Chapter Sixteen

A/N: Below is a timeline for those who may need a Vampire Diaries time reference by season. I know I certainly did in writing this.

Season 1: Fall of 2009

Season 2: Fall 2009 to Spring of 2010

Season 3: Summer to Fall of 2010

Season 4: Fall/Winter 2010 to Spring 2011

This story picked up mid-season 4, right before Christmas 2010, we are now in the Spring of 2011.

April 10th 2011

Gare du Nord

Paris, France

3:06 am

Elena curls up in her seat in silent terror, her arms wrapped around her blood spattered, jeans. She receives more than a few odd looks from fellow passengers due to her dusty appearance, but at least her jeans and jacket are dark enough to hide the worst of it.

Her eyes beg for a few moments of rest but she resists, keeping them firmly locked on the passing scenery, afraid to close them, even for a second.

When the train finally grinds to a halt in Paris, she files off behind all the passengers, her daze of bewilderment starting to abate into a tingling sense of panic. People move about the station calling to each other in French, completely incomprehensible to her. In front of her, a couple embraces, their kisses punctuated with loving exclamations. Elena ducks her head and shuffles past them, pushing away the stab of loneliness. For once in her life, she is not like these people, for there is no one to greet her and nowhere for her to go.

Unsure of what to do, she sinks into a chair near the station exit and pulls the remainder of her money from her pocket. Her assets consist of four British pounds—now useless to her in France—a fake passport, a silver bracelet infused with vervain, and Damon's daylight ring.

Elena's hands automatically wind around the ring, seeking the little comfort that it provides. She tugs it gently as she ponders her options: there is probably a Slayer here in Paris…if she can find a way to contact her. In the meantime though, she'll need to find a way to survive; she might be able to sell the passport—if she knew how or who to sell it to—but if not, she will have to pawn the ring or the bracelet if she wants to eat. If only for a moment, she laments the loss of her vampire existence, one that would've assured her survival.

The sounds of heavy footfalls in the otherwise quiet part of the station interrupt Elena's thoughts. She glances up and draws back in fear as a pair of soldiers march in her direction, large, hefty looking guns tucked under their arms. Her eyes flick towards the door in panic. They can't possibly be here because of Klaus, could they? She doesn't wait to find out. Sliding out of her seat as nonchalantly as she can, Elena makes her way to main door of the station and slips outside.

Naples, Italy

5:09 am

"Damon! Wake up!"

Damon launches himself out of bed, landing on the floor with a startled yelp. Buffy stands over him, her face yellowed by the shadowy glow of the lamp on his nightstand.

"What the hell?" Damon sits up against the bed, rubbing his head where he knocked it against the nightstand.

Buffy hesitates, wincing as she holds out her phone. "It's about Elena. You need to talk to Faith."

Damon scowls, taking the phone from her. "What?" he barks.

"Damon?" Faith questions. "We have a problem."

Damon rubs his eyes, suddenly wide-awake. "What is it? Let me talk to Elena."

On the other end, Faith sucks in a breath. "That's going to be a problem…we sort of lost her."

"What do you mean you lost her?" He shouts, standing up to throw a scathing look at Buffy. "This better be a fucking joke. Put Elena on the phone." He takes a shuddering breath. "Now."

"She's not here, Damon," Faith reiterates anxiously. "We were ambushed and I told her to run; she did, and now we've…lost her. She used Evelyn's passport to book a ticket to Paris and that's as far as Elijah could track her."

Damon swears. After picking up a glass of bourbon he left lying on his dresser, he downs the remaining liquor in one swallow and hurls it at the wall where it shatters magnificently.

"Damon," Faith attempts to reason with him, her voice audible even though Damon is holding the phone away from his ear. "I need you to—"

Damon kicks the chair at the end of his bed, sending it skittering over. "—motherfucking hell!"

"Damon." Buffy grasps his arm, easing the phone out of his hands. "I need you to calm down and listen!"

Damon shoves away from her, his bright eyes narrowed with rage and fear. He takes a few shuddering breaths but he doesn't make any further movement.

Assured that Damon has finished with his violent outburst, Buffy turns on the speakerphone function and sets the phone on the dresser.

"Do you know where she might have gone?" Faith asks gently. "Is there anywhere in Paris that might be significant to her?"

