[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/ckas8bN.png[/img][/center]

[center][h2]Dealing With the Devil[/h2][/center]

King Pagani had not slept for a week. He was exhausted, far from sober, and finding little comfort in his beautiful and exquisite bed warmers. 

Being a King had not been everything he expected.

With a sigh and a misty head, he rose from the stacked fur blankets of his bed with a heavy heart. Moon light shone dimmly through the opening of the curtains to his chamber's balcony. The same balcony he proclaimed the death of Francis II to the people of Naples. How they had cheered, how they had roared his name in utter ecstasy. 

He felt he'd live to see a hundred, that day.

Now he was unsure if he'd see the coming Winter.

His District Marshals were moving against him. His open defiance of them in Parliament had been a foolish move, for even with his absolute power, it was a dangerous business to shame ambitious men. They had denied him their Knights after he had forced them to put the Blue Coal on the free market, which was of no consequence by itself - The Kingdom was not at war. 

However, the District Marshals had also taken it upon themselves to immediately leak the details of the meeting. The whole Kingdom was outraged, and in mere days, tens of thousands of his angry subjects had come to protest outside of his Palace. At first, he met them with the compassion of a misunderstood father, but as their chants continued through the nights, and their numbers swelled, he ordered the Palace Guard to disperse them.

It wasn't a blood bath, thankfully, for [i]his[/i] men were obedient, restrained and noble. Still, it had proved symbolic of his true relationship with the people - that he was their master, and they his slaves. His was all powerful, and it was his to make decisions, not theirs. Even if those decisions were against their wishes. 

All the while, the District Marshals were sewing further discontent with the masses. He hadn't definite proof of their actions, but he knew it in his heart. They were subtly trying to oust him from the throne. 

"BASTARDS!" he roared, picking up a wine-stained chalice and throwing it against the wall. 

A woman squeaked from within his bed, pulling the blankets close to herself as if they'd offer protection from the King's rage. He'd been very unstable of late, and had become acquainted with some rather bizarre erotic practices - so much so that even women skilled in the arts of pleasure, were quickly becoming afraid. 

King Pagani had not slept for a week. He was exhausted, far from sober, and finding little comfort in his beautiful and exquisite bed warmers. 

He looked down at the two documents, one presented to him by the Dutch, and the other by the Germans. Both offered him the security and the investment he sought, and either one could save him from his impending doom. He was under no illusion of the District Marshal's plans; soon or later they would challenge him openly, and he doubted he could raise enough men to fight their forces. They controlled 80% of Naples' army, after all. 

But a Western Ally, with all its industry - they, they could ensure the survival of his reign. They could save him. With their help, he could dismiss the District Marshals, put them all to the gallows, and proclaim his power as absolute - as he should have done from the start. Many would die, but then that was the point of being a King, right? It was his duty to carry the nation's guilt, and his duty to delight in its prosperity. 

He hated factories. He hated guns. He hated the idea of chaining one's self to a smog filled ghetto, plying away youth to a better's fruition, until diseased old age snatched them from the cruel Earth on which they were enslaved. But if he was killed, or dethroned before he could create an alternative, then what would be his legacy?

"Here lies King Pagani, the Fool. The Blind. The ... the Unjust?" he mumbled to himself, pausing with grim resignation as the last words rolled from his tongue. "Curse this world. Curse Blue Coal. Curse God, curse him for-" his rant stopped dead in its tracks. 

Hastily he dropped to his knees, clasped his hands and stared intently at the Moon through the balcony's curtains. Taking a few deep breaths to calm his temper, he started a prayer unknown to Bible.

"Oh Father, who art in Heaven," he began, his voice wavering. "Give me the Strength to be the Man I once envisioned myself to be. Give me the Wisdom, that I may see to the needs of my people. Grant me Dignity, when I must stray from your Path, for know I shall return. Give me the Courage, to love my enemies. Amen." 

As if the prayer had been an energy-inducing elixir, the King jumped to his feet with renewed vigour. He hastily sat himself down at his table, and drew a quill. He knew what his people needed, and by God's Grace, he'd see to their prosperity - his life and legacy be damned.

[i]"My noble Kaiser of the German Peoples,

Having reviewed your generous offer for gold and agricultural assistance, as well as the guaranteed territorial sovereignty of my Kingdom, I hereby declare the Blue Coal mines of Mt. Etna and Mt. Vesuvius territory of the German Empire. Take them, they are yours. Take the lands around them, too, do with them as you wish. The sooner their deposits are extinguished, the better. They are an evil upon my Kingdom, and I will not have my people suffer the temptations offered by them. Nor will I have the rest of the world eyeing them with bloody minded envy.

So long as the gold, agricultural assistance and security guarantees are honoured - to put it frankly, as King to Emperor - I do not care what you do with them. 

You have my love, and my thanks,

King Pagani, of the Kingdom of Naples."[/i]

"Steward!" Pagani shouted out, excited. The blanketed girl flinched, unsure if he was having another aggressive turn. 

The doors to the King's chamber swung open, and in walked a refined man of middle years wearing a suit of polished mail. He came to a halt half way across the room, and bowed. 

"Take this to the German diplomat. Tell him to present it to his Emperor," King Pagani ordered. "But do not disclose the contents. At any cost. You are to die before they fall into the hands of anyone but the Diplomat's. Take the whole Palace Guard with you, if you must." 

The steward nodded, and stood. "My life for your order, my Lord." 

With that, the steward took the letter and headed off to hand it to the German diplomat. 

And  then the King returned to his seat, to put quill to another letter.

[i]"Most Holy Father..."[/i]