The Broken Crown

Prologue

Her feet made small tapping sounds against the stone floor as she walked down the almost completely black hallway. Even the swish of her nightgown against the floor seemed loud enough to warn the man in the well-lit room ahead. He hadn't bothered to close the doors, so the light spilled out together with the sounds of him shifting in the large bathtub. Uncountable times, she had helped fill it up with hot water and poured wine into the bottle next to the tub. He could never go without his wine for long. She could see the bottle now, gleaming in the candlelight. She remembered what the specialist she sought out had said. Poison is a woman's weapon, swift and undetectable.  

 For a moment, she was tempted to slip the white powder into his glass and leave before anyone could trace her. But tonight she was not a woman; she was not weak, not the way this man so often made her feel. Instead she let the rolled up cheese cutter that she snatched from the kitchen earlier that day slip out from her sleeve, unfurling the cord as she walked. 

 Her heart pounded so hard and fast, she wondered how the man who was now only five meters away from her could possibly ignore it. She could feel her blood rising to her head, her breathing becoming shallow and she felt dizzy all of a sudden. 

 When she reached the door, she stilled her movements. The man, the back of his head turned towards her, seemed to either be sleeping or just extremely drunk. Knowing him, it was quite possible that it was both. The sight of his swollen belly tipping over the water surface was what ended her hesitation; ended the inner battle between two rights that were equally wrong. 

 As soundlessly as possible, the serving girl made her way from the doorway to the end of the bathtub and kneeled behind the man's head. She finished unrolling the cheese cutter, took a deep breath and with a swift move that her eyes could almost not trace, she had the thread woven tightly around his neck. It took him a moment to react.

 He began throwing his body around, yanking forward, movements still weak from his slumber. His arms thrashed, making the water splash around him, some of it hitting the floor with loud sloshes. The flying drops turned out the lights on the tables. It was her luck that the cutter closed down around his throat; she could hear the choked little sounds, the would-be screams that he emitted in her ear.

 His struggle grew more ferocious after a while, as though an extra instinct of his kicked in. Several times, she almost lost grip of the ends of her weapon. Blood ran from her hands, down her wrists as it cut through the sensitive skin on the inside of her palm. He managed to pull forward, elevating his back from where it had rested against the walls of the basin, but just as quickly, the girl behind him pulled back. Her pull was harder and faster than any of the other, the thread cutting further into her hand and she let out a whimper of her own. Tears of desperation and pain were running down her cheeks as she almost gave up. Until she felt it. Saw it.

 It was as though the cutter met less resistance all of a sudden. As though the man’s throat had vanished. And then crimson mixed with the scented bath water, blood gushing down over his belly and into the water, much more than she would have imagined. The fat man fell back against the tub, limp and lifeless, water splashing before settling once and for all.

 Surprised by how quickly the event passed, she pulled the thread of her cutter out from the open wound at the throat. It was dripping with blood, blood that hit the floor with loud splashes. She drew in a ragged breath, took one last look at what she had done and left the room as quickly and quietly as possible.

 They say that the basin was completely red by the time the King's body was found.