"She's never been there before," Damon growls. Kicking off his pajama pants, he yanks open a drawer so hard it nearly comes flying out of the dresser.

"What about you? Is there a place significant to you that you've maybe talked about? Does she even know any French?" Faith questions rapidly.

"I don't even like Paris, so no," he replies, pulling on his jeans and roughly tugging his sweater over his head. "And she has some high school French, but her attendance has been so sketchy she can barely order a croissant." He pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to think of where she might go. "Start combing the city for places a teenage girl might feel safe enough to sleep," he orders. "Look for landmarks, places that might be somewhat familiar to her; she'd be more comfortable there."

"Damon—" Faith starts.

Damon cuts her off before she can finish. "Does she have any money?"

"She had some money Elijah gave her for lunch, but it looks like she spent most of it on a train ticket."

"Dammit, Elena." He runs a frustrated hand through his hair, trying to block out the image of her wandering the streets of Paris alone. Focus. He has to focus. "She has some jewelry with her. Once it gets light out, look for place she might try to sell it. And if there's any homeless shelters within the city, check those too. Where are you now?"

"We're at the Gare du Nord," she replies. "Elijah is trying to find her on the security footage."

Damon grabs his new leather jacket off the back of the chair. "I'll be there as soon as I can," he mumbles, violently stabbing the end call button and pocketing Buffy's phone.

He strides briskly to the door.

"Damon—" Buffy calls after him.

He whirls around, a wild look in his eyes. "Whatever you have to say, I don't fucking want to hear it. You can either help me find her or you can get the hell out of my way. But I'm not doing a single thing for you until she is standing in front of me."

He walks out the door, slamming it so hard the wall trembles. He strides towards the elevators but finds his path blocked by a dark haired whirl.

"Leaving so soon?" Katherine purrs.

Damon glares at the leggy brunette.

"I don't have time for your shit right now, Katherine." He tries to force his way past her, but she is much stronger—especially now—and easily forces him up against the wall.

"Do you really think that you'll make it to Paris on your own?" she snipes.

Damon purses his lips. "Guess I'm going to find out."

Katherine retains her grip on him with a single hand, using the other to tick things off on her fingers. "You're on the International Terrorism Watch List, you can't compel anyone, you have human strength, and even if you somehow manage to make it all the way to Paris, what the hell are you going to do?" Her darkly lined eyes narrow. "I know your reputation there. In this state, you won't make ten minutes alone in that city once the sun goes down."

Damon tries to elbow his way out of her grip. "Let go of me Katherine."

Katherine grabs his head, forcing him to look at her. "If you want to get to Paris without landing yourself in an interrogation room—hell, if you want to find Elena at all—you'll take me with you." She widens her amber eyes, pleading with him. "You need me."

Damon cocks his head in mock amusement. "Careful Katherine, I might think you actually care." He toys with a strand of her dark curls then yanks, hard. Katherine releases him with a yelp just briefly enough that he slips from her grasp and heads straight for the elevators.

"Consider it a feeble attempt at doing the right thing," Katherine calls after him.

Damon frowns, stepping into the elevator, he turns around to face Katherine with crossed arms. She stands on the other end of the hall, unmoving as the doors begin to close. Right before they snap shut, Damon makes his decision, sticking his hand between them to keep them open. "I'm so going to regret this."

Katherine's bow like lips curve into a small smile as she strolls lazily down the hall and steps brightly into the elevator.

Boulevard de Magenta

Paris, France

3:32 am

Elena rapidly makes her way down the tree lined Boulevard de Magenta, trying not to draw attention to herself. She has no particular destination in mind, just the desire to put as much space between herself and the rail station as she can.

Finally, after nearly thirty minutes of a blistering pace, she recognizes the figure of the Sacré-Cœur glowing atop a nearby hill. Elena slows at the park resting at the foot of the hill, grateful to see something vaguely familiar, even if all she has to place it from is the cover from her old French textbook.

An empty park bench beckons her from beneath a cluster of trees. Elena sinks into it, thankful to rest her aching feet. She isn't sure where she should go from here; she'll have to pawn some of her jewellery later if she wants to eat, but she'll have to wait until something opens in the morning.

In the meantime, she's too exhausted to stay awake much longer and she needs to find someplace where she can be out of sight. She glances with trepidation at the series of large bushes at the foot of the trees; it's only April, but there is enough foliage to effectively conceal one small girl.

