Kingdom of Bloodshed Gums

To brusheth… or not to brusheth… that was the question. 

A question ignored by Prince William. Not simply out of spite for placing bristles within his mouth. The textual sensations indeed did not please the prince. However, the reason lay in his not having time for meaningless, mundane things that concerned mortal men, not least when time continued to slip away. Drawing ever closer to the day prophesied by the witch of the bog.

He met the woman with skin of a frog and eyes hollow, as if gouged out by a spoon during his journey back from the borderlands. She lived in a hut of twigs within the Elkwick Bog beside the bubbling swamp. Spirits danced a taunting dance, but just out of sight. It was as if they found muse in their mockery of the prince. The nobility held no power over the fey as much as Prince William desired.

The woman waved her hand to him.

“Cometh in Prince William.”

How did she know of his name? He needn’t find out how, as something compelled him to enter, as if an invisible force tugged him in. Perhaps the fey themselves, invisible to the eye, were pulling at his arms.

“To whom dares speak such informalities?”

The toadish woman smiled.

“Thou shalt heed my words, Prince William Nightingale. Seven rises and falls of the sun ‘till the day of the moonless night. The fall of the sun marks the rise of stars. The ravens caw, and death consumes. There is no replacement of the sun, so squabbling turns violent. Death of star. Death of Star. Beware! Death comes for you, Prince William! BEWARE!” She screamed before falling backwards dead.

At first, Prince William considered her words to be just the ramblings of a woman who had consumed one too many toxic fumes of the swamp. A woman on the verge of death with an illness of the brain. But questions arose in his head after the seventh day of his return, when his father dropped dead the moment the sun set.

The physicians confirmed that neither poison nor age nor lingering curses plagued his late father. The king died of natural causes as if the time of his heart stopped. It was as if God himself struck down the king in divine retribution.

But if the toadish woman, perhaps a witch, had been correct about his father’s death, then she too would surely be trusted in the remainder of her prophecy. Namely, the concern that his father held no clear succession plan. Prince William was the second child of his father’s three. Beware indeed.

The eldest, a sister, frail and meek. Had spent her time out of politics and banished to the north tower where she slumbered. As a woman, Prince William had little to fear about her. Jokingly, he suggested that his dear childhood friend Mark Taylor should take her hand in marriage. Indeed, that was the plan upon his coronation.

However, whilst he need not worry about his elder sibling, the younger was of far greater concern. Prince William’s half-brother, Henry, the bastard child of his late father, was born in the slums of the land and beloved by all. Although younger, he seemed natural for succession to many. Something that Prince William, the rightful heir, despised.

Which is why he ordered Mark Taylor to slay the man during a trip to the Elkwick Bog. Mark Taylor confirmed his brother’s death, but the body had yet to be recovered. If perchance his brother remained, if perchance Mark Taylor had schemed betrayal, the risk was too great. He sought to play it safe until the ceremony officiated his rule. Only then, once he seized the crown, he would return to the way he was.

But each day it seemed that the sands of time trickled ever closer. The day of succession was dawning ever closer. Each squawk of the crow only signified one more day Prince William stepped closer to the prophesied time. The time of his supposed death.

Prince William grimaced as he clenched his jaw. He had long since stopped relying on maids to attend to his personal hygiene. He could not trust them. Not yet. For his brother was still missing. Until Prince William confirmed the body, it was but another potential successor.

Prince William placed his hand next to the vanity mirror.

“What, will these pearly whites ne'er be clean?”

Avoiding maids did wonders for avoiding potential betrayals, yet he could not account for the betrayal of his own dentures. It was truly a royal ascension built upon the shed blood of the gumlines.

The creak of the door

Mark Taylor, thy retainer, enters.

“My lord, dost thou permit me to begin preparations?” he asked with a bow.

Curious about his words, Prince William avoided Mark Taylor’s gaze and mused to himself. Dost he perchance knoweth of thy oral struggles? Observant, if true. Perhaps even fearsome if true.

“How dost thou intend to prepare? What dost thou intend to prepare?”

Mark Taylor bowed with a smile as trustworthy as a fox. Prince William knew of the sly actions of his dear friend. But even so, he was the only one he trusted, for he was loyal at least for now.

“Hast thou not realised that the coronation is tomorrow?”

“How could thou ask me such ridiculous things? Of course I am aware. Dost thou think something is wrong with my brain?” Prince William narrowed his eyes at the other man. “Choose thou words carefully, Mark Taylor. Friend or not, thou knowest that I still hast little trust in thy failure to retrieve my brother's corpse.”

“Apologies, my Lord.” He bowed once more. “I dost not suggest that thou art ill of the mind. I simply observe that thou hast not sought tender by a maid. My lord looks as if thou hast not slept for several days.”

“What dost thou then suggest?”

