In addition to being Weselton's favored watering hole for those with wealth, The Prince's Crown served as a place for gambling between certain members of the upper class. On any given day, one could find at least a few nobles engaged in a (not so) friendly game of poker or blackjack, which just so happened to also involve sizable amounts of currency.
Though he was a frequent guest at The Prince's Crown, the Duke of Weselton did not usually join in on any of the activities, save for a drink and brief smalltalk with the bartender; it wasn't because the Duke didn't enjoy a good card game, but rather, it was because no one else there enjoyed playing against him. So when the Duke walked into The Prince's Crown that night, he was not expecting to be involved in any gambling.
The few patrons, engrossed in a game of craps, hurriedly packed up their money and dice and muttered their goodbyes when they saw the Duke enter the bar with his bodyguards in tow. None of them felt like losing money that night.
There was such a thing as being too good at something.
"What'll it be tonight, your Grace?"
The Duke could only just see the bartender speaking to him from behind the counter. His small stature certainly wasn't an advantage when it came to making eye contact.
"I'm feeling under the weather tonight, Charles. I'll have a brandy. In fact, make that two brandies."
"And what'll it be for you two gents?"
"Nothing," the Duke answered for them. "In fact..."
The Duke gestured away from the counter.
"...you two can go find a seat and make yourself scarce. If I need you, I'll yell."
His bodyguards exchanged a look, then went for an empty table on one side of the bar. They sat down, still watching the Duke carefully, ever alert.
As the Duke sat down on a stool, the bartender set his orders down in front of him. Almost immediately, the Duke took one of the glasses and had a drink. The brandy slid down his throat; to him, the taste of alcohol had become a comforting sensation. It was almost as though his troubles were draining away along with his drink.
The Duke sighed in relief as the bartender, Charles, spoke.
"Haven't seen you around here in a few days. What's new?"
"Nothing of any relevance. Just the usual bureaucratic garbage from the council and orphanages begging for more money."
"Well, it is part of your job," chuckled Charles. "Don't orphanages need money?"
"If they want more, the children can get jobs. Money doesn't grow on trees."
The Duke took another sip as he removed his spectacles and stowed them away in his shirt pocket.
"Anyway, enough about me. What's new with you?"
Charles cleaned out a glass with an already-dirty cloth, rubbing its insides and only making it dirtier.
"Not much, your Grace. Only thing that's happened today is that I got a new customer."
He gave a slight nod to the farthest corner of his bar.
"Bloke's been sitting there all day. For what reason I can only guess."
The Duke glanced back and saw a man sitting alone at a table, reading from an old book.
"All day, you say?"
"Yes sir. Came in here right after I opened."
The Duke surveyed the man's formal appearance. He was dressed in a black suit, and his blonde hair was styled smoothly, save for two locks which stuck upwards from the front of his hairline. A dark cravat, intricately knotted, hung from his neck.
"What's he been up to all day?"
"Nothing much. He's just been sitting at that table and reading. He hasn't caused any trouble and he is still a paying customer, so I let him stay."
"He seems like quite an odd fellow."
"That he does, your Grace. That he does. Bit daft though, I could have sworn he's already drained his glass four times over, but I've never seen him run out."
The Duke had just finished his first brandy when he saw a black deck of cards sitting on the table near the man; a second ago they weren't there, but they had now appeared, almost from thin air.
Suddenly, the Duke had an idea, partly influenced from the alcohol that already was having a slight effect on him. He gave a sly grin to the bartender.
"Charles...do you think he's from Weselton?"
"Probably just some eccentric from Arendelle here on vacation. Their king really needs to do something about all the loonies in his country."
"Arendellan or not, I think I see an opportunity here. I wonder if he plays poker.
"I don't know, and I shan't be asking him neither. There's something about him that just feels...off."
"Seems fine to me. Talk to you some other day, Charles."
The Duke took the second brandy, got off the stool and headed over to the table.
"Your Grace, wait! You forgot to pay for your drinks!"
"Tonight, they're on the house."
Charles sighed, but he wasn't in any position to be questioning the Duke of Weselton.
"You there," said the Duke, standing across from the blonde-haired stranger.
The man did not look up. He continued to stare at the inner contents of his book, turning a page.
"AHEM."
Right as the Duke loudly cleared his throat, the man looked up at him.
"Are you addressing me, young man?"
The Duke was a bit surprised. "Yes, sir. Yes I am."
"And what is it that I may help you with, young man?"
The Duke felt a slight tinge of anger.
"You can drop the sarcasm. Insulting the Duke about his age is grounds for imprisonment in this country."
"I apologize for any offence, but when you're as old as I am, everyone you meet is young, no matter how wrinkled and grey they appear."
The Duke was going to argue with him further, but he decided against it and proceeded with his original plan. He cleared his throat again.
"Erm...I couldn't help but notice your deck of cards. Are you a betting man?"
The man closed his book and set it aside, staring at the Duke of Weselton with his blue eyes.
"Only when I am challenged. What is it that you have in mind?"
