Crown of Crowns

A few moments later, Doctor Cedric returned with a wooden box.

“What be of that box?” Prince William asked. He was so nervous at the sight of it he was ready to jump from the chair. But he was haunted by the cowardice comments. He knew he could not leave until the job was done.

“My lord needn’t worry,” Doctor Cedric replied, not making eye contact with the prince as he sifted through the box’s contents.

“Dost thou think saying needn’t worry causes one not to worry?”

“Nay, but I seeketh only to put thy mind at ease.”

“Then I might ask, why shalt my mind need to be at ease at all?”

Finally, Doctor Cedric glanced up; the bags under his eyes seemed but to grow in that short time.

“My lord, may I demonstrate?”

“Demonstrate? Speak as to what you mean.”

“Well, my lord, I am afraid that this may hurt slightly. Dost thou permit me to continue, knowing this?”

“Dost thou think I am a coward? If so, I will have thee executed.”

“Apologies, my lord, then I shall continue. Open thy mouth for me.” Prince William obliged, and Doctor Cedric pressed in the back of the prince's mouth with the metal instrument. “How dost this feel to my lord?”

“It feels painful. Like thirty stabbings in the back of the mouth.”

“Indeed, it is what I feared, my lord. You have suffered significant tooth decay on thy back molar.”

“Et tooth molar?” Prince William mumbled to himself, recognising the betrayal of his own tooth.

“My lord, I hate to say this, but thou shalt require a crown to prevent further decay.”

“Is the decay such that it requires a crown?”

“Indeed, my lord. If not now, then all thy teeth will eventually fall from thy mouth. Dost thou still believe the tooth fae appear and reward thy effort with golden coins?”

“How dareth you say such a thing? What insolence. Perchance thou art misleading me. Perchance thy intent is to take my teeth as one would multiple wives.”

“Nay, my lord, thy teeth shall remain loyal to my lord for now. But be warned, if thou dost not brusheth, next time thine story may be different.”

“Is that a threat?”

“My lord, I understand that thou art on edge, but understand that Doctor Cedric speaketh only the truth,” Mark Taylor chimed in.

“It is the truth, my lord. I am but worried about your health. If thou seekest not to be betrayed by thy teeth, to not lose them to the tooth fae, thou shalt brusheth twice daily from now on.”

Prince William glanced to Mark Taylor and then to Doctor Cedric. He did not trust either man, but then again, he had little sleep. Perhaps he was the one who was overthinking things.

“Very well, I shall do so from now on,” he replied, resigning himself to the lecturing by the two men he trusted the least at the moment.

Doctor Cedric nodded and began working on the teeth. After thirty or so minutes, Doctor Cedric leaned back and wiped sweat from his brow.

“All done, my lord.”

“Is that so?” Prince William asked, sitting up. It turned out to be far less painful than he initially expected.

“Thou art only to rinse thy mouth with the liquid of freshness in this chalice and spit in this pot...” Doctor Cedric’s eyes widened. “Apologies, would my lord like me to swish the liquid first?”

Prince William sat up and grabbed the chalice from the dentist's hand.

“Nay, my teeth are but shining like the sun. I need not rely on thy peasant germs to reach my mouth now that it is clean.”

He brought the chalice to his mouth and took a sip. Instantly he felt burning, albeit different from the sharp burning of tooth decay.

“What is this taste?” he asked, dropping the chalice.

“My lord, what is wrong?” Mark Taylor asked, not a hint of concern in his voice.

“It tastes sour.” Prince William noticed he was beginning to have trouble breathing. Had he been poisoned? Had his arrogance enabled the dentist to poison him? “Mark Taylor, seize the dentist now!”

Mark Taylor did not move. “I’m sorry, my lord.”

“Mark Taylor?”

“Did thou think thou could simply get away without brushing and not face the consequences? My lord, everything has consequences, and this is but another reason. Perchance you focused so deeply on thy own delicious desires. Consuming all that thou sawest. For some time this may have been indeed delicious; however, every sugary treat leads to rot, and my lord simply ate so much sweet that he did not notice the rot growing from within. If anything, this is simply a consequence of thy own action.”

“Mark Taylor! Perchance you sayeth that thou plotted to betray me?”

“Indeed, my lord.”

“Then whom dost thou swear his allegiance?”

“Dost thou not already know?”

“Perchance you swear upon my bastard brother Henry? Perchance he lives whilst I suffer in this chair. Dost thou seeketh to install him as the emperor? As a puppet under thee, an emperor on strings?”

Mark Taylor’s eyes met Prince William, and his mouth curled into a smile. Flashing his perfect pearly whites. Mark Taylor burst out laughing, a cackle wrapped in the cloth of malice. Such was the act of betrayal.

“Answer! Or dost Mark Taylor whet his blade of betrayal behind such cowardly acts? Dost thou have the manners of a mangy mutt?”

“Apologies, my lord. However, dost thou not even notice wherein my loyalty lies?”

“Speak!”

“My lord. Thou seemest to be under the impression that Prince Henry is the one I swore loyalty to. Thou didst carry out thine mission, but Prince Henry jumped into the bog in hopes that you would enact revenge on his behalf.”

“Then who!”

“My lord, perchance you have forgotten about your beautiful sister, Lady Beatrix?”

“Beatrix? But she is as weak as a doe. As gentle as a butterfly. She remains bound in the north tower. As a woman, she dost not possess the fortitude for leading. Dost thou seeketh to bring the kingdom to ruin?”

“Nay, my lord, you are mistaken.”

“How so?”

“That is true, my lord, but she dost not know of thy plans.”

“Then why Mark Taylor?”

“It is but simple, my lord. Lady Beatrix may be below in succession; however, upon your death, there is no other successor. Once we wed, the crown will belong to me. Simply put, my lord got careless, fearing thy brothers' return and claim to succession; my lord failed to notice the real successor standing next to him.”

“Dost may have seemingly clean pearly whites. Dost may even hold the crown. Dost will never be clean. Dost will be stained with the betrayal more than thy teeth ever were, or evil will be.”

Prince William coughed ever more violently. Blood splattered on his legs. No cup of liquid to rinse his palate post-cleaning would ever clear the buildup in his mouth. It was the end. He knew this. But Mark Taylor’s gleeful gaze sickened him more than the poison seeping through his veins. A brother more than a brother. A betrayal more than a betrayal.

“Watch your back, dear Mark Taylor. Dost may seize the crown from me, but thou will never sleep at night. Thou will never be clean. You may brusheth twice a day, at the strike of dawn and at the setting of the sun, but you will never rid yourself of the plaque that has built up within your heart.”

“Quiet!” Mark Taylor raised his voice.

Although he knew there was no escape from the grasp of death, Prince William smiled and let out one blood-soaked laugh.

“Others will come. What will you do when they decide to floss you, Mark Taylor?”

Prince William never heard his reply. Lest he grant Mark Taylor, his friend, his only true brother, the last laugh. Prince William would not grant him the dignity of that. He let himself embrace the silence, the darkness.

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End