It isn't easy being a king. Having to deal with various nobles, trade agreements, military budgets, and so on, can really take it out of you. It isn't long before the tedium gets to you and you end up only listening to half of what is being said because the other half is usually just complaining or boasting or something else just as useless and empty. From sun up to sun down, listen to people and making hard compromises, barely having an hour to go play golf. Oh, sure, I could take the easy way out, delegate everything out to others and just wallow in excess, but I was raised thinking that being a king meant fulfilling a duty.
You see, my grandfather was the one who spent his entire life fighting for the unification of the planet, and he was considered a hero for doing so. I only remember seeing him when I was really little, and even then, he looked quite old, but he always seemed to have a majestic disposition. Even at his funeral, lying in his coffin, his weathered face didn't lose an ounce of pride. My father took over the throne and his reign was very inconsequential, mostly focusing on maintaining the unification that my grandfather strove for. He wasn't a bad king, but I wasn't really paying attention, thinking that being king wouldn't be in my future, with my two older brothers ahead of me in line.
But then, no one really can foresee tragedies like the Noble's Ball Massacre. The story goes that a madman, bent on destroying the nobles over some imagined slight, charged onto the ballroom floor and blew up a massive bomb, killing himself and over a hundred nobles, my father and my older brothers, included. Where was I in all this? Playing golf. I was already married and neither me nor my wife cared for balls, so we decided to instead go and play with little white balls instead. I was on the eleventh hole, hoping to get on the green with my third stroke, when my communicator rang and I was messaged by a surviving cook about the tragedy. To think that I was actually doing well that day.
At first, I wanted revenge, threatening to gather troops and stomp out anyone potentially involved in the conspiracy, but both my wife and my widowed mother, who happened to be in the kitchen and survived the explosion, convinced me that it was more important to take my place on the throne, as I had become the leading heir. They said that it was imperative that I take the reigns of this kingdom and not let it crumble to ruin amidst the chaos, especially now that there were several new nobles taking position and flexing their new found power.
So there I was, sitting on an uncomfortable throne, listening to people complain about corn fields and fishing licenses, lasertrain routes and robotic military upgrades, trade embargoes and interplanetary political negotiations, all of which slowly and surely reducing my mind to mulch. Then, on August 3rd, 77 EU, I had had enough, yelled at some people and stormed out of the hall to find my golf clubs.
* * *
It wasn't until I was at the third hole, planning out my first stroke, when I heard a voice behind me.
"I figured I would find you here, Reggie" it scornfully cooed, instantly recognizing it as the dulcet tones of my lovely and wonderful wife.
"I'm surprised it took you this long," I replied, then swung and watched my ball as it sliced and fell in the rough, at least seventy feet short of where I wanted it. I grimaced, then turned to face her. She was wearing a plain white blouse with a pair khaki capris, but they were wet, betraying the swimsuit hidden underneath. Clearly, she had thrown them on without bothering to dry herself in an effort to find me as fast as possible. The look on her face was certainly one full of disapproval.
"This the third time in a fortnight, Reginald. You realize that this is starting to look bad for us. I'm sure I don't have to tell you what our social media experts are seeing," she said, putting her hands on her hips, the keys from the golf cart she must have drove dangling from one of her fingers.
I sighed and looked down at the grass, putting air behind my lips as I returned to reality. "You know I was never meant to be a king, Leslie. I really don't know how my father put up with it all over these many years."
My queen walked over to my side and put a hand on my shoulder, then said, "You already know how. The people always praised his sense of-"
"Charity, yes, charity," I interrupted, leaning on my wood like a cane with one hand and rubbing my eyes with the other. I could feel Leslie leaning on my shoulder now. I knew she knew how I felt about it all, and how it was wearing down my nerves. I only complained about it every night in bed. I sighed again and looked up to see her give me a small and condescending smile.
"You're getting my clothes wet," I muttered, stepping away from her and checking to see if she left any wet spots.
"You're the one who had to have a tantrum during my diving lessons," she retorted back, crossing her arms. I just chuckled, shaking my head.
"I'm going to have to apologize to the Duke of Nigelshire. You don't think I could get away just posting it on his wall, do you?" I said.
Leslie slapped my shoulder. "You're fifty-eight years old. You should know better than to act like some socially inept tween," she scolded, smiling. I chuckled again, then sighed.
"I guess you won't let me finish this round," I said, looking up at her like a repentant child.
"Of course not. I'm certain that if you golf now, you'll throw off your schedule and you won't have time for you match with Bandusky on Tuesday," she said, crossing her arms again.
"Argh, you're right, as always. C'mon. Let's get you back so you can dry off before you catch your death of cold," I said, walking over to my robot caddie, essentially a golf bag with wheels, to put my club away.
"The cold was cured from our planet eight years ago, remember?" she retorted.
"Well, you'll catch your death of something! Now where'd you park your cart?"
Suddenly, she became nervous and looked down at the ground. "I, uh, was going too fast on the first hole and crashed it into a sand trap." She gave me a guilty smile.
I sighed again, perhaps for the millionth time that day, and reached into my pocket to pull out my communicator to have our transportation corps give us a ride in one of our mini-helicopters. "Today's just not a good day," I muttered after finishing the call.
* * *
More than once I wished I could pass the throne off to someone more capable. Unfortunately, both of my brother's sons were killed in the tragedy as well, and both of them were childless. My younger brother decided to renounce his nobility and converted to some alien religion where they worship magnetic fields or something, so he was out of the question. When I became king ten months ago, I heard he had become a monk of some prestigious order and changed his name to some kind of nonsense sound from the back of the throat. Worse still, I have no heir myself, as Leslie suffered from ovarian cancer during our courtship and has been barren ever since. We always mused over the idea of adopting, but nothing ever came of it. Now that I was king, it really bore heavily into my brain, among all of the other problems I've inherited.
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