The Dark Heir (SHORTLIST - Open Novella Contest 2019)

The Adoption Agency Meets Mob Mentality

It was late afternoon the next day when they reached the adoption agency where Gerald had dropped Rose sixteen years earlier.  It was the only one in the kingdom that had a "no questions asked" policy.  Actually, it was the only one in the kingdom period.  It stood several miles outside of Faretown, and though they had been able to get a brief ride with a trucker (who talked obsessively about some sort of shaving cream none of them had ever heard of), he dropped them off two miles away when they refused to sign up for his sales team. 

Going to the adoption agency was Gerald's idea. When the Wizard mentioned the ring the night before it jogged Gerald's memory, and he'd been awake the whole night reliving the day Rose was born.  He had been warned not to lose the ring, but the first thing he'd done upon regaining consciousness in this future time was identified the quickest route to the nearest (and only) adoption agency, and relieve himself of any and all burdens pertaining to the child.  This included the ring. 

"If I were king," Arien was saying yet again as they walked down the long dirt road, "I shouldn't allow salespeople to be so heavy-handed with their pitches.  It's quite unbecoming don't you think?  Oh, wait, I AM King," he added pompously. 

This earned him a dark look from Gerald, and a "Still not king yet," quip from Rose, who had been listening to this nonsense since the night before.  The idea of being king had gone to Arien's head quicker than a three-year-old can disappear at bath time, and he'd spent the majority of the day trying out different voices he thought sounded "kingly."  In reality, they all made him sound like he had his head shoved deeply up his ass, which wasn't all that far from the truth.  He kept talking with Rose chiming in.

"This being King ("Nope") stuff, is quite interesting so far you know, ("We really don't, why don't you tell us some more?") I suppose I really should start to get to know my subjects ("They're not YOURS, they belong only to themselves.") and see what they would like to have in a king.  You know I supposed it's kind of like being a father ("Oh here we go with the patriarchy*..."), but I'm not sure being a king is like being a cult leader (it is...talk about pyramid schemes...) so I'll have to figure out who to model myself on.  Gerald, do you have any books about kings?"

"Do I look like I'm carrying around a library?" Gerald grumbled.

In fact, Gerald's enchanted cloak did include a small library.**

"If you keep up with this king stuff I may just decide to destroy the world after all.  Then you won't have a kingdom...because you'll be dead," Rose mused.  Gerald looked at her sharply to see if she was being serious.  Arien wasn't listening.

"How do you think I should bow?  Or do people only bow to me?" Arien mused, lost in thought he completely missed the fact that Rose and Gerald were side-stepping a large hole in the road.  He fell right in and ended up with his ass in the wind.  It all seemed so appropriate that Rose collapsed with laughter and couldn't stir herself for several minutes.  Gerald grinned for the first time he could remember and let Arien struggle for a moment before helping him out. 

"You're not supposed to laugh at the King!" Arien shouted at Rose, who was still grounded with mirth. 

"Please excuse me..." she put on a momentary straight face, "...Your Hinie-ness," she dissolved once again into uncontrollable giggling.  Arien's face was as red as his (now much dirtier) robe, and Gerald had to excuse himself because he couldn't be seen having a good time.  Finally, Rose wiped the tears off her face from laughing so much and got back to her feet.  Arien had resorted to a strangely attractive pout, and Gerald was enjoying himself more than he had in years. 

The adoption agency, which didn't seem to have a name, was located in what had once been a small cottage, but which had been added onto many many times over the years.  The result looked like a giant's head sticking partway out of the ground, where the cottage was the nose and projected out from an ugly and incongruous face behind it.  There were toys everywhere.