Happily Ever After (?)
Prologue
Blood red sunlight drenched the capital of the Southern Isles as Hans rode through the now destroyed city. He frowned at a burning temple where he had enjoyed playing in as a child.
"My lord," an approaching solider shouted, breaking Han's flashback of one of the few happy moments of his childhood. Hans, not caring to know the man's name, could see from his markings that he was a captain. The man jumped off f his horse and knelt down on his right knee before unfolding a tattered flag—a picture of a silver wolf on a crimson background, the flag of the now former regime—and presented it to Hans. "The city is yours."
Ignoring the ceremonial gesture, Hans commanded the captain to stand, "I thought that I gave explicit orders to you fools to not sack the city!" He roared angrily.
The captain's face went pale with fear, "I was merely following orders given by General Arlington, my lord," he stammered, knowing about the Prince's cruelty during his fits of anger.
"Tell that fool Arlington that he should watch his head," Hans spat as he snatched the ragged banner out of his hands. The captain muttered a hasty "yes, m'lord" and quickly went on his way. Hans ran the silky fabric over his bare fingers. It was forbidden by anyone but the king to touch the flag with their band hands: a custom invented by a council of old men who were now fertilizing flowers. As Hans ran the silky fabric over his bare fingers, he felt an overwhelming sense of power that almost made him want to scream out loud. Being able to indulge in the tradition was simply a symbolic consolidation of his power.
After passing by multiple streets of burning houses, its streets strewn with burnt corpses, Hans finally reached the central castle of the Southern Isles. Built by the first Westergard, the castle they called the Jewel was as much of an impenetrable fortress as it was a luxurious palace. Seeing his personal banner—a roaring dragon of gold and crimson—being draped over its battlements rather the traditional banners which had flown for three thousand years was going to be one of the greatest moments of his life.
The throne room was decorated in a similar fashion, where the traditional paintings of Westergard Kings and banners have been torn down and piled up in the center of the room like trash. As his eyes scanned the room, he was pleased that only his most loyal and fanatic followers were present.
"All hail King Hans!" The room chanted in unison upon his entrance.
"Rise! You are now my subjects! Follow me and you shall never hunger or thirst again!" Hans yelled as he walked up to the large jewel-encrusted throne. From there, he cleared his throat and prepared to give the speech he had written beforehand when the heavy double doors of the throne room burst open with two burly guards hauling a skeletal, malnourished man coming. They violently threw the still struggling prisoner in front of the steps leading up to the throne.
"We found him trying to sneak out with the dead, your majesty." The larger of the two guards said.
"Stand him up," Hans commanded, smiling at the old man with an evil glint in his eyes. He will relish this moment for as long as possible.
"You will burn in hell for this, Hans!" The old man, whose white beard was knotted and dirty with debris, angrily shouted.
"Father!" Hans loudly proclaimed, still casually lounged on the large seat of the throne. You are obviously in no position to be making threats towards the true ruler of the Southern Isles."
The old man violent spat on the ground, an act which prompted one of the brute-like guards to violently smash the hilt of his longsword into the back of his head. "You are no king," the old man gasped in obvious pain.
"Brandon and Gregory said the same thing before I gutted them like the swine they were," Hans gloated, remembering the macabre and grisly way he executed his brothers.
"They were your brothers, Hans."
"Enough!" Hans waved his hands like an irritated lion pestered with flies, "because you are my father, I shall offer you a deal. I'll allow you to keep your head if you officially abstain from the throne and name me as your rightful successor."
"I'd rather cut my own head off before I give you the permission to even lay eyes on the throne!" The old man said with vehement rage.
"I thought you might say that, old man. Bring her forward!"
Out from the audience, two more soldiers brought forward a heavily pregnant woman, clearly in pain.
"Abagail!"
"That's correct, Father, I've found your bastard daughter. The one you love so much?"
"You'll for this!"
"Careful now, old man, here's my deal: your head and this whore or your throne.
The old man shot daggers at Hans and was about to spew another insult but then caught
the frightened gaze of his illegitimate daughter.
"The throne is yours, your majesty," he said through gritted teeth.
Hans grinned evilly, "wise choice, old man," he chuckled before he walked done to where he was kneeling and produced a peace of parchment. "Pen and ink!" he demanded. A servant woman clutching a writing surface and an inked quill came forward and handed it to the king. The old man reluctantly read the document and scrawled a feeble signature over it.
"There, you have your kingdom, Hans."
"So I do, old man," Hans gave a curt nod to the guards holding Abagail captive. The smaller guard pulled out a sharp dagger and harshly jammed it in the pregnant woman's belly before slitting her throat in one fluid motion, turning her screams of pain into sick gurgling sounds.
Hans gave the old man a second to scream before unsheathing his ceremonial sword and decapitating the old man cleanly in one swift motion and kicking the head away from the now dead king. The crowd exploded in applause at the sight.
"Find a good writer to make copies of this and put the old bastard's seal on it," he ordered the servant, "tell him to send copies to all the major Loyalist camps in the nation." The servant woman nodded and quickly scuttled away while Hans basked in the cheers of his followers. Finally, he thought, he had the power he knew he deserved.