The king looked down from his throne, high atop a pillar of gold, at the little girl with tattered clothes and hungry eyes. He smiled kindly, if not perfunctorily. "And what can I help you with today, young lady?"
"I have come to ask you a favor," she replied. She looked down while she spoke, and the king thought her appropriately shy for her age and in his presence.
"Perhaps I could grant it," he said, holding back a yawn.
"Beg," she whispered.
He frowned in confusion. "I'm sorry, m'dear. I did not hear you. Repeat your request."
She lifted her head up to face him now, and he saw that the hunger in her eyes had been replaced with fire. "Beg," she said again.
He rose in a rush of anger. "Why you--"
He never finished his sentence. Instead he began to fall, tumbling down from his throne, plummeting to the foot of the tower. Before any of his guards could react, his body had crushed into the marble floor. When they rolled its remains over, there was a small clean hold right in the middle of the forehead.
They whirled to look for the girl -- at the girl -- who had done this. But she was gone.
No comments:
Post a Comment