Elena rises from the bench, distaste etched across her face as she assesses the bushes. She's never much liked camping and this is borderline humiliating. Her exhaustion however, wins out and she crawls between the bushes. There's a nice gap between the edge of the bushes and the foot of the tree with just enough room for her to sit down without any of her limbs sticking out. She draws her knees to her chest and leans back against the tree with a sigh. It isn't comfortable, but soon her exhaustion overcomes her and she nods off into sleep.

Outside Turin, Italy

7:27am

"So are you going to refuse to speak to me for the next ten hours or what?" Katherine finally asks after two hours of driving in utter silence. "Because you're about a century and a half too old for the silent treatment."

Damon rolls his eyes with disdain "What do you want to do? Share our views on the Obama administration? Play the license plate game? Or…" He smirks at the memory. "We could talk about how you pissed Vampire Barbie off so much she made you hot glue your own mouth shut and exiled you to Naples."

"Bitch," Katherine mumbles under her breath.

"You have to give her points for ingenuity. Makes me glad I didn't stake her when I had the chance."

"I'm five hundred years old," Katherine huffs. "I've had worse."

Damon lets out a snort of derision. "Yeah, those hundred and forty five years of luxury you spent not locked in that tomb must have really sucked."

Katherine narrows her eyes. "By all means, let's spend the next ten hours rehashing that."

"Ten hours is isn't enough time to rehash all the slutty, evil ways you've repeatedly screwed me over," Damon huffs.

"Oh look who's calling who a slut," Katherine scoffs. "And I haven't screwed you over lately; shouldn't that count for something?"

Damon's mouth twists in anger. "Are you fucking kidding me? You literally screwed me in Italy."

Katherine raises her designer sunglasses, peering at him in genuine confusion. "I helped you in Italy. What are you talking about?"

Damon's mouth contorts with rage at the humiliation he felt when he finally learned he'd spent those hours with Katherine rather than Elena. "The holes in my memory while you were 'Elena?' I know what you did, Katherine."

Katherine turns her attention back to the road with a laugh. "Please. Like I would compel you to have sex with me. I have standards you know."

"Then what did you do?" Damon spits.

Katherine flicks a piece of hair out of her eyes with exasperation. "Stefan completely sucks at compulsion. It took you about five minutes to realize I wasn't Elena so I had to compel you again. You're surprisingly hard to compel," she continues. "It took a few tries to get you to stop questioning my every movement." She rummages through her purse, pulling out a tube of lipstick. "Does Elena know how aware you are of her?"

Her remark is casual rather than snide, but Damon doesn't answer, instead glancing out the window at the passing traffic. Even if he wanted to, he could never put into words the way Elena captures his attention.

He's not sure if he should believe Katherine or not, but a large part of him just wants to accept what she says as the truth and let it go. Her explanation is plausible and he's tired, so tired of carrying the weight of this hate and shame on top of everything else.

Their silence is broken by the shrill ring of Buffy's phone.

Damon pulls it from his coat pocket and stabs the answer button with vehemence. "Did you find her?"

"Damon?" Faith questions. "No we didn't. Elijah found her on the security footage at the Gare du Nord, but it looks like she got spooked by some soldiers and took off."

Damon raps his fingers on his thigh, thinking. "What direction did she go?"

"Not sure. The exterior cameras didn't catch her. Damon, I—"

"Save me the apologies," he cuts her off sharply. "Just tell me what happened."

There's a creak as Faith presumably sits down to explain. "Elijah would've had it under control," she starts. "But they had explosives; they got off the elevator, blew up half his apartment, and it sent him flying out a sixty-five storey window. By the time he healed and got back upstairs, it was too late." She takes a shaky breath. "I was with Elena when the wall blew apart, something fell on my leg and I couldn't get up. Then this hybrid came through the wall. I handed Elena the Slayer scythe and she took his head clean off—"

Katherine lets out an impressed whistle. "Didn't think Little Miss Compassion had that in her."

Damon gnaws on the edge of his lip, trying to focus instead of dwelling.

"Does she still have the scythe?" He asks.

"No," Faith replies. "She left me the scythe and I'm not sure what else she has. There was a stake, but I'm not sure what happened to it."