The Duke smiled. "A friendly game of poker, of course. Ante is, oh, say 5 shillings?" He placed a few silver coins onto the middle of the table.
"If you insist. But this game will not end until I say it does." The man placed 5 of his own shillings onto the table, then picked up his deck of cards.
"Now wait just a minute," said the Duke. "How do I know you haven't stacked the deck?"
"See for yourself."
He placed the deck in front of the Duke, and he picked it up and flipped through it. Not a single card seemed out of place; they were playing with a full set.
"Well, fine. But I deal first," the Duke grumbled. When he had done so, he handed the deck back to the man to cut.
"I take it no one else plays with you here?"
"Afraid not. Bunch of sore losers," said the Duke. "By the way, I didn't catch your name..."
"You may call me Sam," replied the man.
"Tell me, Sam..." the Duke said, looking at the hand he had dealt, "...are you feeling lucky tonight?"
"Luck has little to do with it. 5 shillings."
Sam's coins clinked as he added to the pile.
"I see you..."
Clink.
"...and raise you 5."
Clink.
"I fold."
Sam put his cards face-down onto the table, and the Duke laughed quietly to himself as he took his first round of winnings. He looked over at the book that Sam had been reading, its brown leather cover covered in wrinkles and creases. The Holy Bible was written across its cover in golden letters.
"I see you're religious, Sam."
"Yes...in a way. What of you?"
"Please. Load of superstitious nonsense if you ask me. Nothing more than ghost stories, just like magic."
"Oh?" said Sam as he shuffled the deck and dealt out a second hand to each of them. "Sorcery isn't something you believe in either?"
"Of course not. Whether it's a musty old book or some charlatan's parlour trick, it's all the same to me. Why others believe in it is beyond me."
"Humanity does worship all manner of things. It is quite interesting what they pay reverence to," said Sam as he and the Duke tossed in their starting bets.
"8 shillings."
The Duke added his coins to the pile.
"I see it, and raise 2."
"Feeling a bit more courageous, are we? Fine, I see you and raise you 7."
Once again, Sam set his cards face-down.
"I fold."
The Duke smiled again.
"How about I buy you another drink, Sam? My treat," the Duke said.
"No thank you, water is fine with me. I find alcohol rather...pedestrian."
Sam emphasized his last word with a subtle air of distaste. The Duke of Weselton felt another small flare of anger. He was the only one who was allowed to make the clever insults. At least, that's how he saw it. He felt an urge to call his guards over and have his opponent thrown out, but that would mean ending his moneymaking scheme early.
Two more hands were dealt, and just like the previous round, Sam folded. The Duke added more coins to his growing collection.
"I bet 10 shillings," said the Duke on the next round, trying to subtly coax his opponent into betting even higher.
"I'll see you and raise you 4."
"I'll see your 4, and raise you 10."
The Duke had to cover his mouth to prevent anyone from seeing his wide smile as Sam folded once again.
"Are you sure you wouldn't like another drink? With all the money you're losing, I'm sure you could use one."
"No, I am quite fine."
With the next hand, Sam bet 4 shillings, the Duke raised him 5, Sam raised by 8, and the Duke called it. This time was different; Sam still folded, but he showed his hand this time. It was a horrid hodgepodge of cards; 9 of clubs, 3 of spades, 5 of hearts, none of them matched. Even if the Duke only had a single pair in his hand (he had three of a kind, all Jacks) he still would have won. He regretted not betting higher.
On the next hand, the Duke tried just that, and won yet again with Sam simply giving up, having seemingly been dealt another useless set of cards.
Things were going even better than the Duke had expected. Sam was practically handing him money.
"Wealth seems to bring you great joy, Duke."
"It's the only thing that ever matters, Sam my boy. People can betray you, but money will always remain loyal."
"I would not be so sure, your Grace. I have watched greed eat entire civilizations from the inside out."
"Eh, shut up with your preaching. If I wanted a half-baked philosophy lesson I'd go to church."
"Do you hate God, Duke of Weselton?" Sam asked abruptly. The Duke narrowed his eyes at the sudden question.
"...what's it to you?"
"Mere curiosity."
The Duke contemplated the idea.
"Well...you can't hate something that doesn't exist, isn't that right? If God did exist, then I would hate Him."
"I can see your point of view, Duke. I would hate Him, too."
What a nut, the Duke thought.
The two men played for another 32 rounds, with the Duke winning every single time. To the noble's delight, whenever it looked as though Sam had run out of coins, he simply produced more from within his coat.
"Where are you getting all this money from? Are you a merchant of some sort?" asked the Duke as he cut the deck. As he did, he stole a quick glance from the bottom and put the King that was there on top of it; Sam did not seem to notice.
"In a manner of speaking. I do deal in various wares which man thoroughly desires."
"Is that right? What are these 'wares' you're speaking of?" the Duke said, upping the ante by 12.
Sam ignored the question as he saw the bet and rose by 3. The Duke waited a few seconds for a response, but got none. He decided to continue on with the round of betting.
"See it, raise you 1."
