The Beauty in Pain | Book One of In Pain Trilogy *EDITING*

23. King Gavin

Merely a few months ago, who would have thought that one day, he would be sitting strolling through Tosh City, surveying the area he knew ruled over? Who would have stop to think that one day he would have shed his covering black cloaks for the richly laced and elegantly sewn garb that was that of a king? Who would have believed him if he had said that one day, a man with an impossibly large amount of men capable of forming an imposing army would have believed in him long enough, to have been so swayed by the thought of so much money he could drown in it, to take him up on his offer and provide him with the last puzzle piece he needed for his plan to take effect?

No one, not even himself ever believed it would come true. And here he was.

The cries of innocent citizens were music to his ears, a fuel to his burning fire of rage and vengeance. The moment he had set foot inside the city, the moment his black eyes landed on the ravaged buildings and homes of the cityfolks, the moment he realized that his plan was now on its way to an astounding victory, that smirk never left his face. He carried it with him everywhere he went. When he paid Garkun, appointed his Generals and set out to find the lost prince and the beloved Mynera Antarian, that smirk stood frozen on his face.

Lord Gavin was the one who led these group of savage misfits to victory. King Gavin was the one that presided over them now.

He clasped his hand behind him, walking with his head high along the streets of the city. Men he had appointed to be the king's guards strolled behind him, decked from head to toe in silver mail with the red armor shirt over it. He knew that colour now struck fear in what remained of the cityfolk. It was obvious in the way they cowered in his approach.

He was in the centre of the market. This very morn, he had woken up in a great mood and had immediately decided to take a walk through the city. It has been months now since the first attack, months since their cries have died away and he wanted to see how they fared. In all truth, he wanted to see how destitute they were.

The heart of the market was a mess. The stalls were yet to be re-erected, wares were yet to be sold again. King Gavin felt his anger mount at the sight, and it sprang out of the roof when he saw the citizens, standing near their destroyed stalls with no move to build back their living.

They were spiting him, King Gavin thought as his eyes roved over the lot of them. No matter the fear that shook their bodies, they were spiting him in the only way they knew how. No market meant no tax money, which meant no money for the king.

He snapped his finger. "What is the meaning of this," he snarled at Garkun when he rushed up to him.

"From the looks 'o things, I'd say they ain't bothering with the market no mo'."

"Not bothering with the market?" Garkun's words only proved his suspicion. It was half the reason why he had appointed him head of the King's Council. He was a smart man, weathered from his previous occupation. He knew the minds of the commonfolks as much as he knew the minds of his mercenaries. "How will they make a living if they neglect their only source of income?"

Garkun only shrugged. "They probably don' care, Your Majesty."

"They don't care?" he turned back to them, catching each and every one of their eyes. "They don't care? You!"

A man flinched when the king barked at him, pointing. King Gavin could no longer hold it in; he advanced, as slow as molasses, piercing the frightened man with a glare so dark with intent. "Is this your stall?" he asked the man, his voice a low rumble.

The man swallowed visibly but resolve shone in his eyes. "Yes, Your Majesty."

"Why is it in shambles?"