“Execute this foul creature post haste,” the King commanded.
Heads in the throne room twisted about to see who among them had been condemned. The young squire of a visiting Knight trembled in fear at the end of the King’s authoritative gaze.
“Friends do you not smell the stench? This young man has spoiled himself where he stands.”
The entire Royal Court began to take notice of the small throne room being quickly enveloped in the fragrance of sewage.
“Quickly now. We shall resume council in the east wing dining room.”
Strong guards seized the young man ignoring the pleas for mercy and innocence from his Knight. He was promptly beheaded in the square.
That evening as the maids were cleaning the throne room the stench remained.
The keenest nosed among them was determined to track the smell. She was lead to the King’s own royal cushion. There a dark brown stain was found, crusted deep into the intricate embroidery. A pact thick as a bloodline sisterhood was instantly bestowed upon the women. No one who valued their life would breathe a word of the royal shat. Not that you wanted to breathe in there anyway.
Danny Machal July 20th, 2015