Sam put his cards face-down. The Duke, a bit underwhelmed by how easy this was for him, took his winnings yet again.
"At least try, Sam. It's no fun playing against someone that gives up so easily. Don't you want to try and win all of this back?"
"Not really, your Grace. There is plenty more where that came from."
The Duke sighed and picked up the deck to deal, when Sam's hand suddenly shot out and grabbed his arm.
"This will be our last round," he said. He continued to tightly grip the Duke's wrist for a short while longer, then let go. The Duke was a bit startled, but he tossed out cards to the both of them anyway, ignoring Sam's odd mannerisms.
"I bet 6 shillings," said Sam. The Duke followed suit.
"I see your 6, and raise you 6."
Sam paused, then reached inside his coat. He drew out a pile of coins and set them onto the table. Then he took out another pile of coins and did the same thing.
He didn't stop there. He continued to keep taking coins out of his coat until the mound of them was so large that they dwarfed what the Duke had managed to win from him.
Sam pushed all of his money into the center of the table.
"All in."
The Duke coughed up a bit of the brandy he was sipping. His eyes widened and he practically salivated; these coins Sam had put in were new. They were not common Weselton shillings, but rather a brilliant sort of platinum encrusted with all sorts of precious jewels. Unknown symbols were etched into the sides of each coin.
"What...why?"
"Why not?" said Sam.
The Duke considered the situation and reviewed his hand. Not sure what to do next, he sat there for a moment and thought to himself.
"...I need 3."
He threw away his 3 of clubs, 8 of spades and 2 of diamonds as Sam dealt out three cards to him from the deck. The Duke had a warm feeling on the inside when he saw his new hand.
He now had a 6, a 7, an 8, a 9, and a 10, all hearts. A straight flush.
This man is an idiot, the Duke thought. He's just going to fold again anyway.
Even if Sam decided, unlike every other time, to stay in this round, there was no way he would be beating the Duke's hand.
The Duke pushed all of his coins to the center.
"All in," he said, gloating to himself over his sure victory. He laid down his cards.
"Straight flush. You really are an idiot, Sam. I must thank you for making me even wealthier, though. I truly did enjoy today's g-"
Sam calmly laid his first card down. The 10 of spades. One by one, he laid the rest of them down.
The Jack of spades. The Queen of spades. The King of spades. With each card, the Duke's heart sank.
The Duke felt his heartbeat quicken with panic when he saw Sam put down the Ace of spades as his final card.
"Royal flush. You lose, your Grace."
The Duke stared at Sam's cards and the massive amount of coins pooled on the table, silently surveying them. He blinked, and looked up at Sam.
"You cheat..."
The Duke slammed his fist on the wood and shoved a bunch of coins off the table. They loudly rang when they clattered on the floor.
"YOU GODDAMNED CHEAT! Guards! GUARDS!"
The two Weselton bodyguards came running from the other side of the bar as the other patrons looked on at the scene.
"Arrest this man! He is a liar, a thief! Take him down to the dungeons, at once!"
Sam stared straight at the Duke of Weselton. Although seemingly nothing had changed about him, Sam's eyes now appeared colder, cruel even.
"I would not do that, if I were you."
The Duke felt a sudden shiver up his back as one of his guards moved to grab Sam.
"You're under arrest, sir. Come along q-"
The bodyguard stopped dead in his tracks. His arm fell down to his side, and he stared at the wall.
"What the hell are you doing, guard? I said arrest him!"
The Duke turned back to his second bodyguard for help, but saw that he was behaving in the same manner as his partner, staring at the wall in a daze, eyes glazed over.
As the Duke looked around at the rest of the bar, even Charles and the rest of the patrons seemed to have been put under a trance, frozen where they were, silent and unmoving.
Sam calmly got up and grabbed the Duke by his collar. He dragged him to the entrance of The Prince's Crown and out the front doors.
Outside, Sam looked the bar up and down, then stared back at the Duke.
"I guess that's it, then. With that, I take my leave," Sam said.
The Prince's Crown burst into flames. The shrieks of the tavern's occupants could be heard from within as they were engulfed by the fire. A few of them pounded on the doors, but they were trapped inside by an invisible force.
"However, there is still one last thing I need before I go."
Sam grabbed the Duke's arm and rolled back the sleeve of his tunic, revealing the Ace of clubs he had snuck from the deck and stashed away.
"And you called me a cheat."
Sam kicked the Duke in the face, breaking his nose and sending him to the ground. He landed face-first in the dirt.
The Duke heard Sam whisper a final message in his ear.
"It would be no effort for me to burn your entire country to the ground, runt. You're lucky that I was in such a good mood today. Otherwise you would have lost much more than just some coins."
The Duke spat out some dirt, got up on his knees and looked around.
Sam was gone. All that was left was the orange inferno of The Prince's Crown, the wails of the patrons inside as they slowly roasted to death, the odor of smoldering human flesh, and a very, very faint smell of acrid sulphur.
For the first time in forever, the Duke of Weselton had a sudden desire to go to church.