Kill yourself.

You just can't handle it. You traipse up the spiral staircase, defeated, humiliated, done. You can't live 32 years of this. Trowers and Vince doing whatever they want and getting away with it.

Reaching the palace roof, you look out over the city, and the rolling green fields beyond it. In another life you might've went to war with an allied kingdom, or been the smooth king of the criminal underworld. But this was your life, one where you were the whipping-boy for two vicious, cruel and petty slugs. But it didn't have to be.

You steel yourself for the act, climbing the parapet. Closing your eyes, you dive forward. As you sail through the air, you realise your pain and humiliation will finally be at an end. You're free.

-

So ends the short, short rain of the poor King Taffe. People throughout Itheria and beyond are shocked and scandalised. They say you were confused, weak, not suited to the job. Many are privately glad that the strong hands of the Terrible Two hold the reins of the kingdom, regardless of what you've done.

But Itheria will always need a crowned head to sit her throne. That night, Sir Donald Trowers, deep in his cups, lets himself into Cearl, your 9-year old brother's bedroom.

"You're brother's dead, lad. But his loss is your benefit." The vast lump burps. "One day, you'll get to be king... Yes, king..."