The Chains of Rule

I had the dream again.

In my dreams, the burning hot sun of the south has fallen behind the dusty mesas, yet still, I cling to his arm. A mountain sits atop my left arm, crushing it slowly. Even in my dream, I can no longer feel his hand or my own. But in the dream, I am alone.

In the dream, I let go.

It is the end of my second week as the King of Elefthería. Yet to be deposed or assassinated.
The riots in Neu-Alexandria ended a few days ago after King Rous... Eustace Rouselle gave an interview on the radio to some reporters. It seems that Elefthería is beginning to settle into its new status quo. In truth, I doubt much has changed for the average man, at least not yet.

Today, I visited the border forts in the south. A few dozen miles south of the Palace of the King and the First City, the King Cyrus Gates were two mountains separated by less than a mile of flat grasslands, now tarmac and train tracks. This place served as the main border crossing between Elefthería and Equestria. Therefore The King Cyrus Gates or "Runaway centre" was the first port of call for most human immigrants entering the country.

"Immigrants", meaning mostly runaway slaves.
Freemen and women did exist in Equestria, perhaps freed on an enslaver's deathbed or born into a freeman family, but they rarely entered Elefthería. So, an enormous complex had been built into the side of one of the mountains to house the runaways while the government tried to find housing and work for them and get them registered as citizens.

"Once, I too passed through the King's gates. All men and women of our nation pass through, regardless of birth or circumstance, to take part in that most sacred right of our nation. To free all men who pass beyond our mountain walls. As we walk through, our crimes forgotten, our sins forgiven. Whatever we were outside of Elefthería, whether that be back on Earth or out there..." I reached over the podium and pointed in front of me, over the crowd and through the pass in the mountains, towards Equestria.

"This has been the core of our nation since its beginning and a vow that shall never be broken. You, whether you are fleeing the horrors of Equestrian slavery or immigrating for a new life, are welcomed and accepted by Elefthería. King Cyrus constructed these grand gates not to hold the world back from his country but to allow it to come, to make it their own, to share in that fundamental right from which our nation takes its name. Elefthería, greek for Freedom," I shouted.

The crowd, mostly those same waiting immigrants wearing hand-me-down clothes and worn shoes, clapped politely. The staff lining the plaza also clapped and cheered, perhaps more excitedly than the tired immigrants just waiting to come through. When I arrived just six years ago, it had taken me three months to get processed, and that had been sped up by my previous military career. Some, usually those from earlier points in history whose skills were no longer needed, could spend years, even decades, in the King Cyrus gates.

After the speech, I met with a few men and women: some staff, some of the immigrants. I remembered one firmly.

He wore a ragged t-shirt, dulled faded red which may have once had a face of some kind upon it. He had shoulder-length, dirty blonde hair that framed his square head. He wasn't exactly handsome, with deep sunken eyes, a bloody lip and a black eye. He seemed to meet my gaze entirely unafraid, however. "Your imperial majesty!" He said, getting my title wrong. "Thank you! God Bless you!"

He seemed so utterly enthralled to meet me that even as alarm bells started to ring inside my head, I couldn't help but turn to and talk to him.
"Happy to help. Who are you?" I asked cheerfully.

"I would be a prisoner in Equestria! But I heard of the promise of Elefthería! God Bless you!" He explained, not answering my question.

I smiled and stood next to him, placing a hand over his shoulder while a journalist took our photo.

After the handshaking, the photo-ops and managing to shake off the security detail, I made my way over to the border itself.

While the train tracks continued on towards the far horizon, the tarmac immediately gave way to grass right at the line of the border. I closed my eyes, clenched my right fist, and walked over the border. The wind seemed to immediately pick up and play with my hair, no longer shielded by the mountains that surrounded Elefthería. I had not stepped across the border since I had arrived in the country six years ago.