"What about Klaus?" Katherine interjects loudly enough for Faith to hear. "Do you think Klaus knows she's alone?"

"No," Faith states frankly. "The vampires I didn't get to, Elijah caught on their way downstairs and killed. Elijah thinks...he thinks that they might have spotted her on CCTV, but we both agree it doesn't look like they alerted Klaus. We don't think he would risk Elena's life by authorizing them to use explosives."

"Yeah you're probably right," Damon agrees.

Katherine changes lanes, stomping on the accelerator to avoid slamming into a truck.

"For once in her life she's actually being smart," Katherine disparages. "She got as far away as she could manage as fast as she could manage." She glances at Damon, causing the car to swerve dangerously. "It's what I would have done."

Damon ignores her and points towards the car they are approaching at an alarming speed. "Eyes on the road, Danika," he admonishes with a scowl.

Katherine deliberately swerves into the other lane, earning a scathing glare.

"We're going to find her, Damon," Faith assures him.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Katherine cuts in. "She's a Petrova and she's running from Klaus. She could be anywhere."

Rue Descartes

Paris, France

6:32pm

Elena leans up against a building, exhausted. Her head aches from hunger, her throat from dehydration, and her feet from walking all day. Her attempts to find a pawnshop have resulted in an entire day of fruitless search, but they have at last, paid off.

Her salvation is a dusky coloured building, the bricks chipped and battered, the awning a faded blue. Were it not for the eye catching and colourfully painted record store next door, she would easily have walked right past it, not noticing the battered paper sign in the window reading 'Vendre.' Her French is limited, but she knows it translates to something akin to 'sell.'

Eagerly, she nudges open the door to the dusty little shop and peers inside. The interior is smattered with a number of old glass display cases, all covered in at least an inch of dust. A few crudely drawn paintings of vases hang on the walls, their yellow price tags swaying slightly from the heater settled below them.

Behind the counter a man sits perched on a stool, his eyes following her entry into the room. He is old, but not elderly, with stringy dark hair and a beard just beginning to grey.

"Boujour," Elena begins to attempt in halting French. "J'ai um…" Se trails off awkwardly, trying to find the words she needs. "Parlez Anglaise?" She finally resorts.

The man studies her for a moment, then gives a small nod. "Oui," he states simply, fixing her with dark brown eyes.

"I have some…" Elena pulls out the daylight ring from where it is hidden in her shirt, deciding it best to part with that before the vervain laced bracelet, which may yet be of use. Once she gets out of this mess she can always try to come back for it. "Would you be interested in buying this?"

The man holds out his hand, gesturing for her to bring the ring closer. Reluctantly, Elena reaches around and unclasps the chain from around her neck, placing the ring in the man's outstretched palm.

As he studies it, she can't help but notice how different it looks in another man's hand. Damon's fingers are so slender, beautiful even; they're always moving with a graceful sense of purpose, regardless of whether he is trailing them lovingly up her arm or wrapping them angrily around someone's throat. But this man's fingers are wide, almost grotesque, with the nails stained and chewed. Elena swallows, taking a step back to resist snatching it away when he holds the ring up to the light to examine it, tilting his head from side to side.

When he finishes, he glances up at her, running a finger over the S etched into the ring. "I cannot buy zeeth...I do not usually buy jewellery."

Elena's face falls at his words; selling this ring was her last hope of having somewhere to sleep tonight.

"But," the man continues, "Je connais a man in Clichy-sous-Bois…I will…how you say…telephonez."

Elena nods in understanding as the man holds up a finger and picks up the phone, dialling a man she hopes will buy it. She listens as he prattles on in French for a few moments, then hangs up. "He will buy it," the man declares, hanging up the phone. He pulls a piece of paper from under his desk and begins jotting things down for her.

"You must…allez ici, comprendez-vous?" He shoves the paper towards her. Elena glances at the rudimentary map he has drawn which directs her to the closest subway and then lists the next few trains she must take to reach her destination. "My friend will stay…ouvert for you." He opens his hands as if to demonstrate the word open. Elena nods in comprehension, taking the paper with some measure of trepidation. The ring however, she picks neatly off the desk, and fastens back around her neck, somewhat glad she doesn't have to part with it just yet.

"Merci beaucoup," she says simply, folding the paper and tucking it into Caroline's jacket pocket.

