The Unfortunate

a peculiar appearance. Those who knew its history understood that each difference represented a moment of honor. Nothing about the desk was original. Each leg and each panel, with some being comprised of more than one source, were trophies of bygone victories. Each piece had once belonged to another king who had been conquered. Whereas the larger sections were made of timbers from the doorways and rafters of great halls, the smaller pieces, such as those used for decorative finishes, were composed of the remnants of shields and weapon handles. The strangest claim, however, one that had never been confirmed, was that the desk also contained fragments of bone.
As the current king of Armania, Beadurof wanted nothing more than to continue the tradition of his ancestors and to add another feature to the desk’s collage of legends. He not only wanted to have his name remembered, he wanted to forge a legacy that would be told and retold centuries after his death. These and similar thoughts of glory rushed through the monarch’s mind, causing him to smile, but the satisfaction was soon interrupted by several rapid knocks. I am the bloody king of Armania! Why am I not permitted to sleep? And why can I not be alone? Why? What can I do? His bellowing echoed throughout the corridors of his mind while in reality he simply expressed a deep sigh before answering, “Come.”
The door slowly opened, and a man entered and bowed. It was Raedan, Beadurof’s advisor. “Forgive the disturbance, Your Majesty, but …” he let his words trail as what appeared to be hesitation, and perhaps even fear, dominated his features.
“Yes?” Despite his composure the king’s tone was still littered with annoyance.
Not only had he been interrupted, his time was now being wasted, and his advisor having not noticed, or more likely having ignored the apparent frustration, continued to hesitate. “There is talk of unrest,” Raedan eventually concluded.
“Unrest?”
“Indeed.” The advisor closed the door behind him before adding, “I have been informed that King Ryce of Yorcia has been communicating with King Aengus of Drunacht for some time, perhaps several months.”
Beadurof’s interest had been peaked, but he could not believe what he had heard. His realm and Yorcia had always been the closest allies, and Beadurof could not think of any reason Ryce would endanger the lasting bond by communicating with Drunacht, especially if it were to form dark intentions. That was a natural deduction for Beadurof, however, to always assume the worst. Although nothing had been mentioned of betrayal, the king was still cautious, and his uncertainty was exposed when he at last inquired, “How long have you known about this?”
“I received the information earlier this morning.”
The answer caused Beadurof’s frown to alter into a smile momentarily. In a way he was satisfied to learn he had not been the only one to lose sleep. If I cannot sleep, no one should be permitted to rest! The thought he had silently expressed not even an hour prior echoed in his mind, but the king did not have time to worry about his sleep or the demons that prevented it. His current attention was directed to an issue of greater significance, and Beadurof eventually inquired, “What else have your sources reported? What is being accomplished by this … this communication between Ryce and Aengus?”
“I have yet to—”
“Curse you, Raedan!” the king exclaimed and slammed his fist on the desk. “You interrupt to deliver news not supported by substantial reason!” What good is Raedan? Beadurof nearly unleashed his anger and would have had the advisor not answered so quickly.
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Raedan stumbled with his words as guilt and the slightest hint of fear became more obvious. “But I am tirelessly working to uncover more information.”
Beadurof nodded with more understanding than reluctance. He knew he had overreacted. Raedan had never failed, and he had proven to be an ideal strategist on many occasions. Surely he will not fail this time. The king concluded his thoughts, looked back to his trusted advisor, and added, “Even if this amounts to nothing more than words, which I pray is all it is, what do you recommend?”
The expressions of dread and guilt quickly were replaced with a broad smile. “I feared you would never ask,” Raedan answered, but before he could explain further, there was an interruption.
The door opened slowly, and Marlisa soon entered at the same pace. She looked first to her husband. “I hope I am not intruding.”
The advisor was quick to clear his throat and explain, “The king and I are discussing diplomatic matters.”
These matters are no business of yours. Although the advisor had not spoken the words, it was not difficult to imagine he would have.
It was apparent the queen had also sensed the words unspoken, for Marlisa looked to the advisor with astonishment but offered no rebuttal. The reaction lasted only a few seconds but long enough to be noticeable.
“Matters with which you can be of assistance,” Beadurof ended the awkward silence and offered the queen a smile. Despite his earlier feelings of irritation and wanting to be alone, the king welcomed his wife’s presence, and he added, “Come. Grace us with your wisdom.”
The queen went to her husband’s side and placed her arm through his before speaking. “What diplomatic matters are so urgent that they must be settled before the sun has even risen?”
“Raedan was preparing to detail possible unrest Yorcia and Drunacht may soon instigate,” Beadurof replied. “But that is all we know as of the moment.”
“Let them have their war,” she proclaimed. “We have no reason—”
“With all due respect, Your Majesty”—the advisor interrupted somewhat reluctantly, as if he expected one of the nobles to ridicule him for his attitude toward the queen—“my sources have indicated the conflict is not between Yorcia and Drunacht. On the contrary. They may unite for a single cause.”
“May or will?” Marlisa emphasized her inquiry with the same, frustration-littered tone Beadurof had used. While her words were expressed more compassionately, they were