Like many who arrived in Elefthería, I had broken the law while escaping. Even ignoring that I was, in their eyes, stolen property, I had stolen food, assaulted an officer of the law and travelled under false papers and identification. By the laws of the land, some pony could've walked up and immediately arrested the king of another country.

None would, but they could.

I opened my eyes. At the border, there wasn't much difference between the two countries. Of course, the nearest pony settlement wasn't for a dozen miles to the south, and the military forts that clung to the mountain faces deterred most ponies from approaching the country, but the grass was the same, the sky the same, the sun and clouds the same.

I looked up and frowned. High in the sky, what I thought was a bird flew in lazy circles. But birds did not have six limbs and were not that large.

No doubt that, from up there, there was no difference between nations. The mountains might surround my country, but no one had carved the name of the mountains or country into the stone. But I knew. I glared at the nameless pegasus, my fist clenching. Looking back over my shoulder, back towards the Cyrus Gates, I saw two shoulders preparing to shoulder their rifles. If the pony passed over the border, it would be shot down.

Once, it was said, Cloudsdale had rested over Elefthería, believing it was its right to move the clouds and command the weather. It had been the start of the second and last Eleftherían war. Ever since, the clouds, winds, and rain had been purely the purview not of any living thing but of random chance. We humans could not access the same magics that allowed the pegasi to move the clouds, to split them open. So, we had droughts, and we had torrential, horrible rains. We had famines. But they were our own.

The pegasus wisely decided to turn and fly away from the ring of mountains, heading south once more. I watched its flight, stared until it got too far for me to see, then turned and walked back into Elefthería. While I did so, I wondered about that war. Had the intent of Cloudsdale been to starve us out or to control our crops and lives, as our history books said? Or did they genuinely think they were helping us? Did they not think how it would be seen, or did that one great quality of the ponies, their naivety and trust, truly not mix with our innate skill at mistrust and paranoia. Did it matter? Was it wrong to start a war on an innocent mistake, or was there no other way they might learn?

I turned to the right just before I passed into the shadow of the great mountains and looked over towards the sun. She, Celestia, had apparently not involved herself in that war, only signing the peace accord afterwards- War is an exaggeration, more of a brief skirmish and conflict. But maybe she too understood our need to defend ourselves. Or, maybe, she wanted her own people to know we were best left alone.

Better to let us be behind our walls, gates and mountains. Let us fade away from memory and never try to help, or "help", again.

I clambered into my private train carriage, waving to the crowds, but could not tear my eyes away from those gates. There were three paths into Elefthería, one in the north, one in the east, and one in the south. One towards the arctic wastes of the reindeers and snowbears, one towards Yakistan, and one towards Equestria. Our enemies, as it had always been. The fortress mentality had been engrained into the very national psyche, into the human psyche- Us, against the world. No other species could be trusted, could be accepted. We were alone in a strange world, and we could only trust each other.

Except we could not even do that. My guards in my carriage each had the chance of being an MCI plant; someone meant to kill me if I stepped out of line. The Clique wished to hide away not just from the rest of the world but even from us. There had been many attempts to make another human nation. All had collapsed. It was us against the world, but I knew it was also us against us.

The 32nd day of my rule

A mere two weeks after my last entry, dear diary, and only a month and change after becoming the king, I have received my first assassination attempt.

Most of the last fortnight has been concerned with the decommissioning of the Santiago fertiliser plant, a cover for a chemical weapons factory in a small town outside of Onondaga, Elefthería's third largest above-ground city. I had met resistance not only from the plant owner and its parent company, Ea-Nasir Minerals but from the local senator for the small town of Santiago.

"Your Majesty, the fertiliser plant is the largest employee in the town. I cannot allow you to destroy thousands of jobs overnight!" The senator had all but shouted at me, only just remembering that I was still the king. I didn't budge. A definite vote loser or not, I wouldn't cave. Each man and woman who worked at the plant knew that it was a front, and they were working on chemical weapons. Whether it was in storage, packaging, manufacturing or even administration and HR, all were working for an industry of death, cruelty, of horror.

