Bloodred

Tonight, the king would take his last breath.

I ran my hands over the wood of the table nervously. It was a great feast to celebrate the new treaty and all of the council was present. I shifted my eyes over each face, gauging their loyalty. Out of fifteen, I knew only three could be trusted.

I played with the pork on my plate. All around, the men were doing the same, carefully watching the king with hunger in their eyes. The night before, I had seen this moment dancing in the flames of the fire, a prophetic vision. I had watched the king eat and drink heartily. In a second, he was dead on the floor.

A servant entered with a small flask of wine, placing it in front of the king. My father slid it to his taster—as was custom—but was distracted by a tapping on the table. It was his most trusted adviser, a man with a long face and gray beard.

“I wish to speak for a mere second, if I may,” he said. “I want to honor our great king and this peace treaty, and the future they represent. This wine is for our great ruler, specially retrieved for him from the deepest cellar in the richest winery in this nation. Thank you, my king and brother.”

The implication was clear, that the wine was too fine for the taster. It was clear to me at once. The wine must be poisoned, though I had been was sure my uncle was honest. My father hesitated, but he took the flask in his hands.

I desperately tried to signal him with my eyes, but he did not even look at me. He was a kind and fair king, but we had never had much of a relationship or connection. Thinking of the nation, I leapt from my seat. The men jumped to their feet at once.

All would see the snake my uncle was when I died.

Ignoring them, I snatched the flask from my father’s hands, downing it in one gulp.