Chapter Three: The King's Speech (With Minor Hyperventilation)
Elliott Bramble had faced many daunting challenges in his life: flubbing his only line in a soap commercial, once being chased by an angry goose in full costume, and accidentally setting fire to a stage curtain with a misfired fog machine. But standing before the people of Alderholt as their newly returned "king"?
That was new.
And unfortunately, this time, there was no stage manager to yell "Cut!"
The Royal Balcony of Doom
From his perch on the palace balcony, Elliott looked out at the sea of expectant faces below. Hundreds—no, thousands—of citizens, soldiers, nobles, and extremely judgmental pigeons had gathered in the square.
He felt sweat form under the elaborate gold collar strangling his neck.
Behind him, Dorian whispered, "Just say something inspiring. Nothing about moist barley this time."
Elliott swallowed hard. He cleared his throat. The crowd hushed.
"People of… this fine kingdom!" he began, already regretting everything. "It's, uh, me! Your king!"
The crowd stared.
"I've… been away. Doing king things. You know. Royal stuff. Important… royal… errands."
A nearby guard coughed pointedly.
"But I have returned," Elliott went on, "stronger, wiser, and… slightly more sparkly than before. Seriously, this cloak sheds glitter like it's being hunted by a disco ball."
Someone in the crowd chuckled.
Encouraged, Elliott straightened. "And now, I vow to lead you with strength, with courage, and with a complete and possibly dangerous lack of formal training!"
Laughter broke out. Genuine laughter. Scattered at first, then rippling through the audience.
He smiled. Improvised once more. "So let's all raise a glass—to unity! To peace! To not being invaded by the neighboring kingdom of Grottenvast! Again!"
The crowd roared with approval.
Dorian looked at him, surprised. "That… actually worked."
"I know," Elliott said, stunned. "Was it the glitter line?"
Later, in the Royal Garden
Elliott sat on a marble bench, sipping a goblet of something purple and probably fermented. He watched ducks waddle past a fountain shaped like a majestic—if anatomically confused—lion.
"I may have survived my first speech," he mused aloud. "But how long can I keep this up?"
A voice answered from the shadows. "That depends on how badly you want to live."
Elliott jumped. A woman stepped forward, tall and elegant, wrapped in midnight-blue robes and sarcasm. Her name, as he would soon learn, was Lady Seraphine Vex, royal advisor and professional schemer.
"You're not him," she said bluntly.
Elliott blinked. "I—uh—who?"
"Don't insult me," she said. "You flinch at pigeons. The real King Alric once punched a wild boar during a hunting trip."
"That sounds… really on-brand for someone with better biceps than me."
Seraphine narrowed her eyes. "I don't care who you are. I care whether you can keep the kingdom stable long enough for me to clean up the mess the real king left behind."
Elliott nodded slowly. "So you're not turning me in?"
"Not yet," she said. "I'm watching. Closely."
"Noted," he said. "Also, slightly terrifying."
Later Still: The Secret Scroll Room (Yes, That's A Thing)
That evening, Dorian led Elliott through a hidden door behind the royal library. Torches flickered on stone walls, revealing an archive packed with scrolls, maps, and old royal documents.
"Here," Dorian said, handing him a dusty book. "You need to start learning about the kingdom. Taxes, treaties, ancient curses... you know, the usual."
Elliott opened the book. It was titled A Comprehensive History of Alderholt and Its Many Unfortunate Decisions.
"I'm going to die, aren't I?" he asked.
"Probably," Dorian said cheerfully. "But you'll look majestic doing it."
Elliott sighed and turned the page.
End of Chapter Three