"Are you any different, your majesty? Were you not a soldier once?" The factory's owner had asked me after I made my position known.

And that was true. I had served on the Somme, in Ypres and Arras. I had charged over the top, through barbed wire and into the enemy's trench. I had shot surrendering machine gunners, butchered men with trowels and bayonets. I had robbed the dead of their watches.

But whatever I, or any of my men, my brothers, my comrades, had done paled in comparison to the clinical, merciless and careless cruelty of chemical weapons. A bullet could kill slowly, but it was at least designed to be quick. Mustard Gas had not been.

After a royal visit to the town, promising 4 million Cyrends in funding for local businesses, I had been walking back to the car. Rakhat had been waiting for me, a thermos of tea and a pack of biscuits in hand, smiling. Absentmindedly, he had leaned back and kicked the front passenger-side tire.

It had not been the first time I had been thrown to the floor by the force of an explosion. I knew all the signs: Looking up at the sky, your ears ringing, vision fading, your back stinging and your front burning. A piece of burning rubber fell onto my chest while I sat up, looking at the flaming remnants of my car. Noticeably missing was Rakhat, who was almost certainly dead. I raised my left arm, the prosthesis, above my head and stood up, stumbling towards the car in a daze. I should not have done so; the chance of there being a second bomb was high. But even as sound started to return to the world and I could hear the screaming and panic all around me, I limped towards where Rakhat had been standing not a few seconds ago. All that might've remained of the poor man was a blood-red stain on the ground.

Then, I felt something drip down my cheeks. I reached up towards the right side of my face and felt a strange, sharp object poking through. Someone, a soldier or a guard, rushed up towards me and dragged me away from the burning wreckage of the car, but all I could do in my state was tap this thing poking through my cheek.

I was told, after I had all but thrown into an ambulance, that it was a shard of bone that had embedded itself in my cheek and was one of many bone fragments to do so all across my body.

I leaned against the wall of the ambulance, blood running down my cheeks, and watched the world go by while we sped towards a hospital. An assassination attempt was to be expected in this line of work, and perhaps I had already made enemies, but one so soon? And to take the life of an innocent man? I was a soldier. I had made my peace with death in 1914. But to watch it, always from the outside...

Rakhat had joined the long line of people I had watched die. Most, in the great war, some here.

I was conscious the whole time as the surgeons picked out shards of bone and metal from my body—nothing life-threatening, nothing that had pierced a vital organ. Soldiers and guards patrolled the halls outside, denying entry to any man but the doctors and nurses. Other patients, men and women actually suffering, had been thrown out to give me a wing all to myself.

This was the first time I truly hated being made king. An innocent man had died for being near me, and I couldn't even be sure as to why. I could speculate and guess. The EDCHQ might've taken action against me, shutting down chemical weapons production. Some lingering Rousellites might've tried to reinstall their king. It may have been the Clique, whose motives and reasons were inscrutable even to many of their own. It could've even been Equestria. Doubtless, they were the ones I would have to public blame when it became time to find a reason.

I would never know; I know that even as I write these words. The MCI will not deign to tell me, especially if they were the ones behind it. Security would be stepped up around me, a few more bodyguards, and my cars would be searched. But there would be no justice, recourse or truth behind Rakhat's death. He was simply a casualty of... Not even war. The times? That thing that Eustace had mentioned, the nebulous force that drove politics, war and prosperity.

After only three hours, I am bundled into an armoured car and driven back to the Palace of the King, giving only a quick telephone interview to Eleftherían Radio that I am alive and well. Perhaps that was the play. I wasn't supposed to die, only be kept out of the way. Deposing a King so soon after installing them might've been bad optics, and perhaps they thought I could yet be taught to stay in line, by hook or by crook.

General Kelebek was waiting for me in my solar the moment I made it up the ski-lift back to the mountain's peak. A report in hand.

