This will be my last letter. They can't know about you, Lithica.
When all my siblings are dead, then I... I shall be king.
And you - my queen.
May your poison strike true and my plan strike last.
The king unfolded the old letter.
How long had it been since he had won?
30 years now?
He scowled at it.
Sentimental. Weak. What a fool, to have penned such an incriminating letter.
And it had cost the fool his life in the end.
The crowned man recalled the memory vividly.
The cry that fool made was the cry of a dying child, when he croaked the last weak "Why"
His answer had been harsh.
The king flicked the ancient foe's letter into the hearth, watching the last shred of evidence from his generation's battle flare up without so much a flinch. No room for empathy.
One could only hope this generation's Royalty were more... ruthless than the ones he had to face in his days. He hoped they would be. This decade would require everything of them; civility would soon be an archaic concept.
The strong survive after all. The one enduring rule above all others.
Slumped on his throne, the king's mouth twitched with a knowing smile.
They would be coming for him now, he suspected.
He had lived long enough. With the three Royals of age tomorrow, the king held no illusions that he would be allowed to crown the victor. Likely he'd wouldn't be alive long enough to see the first of the bunch sent to their graves.
King Ignatius stood up slowly, red cape limp, swirling the wine cup in his hand. Pondering the next move.
Once again, it's time to change the rules.
There must be a final solution to break this endless chain of fools.