Once outside, she leans against the edge of the building, trying to decide if she should go through with this or not. On one hand, it is going to be dark soon and she has only a basic set of directions to an unknown and potentially dangerous location. On the other hand, she hasn't eaten all day and it is significantly colder tonight than it was last night; she loathes the idea of spending another night burrowing into some bushes. Desperation wins out and she squares her shoulders, heading towards the subway station.

Avenue Daumesnil

Paris, France

7:08pm

Damon sighs with relief as he pulls the Maserati onto the exit for central Paris. It has been a long ten and half hours in close company with Katherine, and his nerves are all but shot.

"We should talk about how we're going to deal with the vampire situation," Katherine suggests. "I think the first thing we should do is pay a visit to Pierre Legrand."

Damon snorts. "We're here to find Elena, not reconnect with your former lovers. And while we're on that subject, Pierre? Seriously?"

Katherine smirks. "Jealous, Damon?"

"Yes, Katherine," Damon replies, his voice dripping with sickly sweet sarcasm. "After a century and a half of your bullshit, some of which includes my own brother, I'm jealous of a runty little twerp like Pierre Legrand. Why did you turn that obnoxious little bastard anyways?"

Katherine throws him one of her manipulative smiles, like a cat that just swallowed a canary. "He was dead useful during the Revolution. Sire bonds often are. You'd know that if you hadn't been so adamant about doing the 'right thing' for Elena."

Damon makes a move to backhand her, but Katherine easily bats his hand away. "Would you just relax? If my doppelganger is wandering around Paris, he'll know something."

Damon eyes flash murderously as he catches a look at the fading sunlight over the city. If he knows anything, it is that Paris is no place for Katherine Pierce's doppelganger to be wandering in the dark.

"You know I'm surprized you didn't kill Pierre when you were here in 1917," Katherine comments dryly.

Damon takes a breath and shrugs, at this point unsurprised she knows of his whereabouts in 1917. "I would've, but his sister was hot."

"Guess that explains why Jeremy Gilbert has made it this long," Katherine jokes. Damon glares at her darkly, causing Katherine to roll her eyes. "Okay, fine. I'll admit it: that was a bit tasteless. But you should know that Daphne still wants your head on a spike."

Damon shakes his head. "Are you suggesting I should be afraid of Daphne fucking Legrand?" He chortles. "She's old, but I've eaten vegetables with more intelligence. A baby like Vampire Barbie could take her." He sighs, remembering how he left here all those years ago. "Annalise Thierry, though, is a whole different story."

Glancing out the window, they're nearing the heart of Paris now, passing one of his favourite old haunts at the Canal Sainte-Martin. He hasn't been back here in years, partially because the city is—in his mind—rapidly declining in grandeur, but mostly because there are a lot of vampires here in Paris and the woman who once led them is no friend to him. "Is Annalise still in power?" he wonders aloud, hoping the answer is negative. Elena wandering around Paris with Katherine's face and his daylight ring is several degrees more dangerous if she is.

Katherine scowls at the mention of Annalise's name. "She's still in power. Bitch has been running this city since she sold me out to Klaus in 1809." Damon lets her continue even though he already knows most of the story. "I practically built the vampire network in this city," she whines. "I turned her; I made her everything she is, and that bitch sold me out." She glances at Damon. "But from what I hear, I'm not the only one on her to-kill list." She wags a finger. "Haven't you learned your lesson about a woman scorned?"

Damon turns onto the Rue de Rivoli, concentrating on manoeuvring the Maserati into a tiny available parking spot. "I never bothered to sleep with Annalise," he states simply as soon as he pulls up the parking brake. "I just tried to kill her,"

Katherine tilts her head towards him with a perfectly arched eyebrow. "Why?"

Damon watches a couple stroll past their parked car with a quiet stare. He can't bring himself to say it, and he knows it's exactly what she wants to hear. "Who says I needed a reason?" he spits bitterly.

"You had one though, didn't you?" Katherine murmurs, leaning over to cup his face. Damon flinches at her touch, but she grips too hard for him to pull away. His eyes are forced to meet hers and he notices just how identical they are to Elena's: the lovely oval shape, precise hue of amber, not even identical twins possess such a mirrored image. But there is nothing in her eyes, in her touch, that gives him any sense of reprieve. Everything about her, from her appearance to his feelings about her, are cold and bitter. He stares back at her angrily, utterly convinced that there is nothing in the world beyond the deepest of compulsions that could ever cause him to confuse the two women.

