A King’s Ransom

The celebration was fun, but limited by his inability to get drunk. He understood why he had to remain sober but it didn’t make the situation any better. The advisers had warned him, and he knew the people weren’t so keen on his playboy reputation. That was acceptable as a prince, but as a king? It wouldn’t fly. Fly with who, he wondered. He was king; as long as the crown sat on his head nobody else’s opinion mattered. But he knew to be respectful to the advisers; his father had drilled that into him. At least until he could get his own men in, it would take a year maybe two to clean house. Until then he was stuck with these fools. So he had been careful, having a glass or two of wine but nothing more.

The real problem was not being able to sleep. He couldn’t even remember the last time he tried to sleep sober. After tossing and turning for hours he’d had enough. He tore the royal chambers apart, looking for anything that he could use to self-medicate. Nearly an hour of unfruitful searching later, he noticed the stack of papers that had been left for him. So he got to work.

The first folder was a dossier on other leaders in the region. He was familiar with everyone, having grown up playing with the other children in times of peace. Yet this was them from another angle, the papers having been authored by his intelligence agency. He began learning new things about these people left and right. Some of it mundane, some with political value, some downright scandalous. But nothing got a raise out of him, until he got to Yusuf’s page.

The front of the page had a photo of him and his wife, Jasmine. Their eyes seemed to be looking right at him, taunting him. Inadvertently, he ran his finger over her; she was as beautiful as ever. She should be his; no she was his. They had spent their teenage years madly in love. Summers at the lake and winters cozied up in the palace. He had never touched her, though he wished to, every fiber of his body urged him to. He knew she felt the same, but they were saving it for marriage, so outside of the occasional kiss when no one was looking they remained pure. Then he was sent to Europe for his education. At first he wrote daily, then it was reduced to weekly. Life got in the way. He was able to visit less and less as the region became embroiled in turmoil. She seemed to be traveling every time he came home. They fell out of touch, but his love never wavered.

Years later he heard the news. She was betrothed to Yusuf. Deep down he knew part of his appeal lay in the royal blood he possessed, but to leave him for another prince? And Yusuf? They had been best friends as children, even as diplomatic and by extension familial relations became strained. While they never went to war, calling them enemies wouldn’t be a stretch. And that was before Yusuf had stolen the love of his life.

He didn’t know how long he stewed, staring at the photo. Eventually he moved on and continued reading. He came across a plethora of information, dirt on Yusuf and his empire. The man’s infidelities. The secret police that ran rampart, detaining and torturing civilians. Proof of assassinations they had carried out against citizens of his nation. Those were just the start. Yusuf’s file had been the thickest, and the reason was now clear. The man was a monster. Individually nothing in there was inexcusable, for a leader must be strong but together they showed a fragile man leading a fragile nation.

It came to him, clearly what he needed to do. He scribbled furiously on a piece of paper and rang for a servant. In the morning he’d have a meeting with several military leaders and ministers. They’d begin the early stages of drawing up an attack on Yusuf. It may take a year or two to finalize plans, but that was ok. He had waited nearly a decade to have her back. He could wait a little while longer.