"So, who are we blaming?" I asked wearily, reaching under my tattered, burnt shirt to remove the straps over my right shoulder for my prosthesis.

"Preliminary reports suggest it was the Equestrian Anti-Abolitionist movement, paying off local agents-"

In pain and frustration, I cackled aloud, letting my prosthetic arm fall to the marbled floor with a heavy clunk. I left it there on the ground.

"Of course it was," I mumbled.

Kelebek at least had the dignity to look apologetic while she delivered this obviously bogus report.
"If it is any small consolation, my king, I had nothing to do with it. You were my man before you were theirs," She said.

I turned, closing the door to the solar. With my hand lingering on the door, I didn't bother to turn around before asking.
"Who was it, really?" I asked.

"... I don't know, in all honesty. What I do know, what you also know, is that neither of us will be allowed to know," Kelebek explained. "That means the MCI has something to do with it, but to what extent, and why, we could only speculate."

"If they wanted me dead, they would simply poison me," I said, turning around. "So, either this was simply a message, or they okayed someone else's hit without caring as to its results. The difference is minimal, the result the same," I said wearily. I walked over behind my desk and fell into the chair. "I hope, once I am gone, they make you Queen. You'll do well, General."

She grimaced.
"You lived. Lessons will be learnt," She said.

I sighed, running a hand through my slowly regrowing hair.
"Yes. Don't try and change anything without their approval," I said wearily. I waved my one arm. "Leave me, General. That'll be all for today."

She saluted, then left the solar, letting me sump further down the chair, wincing as I pulled a small shard of metal out of the back of my arm, placing the bloody steel gently on the desk in front of me.

So, yeah, that had been a fun day. And things were probably only going to get better for me. I can't even drink myself to sleep tonight, the alcohol will burn the cuts on the inside of my mouth and mess with the pain meds, so I'll get to try and go to sleep with the image of the bloodstain that had once been my driver and the fact some of his skeleton had pierced through me in my mind.

It may take me a while to do so.

The 39th day of my rule

When it rains, it pours.

I met with the Equestrian Ambassador today. At their rather urgent request. This is fairly unusual; usually, if there was an actual complaint or diplomatic issue, they'd discuss it with one of our own diplomats, but apparently, this was something that needed to go straight to the top.

Well, nominal top.

The moment I entered her embassy's wing of the Palace of the Kings, I was led by what few Royal Equestrian Guards we allowed in the country to Winter Bloom's study. Within, each chair was so designed that despite the difference in height, a human and a pony would sit face to face at roughly the same eye level while being equally uncomfortable for both species. A lot of effort to try and prevent basic power plays, but I suppose that's what 60% of diplomacy is about.
"I'm sorry, your majesty, for asking to speak with you, but there's little time to wait," Winter Bloom said apologetically. "But the Royal Government of Equestria has a request of the Kingdom of Elefthería."

I sat down opposite her in the study, shooting her a quizzical look.
"Oh?"

"Yes. And this is not a polite request," Winter Bloom said. "One month ago, Elefthería gave refugee to an escaped slave from Equestria. We..."

"The answer is no," I interrupted. "200 years of precedence, Elefthería never returns escaped slaves to their masters, no matter who they were."

"This isn't to return them to their master, King Arthur. The person in question is wanted for the murder of 6 ponies, including a... What's your word... A child," Winter Bloom explained.

I swallowed something, then forced myself to shrug nonchalantly, regardless of the bile in my throat.
"Makes no difference. Many crimes are committed during an escape attempt by a slave. Elefthería accepts them all regardless. You may place them on a wanted list and arrest them should they cross the border into Equestria, but we will never send a person back to Equestria for whatever reason," I said.

"This is not merely someone who burned down a plantation in the boonies-" She gestured over towards one of the guards. My own openly reached for the pistol at his waist, but the ambassador's guard instead trotted over and placed a folder on the table between the ambassador and me. She opened it with her magic onto a picture of a blonde-haired man wearing a butler's outfit. "This was a noble. A Prince."

