A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1835 - 1835: A Man of Significance - Part 7

Then he was left. His room was locked from the outside, and guards were stationed. And it was just him – the King of all the Stormfront. The master of all the Silver Kings and Queens. Determined not only by one cycle of succession, but two. By the ancient dictates, when Arthur did see fit to die, the displeasure of the Gods was made evident, and it was determined that, until the death of this High King, the same House would rule.

But naturally, the High King wanted more. He wanted to ensure that his House remained in power for all time. The cycle of succession be damned. And what better way to do that than to win this civil war – than to see Queen Asabel slain?

For she was a treacherous wench as well, just like Persephone had been. A woman of the utmost beauty, grace, and royalty, and she had betrayed him just like that, in a single heartbeat, and declared him the most sinister man in the realm. In person, she had been ever so charming, but quickly was she corrupted, just like the rest of them, and once more was it done by a Patrick seed.

"THOSE DAMN PATRICKS!" He howled at the roof of his bed, pounding his fist. That they would bother him for so long, the most minor and ungracious of houses. They were the disease, they were the corruption. He'd heard Dominus' skin had gone purple in his later years, and he thought that to be a fitting thing, for the man was poison itself.

When Arthur had died, and he'd heard that Dominus had gone to his rescue, and been slain too, the High King had not been able to believe his fortune, or how much the Gods did love him. To have the last two of his foes slain all in one blow. That had been bliss, the dancing of a merry fate, and for those fifteen years, there had been the utmost in peace. The High King did not fancy that he had been happier in all his life.

Well, naturally, there had been moments where he had wanted more… There had been evenings where his hands would tremble, and he would wonder what he had done, and he would curse himself. But now he saw the truth of it. That was what the fires of war brought, they brought the illumination of truth. Now the High King saw how foolish he was. He would have done anything to turn time back, and enter into that fifteen-year period, before the existence of Oliver Patrick, and before the return of Dominus Patrick.

A worm of the highest sort, that's what the Patricks were. That should be their sigil, the High King thought, to some amusement. To go fifteen years, a half-dead man, living away from the world… What creature would do that, if not one motivated exclusively by evil, exclusively by malevolence?

He had borne Dominus no ill will. It was the man himself who'd born that for him. "He took what was rightly mine! What was promised to me!"

It was Dominus' fault. He had reached his greedy fingers towards a prize that was far beyond him, and he'd cackled and schemed, as a Minister of Evil, working plots that the most devious of foxes could not dare to have matched. He'd turned the entire realm around his finger. He was a dangerous, dangerous man. To have corrupted the sweet and innocent Perstophone the way that he had.

And then there was that trick he'd pulled, once the High King had seen through his ruses. "I'd put a stop to him, I did, I made all the right plans. I took what was mine for myself. She and I lived together, did we not? Nay, not in the same chamber, but the same castle. We dined at the same meals. She was bound to me, she was mine, and there was naught he could do about it. Even if that foolish Treeant King refused to give me his permission, for want of more gold as reward. I had it all, did I not? It was mine! And how was it he bested me? They all knew what he was thinking! They all knew he was nothing more than a foolish knight reaching for the hand of a Princess! And with me, they condemned him, and scorned him, as they rightfully should."

By Dominus' own wanting, he had revealed himself. Any with eyes to see could see it. Dominus Patrick wanted the hand of Princess Persephone. And there were those that dared to call him honourable, despite all that! To attempt to steal the hand of a promised woman? What was more goblin, more of Pandora than that? The colour of purple that Pandora painted him with, that was justice. But not before she inflicted chaos on the realm.

He gave that declaration of his, in honour, he said. As soon as he knew himself to be in love with the Princess, he made it public. He told all openly, so that they might mock him. The High King had forced him into that position, and he had delighted in the anguished look on his face. He had caught Dominus walking through the streets, in the weeks after his declaration, and he had looked like a man sick on his own stomach. A veritable ghost. Nothing had delighted the High King more than that.

Then why was it that the opinions of the people did change? The more time that went on, all seemed to shift towards Dominus' favour. There was quiet praise muttered. They called him even more honourable for it. The most honourable knight in the realm – fit to be Arthur's comrade. "It didn't make any sense, the very thing he confessed to was the height of dishonour, how could they praise him for it?"

"For the stoniness of his endurance, you fool," came a woman's voice. One that the High King recognized all too well. She was contorted by death like the rest of them. She ought to have been mere bones by now, but in the demon that visited him, flesh still clung to her, and half-eaten lips, all to make her seem more terrifying, so that the demon could further frighten him. "None could have endured the humiliation but him. You took his lands for it, you reduced him to nothing. He gave all away, merely to have it said."