The carriage came to an abrupt stop about a mile out of the little town. A man in drab rags stood proudly in the street, dozens of citizens and rouge army men surrounded him. “My King,” the man said, bowing a low mocking bow. His dark hair fell in strands in his face, and as he stood, the woman in the carriage recognized him. He’d not changed since the artist drew his picture for the wanted posters, and neither had his intentions. The man smiled wickedly up at the royal carriage.

“Are you enjoying your tour of the kingdom, my Queen?” he asked, a sneer plastered across his grimy face. A muffled wave of snickers and jeers rolled off the crowd and clung to the queen as an unpleasant film on her freshly pressed gown. The King stood, his calm and dignified expression quickly turning to one of anger.

“What is the meaning of this, criminal?” he demanded. The queen looked between her husband and the crowd of citizens, suddenly angry at her after being so loving. The man below scoffed at her expression.

“Oh, my dear Queen, my poor Queen. You didn’t realize what you were marrying yourself into.” The man looked around at his comrades. “Shall we give the lady a chance, show her mercy?” The crowd roared a negative and the queen looked at them all in horror. The man shot her a look of fake sympathy and turned back to the crowd. “Oh, my vengeful peers! Is it the lady’s fault that we are here today? She, blinded by the walls our good King built around her, the layers of love and kindness he made for her out of our unwilling souls?” The crowd responded again, violent and merciless answers raining down on the royal carriage as the crowd slowly began to press in.

“Silence,” the king commanded furiously as the guards of the carriage joined the mass of people closing in. The leader only laughed.

“See, my lady, what you don’t understand is that you’ve married yourself into a revolutionizing kingdom. Your sweet king tried to hide it from you, but you see know. This love, this love you’ve known from us sovereign citizens was handcrafted by your very own husband. Through malicious battles, unfair taxation, and dictatorship, the King has made you this love.” The queen just stared as the people closed in. She couldn’t try to make eye contact with anyone, let alone her only recently acquired husband as the people climbed aboard. And as she was lead, days later, to her executioner, the last words she would ever hear rang in her ears. “Can you feel this love?” the man had whispered as he tied the blindfold around her face, “It’s like it was made for you.”