A prince, I thought. There was but one Prince of any importance in Equestria, I had learnt as king.

"Prince Blueblood. He, four of his household and a little filly, no older than six years old, were killed during this bast... This wanted man's escape attempt. Equestria has looked the other way concerning some escapes by slaves in our own nation, at least once they arrive in Elefthería. We even removed the warrant out for your own arrest, King Arthur," Winter Bloom explained. "But we cannot allow this to go unpunished. These deaths were barbaric, utterly unnecessary, and indefensible."

I tapped my prosthetic hand with the index finger of my right hand.
"I am saddened to hear of this, ambassador. But it makes no difference. You know I was placed on this throne because I would not bend on such traditions, and I will certainly not hand over a person to be reenslaved."

"We do not intend to return Rudolf Heisman to servitude, your majesty. Mr Heisman will stand trial and will likely face life imprisonment, if not execution."

I saw a chance for compromise and tried my best to leap upon it.
"If the trial can take place in Elefthería, with an impartial jury and a judge which both Celestia and I can agree upon, perhaps there will be no need for..."

"No. King Arthur, that will not be acceptable. We have acquiesced to every demand of Elefthería. We agreed to look the other way when escaped property enters your realm. We agreed to the borders of your nation with only limited bloodshed. We have kowtowed to your capricious demands. We have looked the other way whenever you depose one of your kings for the merest hint of trying to form decent relations with my country," Winter Bloom snapped. "We have even ignored your nation's blatant provocations and interferences in local Equestrian elections. But the murder of a Prince and his household and a filly? We cannot look past that."

The words gave me pause.
"Wait, do you believe we had something to do with this?"

The pony ambassador scoffed, her horn lighting up and magic moving through her greying blonde hair to fix it.
"Why else would you defend this man? Prince Blueblood was a known anti-abolitionist. How convenient that Mr Heisman was in his employ for six years, until suddenly, upon your ascension as King, he snapped and murdered these people. I knew King Rouselle well; he never would've given such an order. But you, Mr Arthur? What I know of you is that you are an old soldier, a man who was previously a servant in Equestria. That gives you motive. And the MCI are all too willing to interfere in Equestrian politics while you childly demand we leave yours well enough alone."

"I've never even heard of Rudolf Heisman," I said simply.

The ambassador waved a hoof, and that same royal guard of hers placed another piece of paper on the table between us. She glanced at it, then pushed it towards me with her hoof.
"Really, Arthur Williams? Then what is this?"

Curious and confused, I picked up the piece of paper from the table. It was a polaroid photograph, though in colour, unlike the photos of my time. But I immediately recognised the photograph, as it had been in the papers three weeks ago. It was a picture of me, with my right arm wrapped around the shoulder of a refugee at the King Cyrus Gates. The other man in the photo had dirty blonde hair down to his shoulders, sunken dark eyes, and a bruised lip.

"That is the murderer. And that-" She tapped the photo in my hand with a forehoof. "Is you smiling with him."

I swallowed.
"You realised that, if he had been a placed agent of some kind, the last thing I would do is have a very public photograph and meeting with him?"

"I don't pretend to know how you treat your spies. Equestria's intelligence service isn't nearly as integral to the running of our nation as it is to yours, nor nearly as vile and underhanded," Winter Bloom replied. "The Princess herself has requested that you hand over Rudolf Heisman by 17:00 tomorrow. A mile from the King Cyrus gates. Should you refuse, we will take all necessary action to acquire him."

All necessary action. I knew precisely what she meant by that, and she knew I knew. I sighed.
"If you have a private trial-" I swallowed the bile in my throat, forcing out the words I'd have to say. "Or if you execute him then and there, with no word getting out, I can..."

"No. The man is a murderer and will be treated as such. Elefthería gets to make no bargains or weasel its way out of justice this time. Hand him over, or we will get him ourselves." Winter Bloom warned.

