Setting Foot on The Marble Stairs

A ruined castle. A battered king. A triumphant usurper clad in blood-stained robes. The throne room had engendered within it a scene that would serve as the cornerstone of a new era. But, though the tapestries of future artisans would have it elegant and majestic, there was but little glory and no light shining on the heroic conqueror. Only the dust of the crumbling structure cloaked him, and the fading rays of the setting sun fled from his presence.

The king was doubled over, head low to the ground. He had been bested, and his domain ripped from his hands. His naked head longed for the warmth of his jeweled crown, which was passed around by the fiendish men-at-arms making merry with precious heirlooms and sacred artifacts. His foe knelt down in front of him, mocking the reverence he had been shown all his life. He was grabbed by the hair and lifted up till the two were eye to eye.

“You cannot begin to fathom the euphoria I feel in seeing you broken. Was it not less than a decade ago, when you held me just like I do you at this moment?”

He spit in the king’s eye, making a grotesque mix with the blood, tears, and sweat already coating his face.

“There, now I can bear to see you. But you still dare to wear that facade of nobility. Here, allow me to wipe it off.”

He struck the king with the open palm of his steel gauntlet, leaving bloody gashes in the center of a bright red welt on his cheek. His soldiers roared with laughter and jeers at their enemy. One had brought a cask of brew from the cellar and the others lined up with embellished goblets and golden vessels in their hands and made them tools for their licentious debauchery.

“Won’t you grace us with your wisdom, your majesty?” said the usurper, “Come now. You never held your tongue when citing your decrees to levy burdensome taxes, nor to conscript our boys to fight your wars. As well as when you tore away maidens from their mother’s arms to join your harem. When you mixed our coin with clay, making it worthless and forcing us to work double to buy our bread. When you sentenced your detractors to the gallows without respect for even your own laws. In none of these were you silent. So why now? Speak. Wail. Beg. For once, I am anxious to listen.”

Not a sound. Not a word. Only a small whimper. Like that of a scolded dog.
“Pathetic.”

He released the locks of his hair and let the king fall heavily to the ground. He went to the foot of the throne, the golden seat dizzying him with splendor and spectacle he had never seen on the dull and sullen streets. His Right-Hand approached him.

“We have his cloak, his crown, and his scepter. It would make for a sublime image to have you fitted and seated there for everyone to see.”

“I would sooner wear a suit of rosebush and lie on a board of nails. It’s too heavy to move, so we will bring coals and tinder here, make this room a cauldron, and melt it all down.”

As the two of them left to prepare for the upcoming ceremonies of liberation, the king managed a whisper that silenced the whole room.

“Kill me.”

Like needles in his ears, the words filled him with rage that he had kept suppressed lest it consume him. Knowing his esteemed leader was at risk of tarnishing his reputation with an uncharacteristic outburst, his loyal follower took the situation in his own hands.

“We have other plans for you, your majesty. The people wait arrested hearts to see you in the commons. There is much jubilation and spectacle scheduled, and you are to be the guest of honor.”