“My lord…” He smiled with eyes of greed. “I seeketh to summon maids to tend to my lord.”

Although Prince William still found his friend's words to be sly, he paused to think further of the matter. In preserving his own sanity, he had sacrificed all the mortal pleasures of man. Perchance Mark Taylor noticed this. Perchance this was the opportunity he needed prior to the coronation. If not trust Mark Taylor, then whom could Prince William trust?

“Indeed, the thought of the pleasures of beautiful virgin maids, dost please me. Perchance, one may even bear a child. I dost seeketh a heir, a healthy son, to succeed after long rule. Although I worry that Mark Taylor might betray me. The child of my own flesh, doth Mark Taylor intend to betray me and raise him as thou own?

“My lord, I would dost not anything of the sort.”

Prince William still doubted every word that escaped his companion's mouth. But no man could resist the pleasures of a young maid's body.

“Indeed, thou art wise, Mark Taylor. I seeketh the pleasures of love. Although the risk of death, the temptation of bodily flesh outweighs such concerns, for no man could resist such corporeal desires. Very well, indeed, Mark Taylor, ready three maids for my chambers.”

“Apologies, my lord.” Mark Taylor bowed his head, placing his hand on his blackened heart. “Whilst I too appreciate the pleasures of flesh, I speaketh not of the desires of man.”

“Why else would thou suggest to summon maids if not for pleasure?”

“I refer to the importance of tending to my lord regarding hygiene.”

“Dost thou suggesth that thy reeks worse than the waste chambers? Where dost thou find courage to utter such traitorous things? Dost thou perchance not fear death, my dear friend, Mark Taylor?”

“Forgive me, my lord. I just seek to ensure your coronation is met with reverence. For…” he deliberately trailed off and bowed with the eyes and a grin of a fox. Yet his words sparked curiosity within Prince William.

“Go on, speaketh what you mean, Mark Taylor.”

“Well, my lord has eyes of man, dost he not?”

“Dost thou doubt thy manhood? Speak carefully, Mark Taylor. If thou were not a long-time friend, I would have cut out thy tongue and locked you in the dungeons below awaiting execution.”

Prince William hoped his words would spark some fear in the other man. Although they may be long-time friends, he didn’t trust the man in the slightest. He was as slippery as an eel, as trustworthy as a wolf in a flock of sheep. Yet he was also useful. It was time to dispose of him. Not lest he risk destabilising the empire.

“Well, would thou accept in your bedchambers with teeth as black as tar?”

“Mark Taylor, what is this great disrespect thou speakest? Dost thou think I would settle for less than the best?”

“Nay, my lord. I asketh this as my lord likewise should not neglect his appearance. For my lord only deserves the best of the best. And the princesses of foreign lands seek not for less than the best.”

“Dost thou suggest I am not the striking image of perfection?”

“Nay, my lord, you are a god amongst humans. A man amongst men. But thou hast not tended to thyself since the death of thy father. Dost, my lord, not think thy dentures would repulse Lady Elizabeth?”

“Why dost thou speakest her name?”

“Why, my lord hath eyes for Lady Elizabeth, dost he not?”

“How dost thou know about that?” Prince William withdrew his blade. If Mark Taylor were to threaten him, it would be best to act now.

Unflinching, Mark Taylor raised his hands as if to surrender.

“My lord, I am many things, a loyal servant, an old friend, but perhaps more so, I am a man who recognises love. Dost thou perhaps forget the promise of thy sister’s hand in marriage?

“Dost thou truly love her?” Prince William raised his eyebrow.

Mark Taylor's lips curled, flashing his pearly whites that were unstained, unlike Prince William's.

“Perchance that I dost harbour feelings, what dost thou think?”

Prince William laughed as he holstered his blade.

“In that case I shall welcome it. Thou shalt make an excellent brother-in-law.” Saying this made Prince William flinch. In his amusement at his friend's feelings, he forgot how to speak so as not to hurt himself.

“My lord, teeth hurt worse than the sting of a hornet, dost thou not?”

“Perchance it dost indeed. What dost Mark Taylor, my future brother-in-law, suggest?”

“Well, in my humblest opinion, I suggest that thou visit the dentist.”

“Can’t the problem wait until the strike of the morrow?” William proposed, out of desperation, not to visit the dentist.

“Nay, my lord. Thine schedule is filled more than a maid's pail. Time draws ever closer, and thy schedule shall not permit it.”

As much as he wanted to put it off, he knew he couldn’t, lest his breath reek worse than the worn loins of peasants.

“Very well, I shall pay visit to the dentist. Mark Taylor, please notify the dentist that I shall be attending.”

Mark Taylor placed his hand on his heart and bowed with a sly smile.

“Tis would be an honour, my lord.”

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

End of Scene 1