"I cannot allow that. If I allow Equestria to barge in and just take anyone they want back to Equestria, it will mean the destruction of this nation," I said.

"Refusing to do so may finally convince Princess Celestia of the need to finally destroy your nation. She has been merciful and forgiving time and time again. The murder of her nephew is the last straw."

I clenched my right fist, sighed, and stared her in the eye.
"Then we have no deal. I will rather fight than send even a single person to Equestria, whether or not you believe him guilty."

Winter Bloom nodded. Doubtlessly, she had expected no less.
"So be it," She said. She stood up from the uncomfortable chair and then trotted back to her desk. "You have two days before the Equestrian Army arrives in force on the border of Elefthería. I will hope for your people's sake you change your mind, King Arthur. If you don't, we have nothing else to discuss."

And that was that. Just over a month into my reign, not only did my own government hate me, but the Equestrian one did too. To my own people, I was a weirdo pacifist who wanted to tie the hands of those that would protect them. And to the Equestrians, I was a monster who ordered the assassination of one of the royal family and refused to hand over the assassin to justice.

Somehow, I don't think I'll get to enjoy being deposed as Rouselle had done. I believe the coup that will depose me will be far less likely to leave me alive.

Whether I will live long enough to even see the coming hostilities, I do not know. Perhaps I should just hand him over. Some no-name refugee, a single person? In exchange for not only my life but that of every man and women that I am pledged to serve? To rule? What is one life against two million?

There was time left in the day for one more conversation.

"I heard," Rouselle said, stretching out on the ottoman chair like a cat upon hearing my approach.

"Good ears," I said.

"You walk with a strange gait. That false arm of yours, it makes one half of your body heavier than the other, and after years of compensating for that being the other side of your body, you are still not used to it," the previous king explained.

I unlocked the cell door with a soft smile. Rouselle was a sharp man, even as rotund as he was.
"I meant hearing about the situation with the wanted criminal. I assumed that was what you were speaking of."

"Ah, yes. I bribed one of your staff. A cook. He not only passes on finer meals than I should be getting but tells me of the going-ons of this castle. Please, do not fire him. He is a fine cook," The former king explained.

I leaned against a desk in his cell.
"Is he? Gas attacks damaged my sense of smell and taste," I explained, pointing to my nose and throat. "Everything always tastes a little of mustard."

"Dijon, I hope?" Rouselle asked with a smirk, sitting up to look up at me.

"English, I'm afraid. Didn't like the stuff even before Flanders and the Somme. Now I positively despise it," I said with a smile.

"My deepest condolences. To taste English food at all times. My father would've put you out of your misery had he heard of such a thing afflicting another person," Rouselle joked, placing a hand on his heart. He sighed. "I don't think you came here to discuss cooking with me."

"No, I did not," I replied. "Should I abdicate?"

Rouselle barked out in laughter.
"Oh, absolutely not. The powers that be will not allow that to happen," Rouselle explained.

"They want me dead."

"They sent you a single assassination attempt. That's nothing. Something to keep a monarch on their toes," Rouselle explained with a scoff. He chuckled to himself for a bit before continuing. "Do you know why we have a King, when we have an educated, politically inclined population who already elect local leaders and senators?"

The question confused me.
"I don't know. To calm down those who didn't come from democracies?" I asked.

"Oh, there is that. With people coming from all of human history, and democratic governments being a rarity across that stretch of time, most are used to Kings, strongmen and chieftains. But Elefthería, for all it is, is not the old world. The world you left behind. It is something unique," Rouselle explained. "No, we have a king because, whatever else we choose, we believe greatly in the power of a single person- That any person has the right to choose and craft, their own destiny. Elefthería has had cruel kings, like Gupta. It has had great kings, like Cyrus. It has had kings who tried to appease the Equestrians, like myself. And you were placed in that position because it was believed you will do the opposite to myself. But each person has the ability to shape their world and their future. All men in Elefterhía are free."

