Could you do a story where a usurper takes the crown, and the young, barely crowned king willingly submits and gives it up to make sure his people are okay?
The king felt very small upon his throne. It felt like it had been made for bigger, older, greater people. Yet, a lot of people would die to keep him there. A lot of people had died. And more would, still. He did not know much of ruling, yet, but he knew that.
"It's okay." He was privately proud that his voice remained steady. "Stand down. Step back."
"-It's okay," he said again, soft, and maybe that was the power of kings and lies that they believed him. Obeyed. Despite all the instincts and training of guards and soldiers, battle-sworn and bloodied.
A path cleared between himself and the usurper.
The Commander General looked like the sort of man who fit a throne. Strong, capable, unsickly. The king had always thought so, long before he was a king. The throne would not have swallowed the Commander up as it did him. The crown surely would not have threatened to make his handsome head buckle with the weight.
The king took it off his head, holding the crown in his lap, the gold unmoved and unshaken by his slightly trembling fingers.
"I will not have my people divided by war," the king said, letting his voice carry through the room. "We have enemies enough already beyond our borders, as you surely know better than me, Commander. We do not need them inside our kingdom."
One of the Commander General's lackeys sneered, lip curling, with a jeering mutter that sounded suspiciously like "how noble."
The Commander General cut them off with one sharply raised hand. His head tilted as he surveyed the king. He devoured the gap between them with one step, two, three. If the king flinched slightly, then only the usurper was close enough to see it.
"You submit willingly?" the Commander asked.
"Didn't even have to get him to beg," another of the lackeys said. "I was looking forward to seeing him-"
"Shut up." The usurper's voice was a growl, low and vicious.
The king looked up, and up, and up to the usurper's face. A dozen childhood memories flashed through him. He remembered the time another usurper had come for his father, and the man before him had shielded him. He'd been terrifying. He'd ripped through their enemies like a machine. The king had never felt safer.
They'd been as close then as they were now. The king had been ten years-old. He felt suddenly ten year's-old again.
That day had been the first time the king ever killed someone. The Commander had reassured him, after, when he sobbed. He had not been the Commander then.
Was the Commander remembering that memory, too? Or had it been the first thing to make him decide that the young prince was not fit to be a king, young or old? His father would not have cried. He would not have been so tender-hearted.
"I do not want my people hurt," the king said. He swallowed. Squared his shoulders. "And whether you sit here or I do, they are my people. I will do what is best for them. I will submit freely if you spare this kingdom further bloodshed, show mercy to my guards. They only want to do their duty. To protect me. I would hope you would understand that, Commander."
The king offered the crown out, and wasn't sure if that was a worse or better treachery to his late father than waiting to have it wrenched out of his hands.
The Commander didn't reach for the crown, he took the king's jaw in one rough palm. The king tensed, but vowed not to cry out if the Commander simply...crushed.
"You submit willingly?" the Commander asked again. Demanded.
"And if I say I'll kill them all, what will you do?" The Commander raised an eyebrow. His grip tightened, a fraction, enough to hurt. "Would you fight me yourself?" His voice lowered, intimate. "Would you kill me?"
"Yes." The king's mouth felt dry. He held the Commander's gaze. "I would kill you."
The usurper smiled, like that smile was just for the two of them, faint though it was.
"And will your people submit alongside you?" the Commander asked.
"I would tell them to. But I would not be their king, so perhaps they would not listen."
"I will spare them if they do."
"Then I will do my best to convince them, your Majesty."
The Commander's hand slipped from his jaw to his throat, not squeezing, merely holding.
The king couldn't read his expression, or imagine what he was considering. A beat passed, then another. The usurper sank to one knee and the king felt dizzy. The Commander's gaze flicked to the crown.
The king exhaled a slightly shaky breath and placed it upon the usurper's head, within reach.
The room stayed utterly silent.
The new king rose, usurper no more. He squeezed his fingers around the once-king's throat, making his breathing stutter anew. Tugged, gently, and the once-king rose too, out of the chair. They turned, in perfect synchronicity.
The new king let go and sat down.
He fit the chair, sprawling, predatory. Perfectly at ease.
The once-king stood in front of him, feeling exposed. He dared not wrench his gaze away. He did not kneel.
"No tears, this time?" the king asked.
The once-king hated the staggering relief the approval brought, whether it was mocking or not. He had not been king long, but he had done good. Been good. He had not failed.
The king twitched his fingers and new guards came forward, taking the once-king by his arms on either side. It kept him steady. It kept him trapped.
"Take him to the dungeon," the king said. "He will prove useful to me before we are done."
The cheering began as he was led away.
That had to be better than screams.
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