Blood Covered in Gold

"I've heard tell in dreams of a man who bested Midas,
         Woven in silk and blind to the night, this stranger moves with deft precision,
                   A man out of time, a king without love, and a tale forgotten in the minds of men."
-Abdul Alhazred

         Under cover night I move through the courtyard, edging my way slowly towards the tallest spire, flecks of gold coat the stone beneath my feet, a beautiful mosaic stretching out from a central fountain. Midas had qualities unknown to lesser kings; he upheld a deep concern for the well-being of his citizens and ensured that all those within his grasp were well kept, he built houses, gave his clothes, and when the crops failed, had food enough brought to the people. He understood how to keep his place, and for that he was to be removed.
         Visitors to his cities would leave and spread stories of Midas and his wondrous palace, of the cleanliness of the streets, the lack of vagrancy. The men who petitioned me to carry out my task haven't the time nor the mind to understand the workings of a people and Midas, were they to glimpse into his mind I am sure most would perish, all would most certainly mumble feebly in protest.
         I saw a guard not ten minutes ago, the other must be coming around soon to cover the watch, yes, there he is. With my left hand I reach to my pouch, with my right hand, a stone, I coat the stone in the powder from my pouch and throw it over the guard's head landing a few feet behind him. "What's that then?" he says as reaches to grasp it from the ground. In the shadows of a ledge I watch him as he handles the powder covered stone, slowly passing it between his hands. "Huh, must be those damnable kids, always tryin'a take me from me post" he yawns and takes a step back "you'll not get the best o' me ye bloody boggarts" another yawn escapes him and he sits along the fountain's edge.
         I begin to move again as the guard slips into sleep. Along the edge the mosaic takes new form, where before there were only slight shimmering glimpses of gold, now there seemed a fire, the architect had delegated their plan flawlessly, I was anxious to see it from the king's balcony where I am sure it is most radiant.
         Up along the jutted stones and relief carvings I climb ever closer to his window, and I ponder what would spur men to relieve the world of such a caregiver. The curtains drift out the open window and flap in the low draft, Midas stands silhouetted by the moonlight, silently I drive my dagger through his ribs and watch as the his throat foams blood down upon the golden lotus courtyard.