"Except the king," I said.

"Even the king. You are only chained if you fear death. Whatever else a king must be, they must be brave enough to make a choice. We are all installed as puppets of the powers that be, of the times. And we will lose our fight against the times in the end. But still, we must fight," Eustace explained.

"You didn't," I said. "That seemed smart."

"Yes. I am alive. I live in this opulent cell. Yet I cannot change my future or the world. I cannot see anyone but yourself, the guards, and maybe a cook. It is as if I am already dead," Eustace replied.

"You said that when the time comes that I should to surrender?"

"Your time hasn't come yet. You have been challenged. But you haven't lost your fight yet. For your own sake, wait at least till then," Rouselle pleaded. "You are a young man with no experience in rule. You already have made mistakes and enemies. But this business with Heifman, or Heisman, or whoever, that was beyond any of our control. It wasn't your fault, but it is yours to try and solve."

I nodded.
"Was he a spy? Perhaps, you might know?" I asked.

"Never heard the name in my life. I knew a few of our placed agents in Equestria. Some are indeed posing as slaves. Some are even in the royal households. Hence why I thought it was okay to allow Celestia to bring them here. But if Heisman is an agent, he's not one I've heard of," Rouselle replied.

"Do you think Equestria will seriously go to war over a single man?" I asked.

"Equestria? With Celestia at the helm? I would doubt it, but... Well, even as powerful as she is, even she battles with the times, as both you and I do. Who knows what her people want," Rouselle replied with a shrug. "It has been decades since the last Eleftherían/Equestrian war. We've been preparing for one longer than either of us have been alive. And lord knows that there are those in Equestria who would want nothing more than our little refuge from slavery to be destroyed," Rouselle replied. "But you're the soldier. What do you think, your majesty?"

I smiled a sad smile, remembering my time at the border forts. At the lone squadrons of pegasi that would sometimes fly close to the border, just to see our response. And I thought of my dreams. My memories.
"We think of them as... Not better than us, but certainly more moral. That they'd only reach for violence as a last resort. Hell, we even blame the fact they enslave us on ourselves," I said. "That we placed the idea in them. Maybe, despite the lack of opposable thumbs, the size, the tails and magic, we're really not all that different. I wanted to go to war with them back when I was in the army."

Rouselle nodded.
"I suppose you thought we should free our brothers in chains, with fire and sword? Cut through Equestria, carve it apart, and afflict upon them even but a morsel of the cruelty they have inflicted upon us, no?"

I nodded and shrugged.
"I was a slave once," I said, explaining everything with a single sentence.

"I believe they will be willing to start a fight with enough provocation. And this, Heisman? These killings? That might just be enough to convince them," Rouselle said.

"So. What would you do?"

"Have Heisman publicly executed on trumped-up charges, give Equestria his body. A fait accompli," The previous king said quickly.

I shook my head. Sometimes, I almost forgot why they bothered to depose him. Smart, charming, but just a little too ruthless.

The king saw my dismissal.
"One life is not worth a kingdom."

"I will not sacrifice the soul of the Kingdom to keep it alive," I said.

"Honourable. When the people rise against you after starving, and Princess Celestia cloaks this land in eternal darkness or uses the sun to melt away this mountain and the First City, I hope they write that upon your grave," Rouselle said darkly. "Fine. You wish to fight. Or seek peace without shattering this wonderful illusion of our nation and its freedom. I wish you all the best, King Arthur William. But you are no Cyrus. You will fail."

"Thanks for the talk, Eustace Rouselle. I'll have words with that cook."
I started to walk out of the cell, but the former king shouted some last words while I closed the door behind me.

"It will be an awful shame to outlive the man they sent to replace me!" He shouted.

I tried my best to ignore him, walking out of the dungeon and back into the palace. My left arm starting to impossibly itch, the phantom pain gnawing at missing flesh.