"All these years and you're still the same noble idiot you've always been, aren't you?" Katherine pulls away with a pat to his cheek, letting out a cruel laugh. "What were you going to do if you were actually successful? Run the city in my place?"

Damon doesn't respond. The last two years have taught him there's no point in responding to her when she's like this. Instead, he sits back in his seat, contemplating all the ways he could rip her to pieces; however, his train of thought is interrupted by the ringing of Buffy's phone. He scrambles to pull the phone from his coat pocket. "What have you got for me?"

"Damon?" Faith replies. "We finally found something. One of Elijah's vampires called. He said another vampire told him that he saw Elena on the Rue Descartes this afternoon."

Damon lets out a sigh of relief that she survived last night; however, the pink streaks of sunlight are beginning to set over the city, and it is not long before it will be dark again. "And?" he questions eagerly.

"Elijah's friend didn't get much else out of the vampire though; it was daylight and he said he just saw her enter a shop from a building across the street," Faith responds. "Elijah and I are on our way to the Latin Quartier, but we were at a homeless shelter in Noisy-le-Sac and it's going to be a few—"

Damon cut her off abruptly. "Katherine and I are close; we can meet you at the Rue Descartes. Any idea what shop she went in?"

"He said the one next the record store? That's all we got."

"We'll find it. Just get here as soon as you can," he orders.

Clichy-sous-Bois

Paris, France

8:37pm

When Elena finally emerges from the metro station, having changed trains three times and backtracked once, she finds sun has already made its decent over the city, leaving only a few lingering pink streaks in the otherwise grey sky.

She studies her surroundings, noting the eerie shadows thrown on the boarded up building across the street. Trash litters the sidewalk as it does in any large city, but there is significantly more of it here. Elena glances down the shadowy street with hesitation; there is nothing to stop her from turning straight back around, hopping a turnstile, and going back to central Paris. Nothing but the thought of a bed and something to eat.

Since she no longer has the abilities she possessed last time she found herself in a situation such as this, Elena does her best to fake it. If she hurries, with any luck she will be able to make it from the shop back to the metro station just as the sun is setting. Her scruffy appearance helps her blend in with the streets around her, and she keeps her chin up, just enough to show she isn't afraid, but not so much that she draws attention to herself. With a determined twist in the set of her mouth, she sets off at a steady clip, a natural pace fast enough to make it look like she knows where she is going, but not so fast as to appear afraid.

There is more open space here than there is in central Paris. She passes a series of boarded up and abandoned buildings, covered in graffiti; above her, a number of ugly high rises loom, dilapidated. Despite the obvious poverty, the area is filled with green spaces; trees line the sidewalks, and several of the houses have plants on their front porches. People watch from their doorways with heavy, wary eyes as she goes past, but no one bothers her, instead turning away, back to their own affairs. This is a life far removed from the quiet, measured streets of Mystic Falls that she grew up in.

She rounds the corner, only a block from her destination, when a figure emerges from the shadows, planting herself directly in her path with a speed no human could manage. Elena draws in a sharp breath of surprise, her eyes flicking about her surroundings for an escape. The woman in front of her sneers with a toss of her long, gilt-colored hair, her sickly sweet smile flashing just a hint of fang.

"Katherine," she addresses, her voice dripping with malice. "Quel surpize."

A/N: I have done some research with this chapter to accurately describe Paris but I did take some liberties to make my plot work. For example armed French soldiers do currently patrol train stations in Paris (they're called Vigipirates which I find highly amusing) but this only started in 2012 as the result of the French invasion of Mali and was probably not going on back in 2011. Also, Clichy-sous-Bois does not currently have a metro station, one has to take a bus from the station at Le Raincy. I hope you will excuse these liberties I have taken with the city of Paris and Clichy-sous-Bois, please do let me know if there is anything that particularly bothers you.

For those who do not know, Clichy-sous-Bois is one of the poorest suburbs of Paris, where the riots of 2005 originated. It unfortunately remains a very poverty stricken and isolated area.

Much thanks, as always to you wonderful readers, who have been so incredibly supportive, and to my beta Skye, without whom, this story would severely be lacking.