ID: 224

Outcome: Narrow Victory

Open After Story: Yes

Manual Prompt: Yes

Text:

You ascended the throne with Sirshana. You seated upon the golden throne, the sword of kingship in hand, while he stood at your side bearing a massive golden star crafted in the image of the ancient kingdom's treasure. This star symbolized the celestial bodies over the highlands, the very source of the old monarchy's legitimacy.



Then you began reshaping the realm. You reunited territories fragmented by the Sultans, weaving a delicate balance of power among the nobility. You restored the title of "Queen", your harem had a single mistress, not a flock of equal concubines for a Sultan's pleasure. All these reforms seemed righteous, inevitable... yet you forgot one thing.



What had doomed the old kingdom that ruled this way? When dissenters gathered in secret, were you as unprepared as Sirshana's father had been?



On the first anniversary of your new regime, the military struck. You were celebrating in the old kingdom's tradition, riding a majestic stallion with four guards, clad in plain white robes, while subjects knelt along the road. You scattered honeyed wine brewed by your queen; those touched by its drops were said to be blessed for a year.



Then some old crones among the prostrate women seized your horse's legs. Your guards reacted, but too late. The "crones" were swordsmen in disguise. They severed the stallion's tendons and stabbed downward as you fell.



Some hands reached to save you, others to strangle you. Though your guards had been stationed throughout the streets, noble retinues and street thugs poured from alleys, hurling flaming oil to panic the horses. Chaos erupted. Those wishing you alive and those craving your death clashed like hounds over a hare. One moment you were cradled gently, the next battered by shields.



When Sirshana arrived with the royal guard, the rebels were subdued. Your guards carried you before him, still breathing. You spoke one last phrase, but what it was became history's great debate.



Some claimed you said "Avenge me", so Sirshana purged the bureaucracy thoroughly for three years, even couldn't muster enough officials to collect taxes.



Others insisted it was "Show mercy." Many commoners believed this, fearing bloodshed, slaughter, a mad king's wrath.



Still others swore it was "This is your fault" or "No regrets" or "Protect my queen"...



People shaped your last words to their desires where the truth no longer mattered.

References

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