I walk, jingling each step, to the thrown room, my head held steady as I force myself to enter. I look up and see Mother sitting to His left. She looks away. I can’t blame her, I wouldn’t want to look upon my son forced to wear bells and tights either. I was held down as a few guards took joy in painting my face, I’m sure it looks like garbage. Because I must, I bow to the usurper King who then orders me to kiss his child’s feet. I grit my teeth and turn to you who sits at his right hand.
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