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[center][h2]A King's Right[/h2][/center]

"PAGANI! PAGANI! PAGANI! PAGANI!" 

The crowds roared their King's name, as he made his triumphal march from the Palace to the House of Parliament. The peoples' memory of his victories against the evils of technology were still fresh in their minds, and he was eager to make the most of this. Draped in oiled plate armour, and riding a dark destrier of likewise attire, he looked the very stuff of fiction. 

His retinue of war heroes wore similar armour to him, all of it immaculately maintained and awe inspiring. The people called their names too, though the repeating "PAGANI!" drowned these out in short order.

In truth, he'd gone to the efforts of dressing up for one reason: to intimidate the District Marshals. He hoped that such a public display of affection, would ease them into accepting his proposal regarding the Blue Coal reserves at Vesuvius and Etna.

As he approached the steep steps of Parliament, he hopped from his saddle in once graceful manoeuvre - despite the weight of his armour - and the crowds cheered further. It was of utmost importance for a King to display his mastery in all things, especially physical feats. Indeed, Pagani's charisma and tact with the masses was what won the war. 

The sixty District Marshals stood atop the steps, draped in the simple gowns of spun wool. Pagani thought them incidentally reminiscent of Roman senators, although perhaps that was their plan. They wanted to appear humble, they wanted to appear poor. The King squinted at them, as the thought passed his mind that maybe, just maybe, they wanted the people's love.

"You do us much honour, Great King, for answering our summons so readily," the House Speaker said, smiling. Pagani thought he saw a smirk. 

"The honour is all mine, gentlemen," Pagani replied, flaunting his own grin. "Come, let us put this matter to bed."

With a final turn and a wave to the huddled masses, the King vanished into the large columned expanse of the house of Parliament.

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"With respect, your majesty, parliament vetoes your proposal," the House Speaker said, his voice wavering. "We feel that selling the one resource that the people believe lies at the root of all evil, will jeopardise your image."

The House Speaker's words were met with silence. The King stood with his head bowed, in the centre of the House, with a cemi-circle rank of benches to his front. There were a few nervous grunts and coughs, and no doubt some feared the King would launch into a rage-fuelled rant. He was known to be... temperamental at times.  

Instead, he sighed. "Gentlemen," he said, "when I rose against Francis II of the Two Kingdoms of Sicily, I did not intend to launch a world-wide revolution. I did not intend, to turn back the clock. I only intended to free my countrymen of the evils of industrialisation. This I have done, but make no mistake, we are weak. Very weak." 

"How long do you think we'd stand in the field against the Germans? The British? The Chinese or the Japanese? Our valiant hearts, so splendid in their strength of virtue, would fall to the war machines our enemies are raising against us. Make no mistake, my kin- our kingdom, is hours, not days, away from being invaded by a nation we would be unable to contend with." 

A District Marshal stood from the benches, "Balls!" he yelled, "we beat Francis II, and he had weaponry of their calibre. We'll beat the Germans too, and the British, and the Chinese and any other 'eses' there may be." 

The King grunted with a nod, "brave words from a brave man. Let us not forget, though, that Francis II's military paled in comparison to the more established Western nations. We do not possess the numbers to counter-weight their strength, and our enemies will have wisened in the wake of our victory. No, we must find friends, so that we may flourish." 

"By whoring our blue coal?" the District Marshal retorted; some of his peers chuckled at his remarks. "We'll be inviting the devil into our bed, and he'll fuck us up the arse, mark my words!" 

The King winced at the words ill-befitted to the House. Winced, at his man's flagrant opposition. "The devil," he said at last, "will fuck us up the arse whether we sell the coal or not. Let me put it plainly to you, valiant marshals. Our peoples are starving, our military is weak, our infrastructure has collapsed since we de-industrialised. If we do not act, we'll be facing a revolt of the masses as soon as their heady memories of victory wears off. We need to give them grain, and we can't do that unless we have money to invest into the farming systems."

"Bah," spat the District Marshal. "The peasants will revolt, if we are seen to be hypocrites. We told them blue coal was evil, and the Church agreed with our rhetoric. What would happen if we were seen selling sin to the demons arising around us?" 

"There would be anger, granted," replied the King after some thought. "My holiour-than-thou image would be damaged, yes. But my Kingdom would prosper, and in time, foreign investment will make our way of life viable indefinitely. We must first secure food for ourselves, and then we can pursue other industries inside the borders of our morals."

"Parliament will not support you," the Marshal retorted. "If you sell that coal, we will refuse to lend you our knights." 

King Pagani felt a surge of anger rush into him. He wanted to draw his sword, and put down the miserable dog that had obviously rallied his peers against him. By Christ! He owned these men. They all owed him something, and already, they were showing how ungrateful they were.

"Regrettably," the King snapped, gritting his teeth. "It is a King's right to ignore the threats of Parliament. The coal is going to the free market. Make it happen." 

"But my Lo-"

"I HAVE SPOKEN," the King roared, losing his composure to the folly of rage. "I have spoken. Do my bidding, or I'll march my men in here and have you all arrested for treason!" 

And with that, Parliament's false powers were revealed to the world.