The Beggar King

Harrow’s stomach roiled as they approached the gates. Surrounded by fifty armoured, the smell of leather, sweat and oiled steel familiar to him was almost overpowering. And yet, in a way, he was completely alone on his palanquin, on the shoulders of eight jostling men.

“There is nothing to worry about,” one of the younger ones said, “We have men on every rooftop watching the crowd.”

Dale, a tall bulky soldier to his right scoffed at this and shook his helmed head. “It is both foolish to be overconfident and to be scared. There may be an attempt but we will be ready for it.” Dale shot Harrow a hard look, as if to say, get a grip.

It wasn’t archers he feared, nor the knife throwers. His armour was polished hard enough that anyone trying to aim would be blinded. No, he feared the hungry faces, their cupped hands as they pled for the coin that would solve all their problems in a heartbeat. He feared being able to do nothing about it. Well, this time was different, no matter what Dale said, he would do something to help.

In his mind, a woman cursed him from her shop entrance, and a fisherman clutched at his dagger as he passed, wondering if he’d have time to rid the city of their corrupt upper class before the guards got to him.

They entered the archway and Harrow was thrust into near darkness. By the time his eyes had adjusted, the outer doors were already opening.

The city smelled like its neighbouring sea, of fish guts and smokehouses, the people it housed, of urine and sweat. Harrow had practised enough to hide his discomfort when the sunshine reappeared.

Royal parades were frequent but spontaneous to try and prevent assassination attempts, but by the time they’d crossed the moat and into the city proper, a crowd was already growing. He wanted to shrink down, don his helm and hide from their eyes but the gilded lips of his litter were too small to hide him in his armour. And besides, Dale would probably spend the next week lecturing him on how a man should face challenges. In many ways, the General was like a father to him, had taught him how to fight and care for himself despite the many attendants around the castle but he could not imagine the shame if he told the man how much he feared the pleading eyes, the starving children. Harrow squared his shoulders and took it as well as he could.

Wooden-framed buildings lined the steeply sloping street to the sea at the bottom, each subsequent level reaching out over the street like trees vying for light. In the evening, when the dirty street level was shadowed, it was a beautiful, or so he was told, he’d only ever seen it from the shoulders of eight men.

He saw the first beggar join the crowd, pushing to the front of the silent watchers. He was perhaps fifty and could have been Harrow’s father with greasy hair and a tunic that was barely distinguishable from the mud he hurried through.

“A coin for an old man?” He cried, “Just one!”

Harrow turned away and looked at the pouch clutched in his left hand instead. He would be disciplined for it later, he always was. But he couldn’t sit up here with enough wealth to buy every beggar a room, yet unable to use it.

The beggar man’s face was lost to him as more filled the streets. Soon they outnumbered the merchants and sailors. Grimy hands clawed at the air, shouting for a coin. Harrow couldn’t blame them. Each of the five coins in his bag would be enough for them to live on for several months at least, maybe even more if they left the city. They could buy passage to one of the neighbouring nations where the taxes were less and the rulers less corrupt.

“If it were that easy,” Dale said, reading his mind, “The council would have done something about it.”

“The council doesn’t care that half of the city lives in poverty,” Harrow replied, “So long as their own families profit greatly.”

“Not everyone can be wealthy,” Dale countered, “Do you see the way they lie in their dirt? Eating from the rubbish bins.”

Harrow bit back a reply. It would have been rude and unnecessary. Dale would lay down his life for him if it came to that, and all he could do was complain. But the man had to loosen up a bit, not everyone on the street was there because they were lazy or didn’t care to work.

But he was only fifteen and, if history repeated itself, he wouldn’t make it to an age where he could wrestle control back from the council. He was a useless King and he could do nothing to help these people.

He scanned the crowd but didn’t wave. They were not there to celebrate him, but to get a glimpse of the Spoilt Boy King.

“Pampered and selfish,” he muttered in mock reply. Perhaps he was. Ironically, just like the homeless boys his age, he had no power to change his position.

Harrow’s gaze fell on a boy that could have been his age with sandy hair down to his shoulders, caked in mud and grime. Tears carved channels down his cheeks. Both of his hands were raised in the same cupping gesture.

Before he could lose his nerve, Harrow grabbed the bag from beside him and threw it.

Target practice helped a great deal here and it flew true, to be caught in the boy’s outstretched arms. In an instant, the boy’s face lit up and he clutched it to his chest.

Harrow thought he heard a curse from Dale but all he could focus on was the bloom of warmth in his chest as the boy waved to him. The pure joy as the boy realised that he suddenly had a chance at life.

Something struck the boy’s face and he stumbled to the side. It was another boy, slightly older, holding a broken piece of wood. His face was even more dirty and he had a large ugly-looking scar that ran down his neck into his jerkin.

The smile was gone from the boy’s face and he clutched one hand to his chest, the other to the red welt on his cheek.

Another beggar pushed towards him and soon the boy was surrounded by waving fists. Harrow watched, horrified as the boy disappeared from view, swallowed by the fighting bodies.

“You’ve got to help him!” Harrow called out over Dale’s booming orders to turn around.

He made to move himself but one look from the old man had him back on his padded chair as they made double time back towards the gates. Even as he glanced over his shoulder, the boy didn’t resurface, the crowd still fighting over the bag of gold.

He felt sick.

When Dale finally left Harrow alone in the rose garden, he let the tears fall. It was unfair, unjust even. He had tried to do a good thing and the world threw it back in his face.

Dale’s lectures had all been about the better ways there were to give money to people that didn’t involve them being trampled to death by a hundred hungry mouths. He suspected he’d been ordered to give those specific string of words by the council, just harsh enough to stop him doing it for the next few times but not enough to make him truly unhappy.

They’d all failed because Harrow was truly unhappy and had been for some time. How could any sane person allow themselves to be paraded through the street on a golden litter while the children around them starved to death? The guilt ate away at him, fading as the days passed, just enough to let him believe that he brought out the worst in them, just for his newfound peace to be dashed a week later.

The next time would be different. He’d scatter the coins far and wide so that no one person would be trampled. Even as the thought came he dismissed it and sank lower on the stone bench.

From here he could see the sun setting over the marshes and the tips of tall ship masts but all he could see was the sight of the boy vanishing beneath the clawing hands.

There would not be a next time. He would not go out there again, that was for sure. Never again.

The more he considered it, the surer he was. Whatever he did, he would not go out there. He could not bear to see their faces with a pleading look.

Harrow stood. He felt slightly better, but that wasn’t all he was going to do, Dale might be right about there being better ways, but he didn’t believe that the council would do anything more than keep the townsfolk peaceful enough for trade to continue in their small coastal nation.

He stood at the centre of the garden where a circle of slabs held a carved bench and was shaded from the midday heat with arched trellis. Now, the shadows were long and the light dimming fast.

Harrow crouched down and carefully lifted one of the slabs. Underneath was a small hollow stuffed with a cloth bag.

It was heavy and clinked when he lifted it out. Even in the dusk light, gold glinted as he sifted his hands through them. It was a lot, he knew that much and although he’d never had to buy a thing in his life, he imagined he could buy a room with it after giving most of it away. He paused realising the scope of what he’d just considered.

He was just fifteen and considering running away from arguably the easiest job in the nation. The face of the boy returned to his mind and he fixed his brow. He would not go out there again. He would rather be a beggar than a King in his situation.

He began to stuff the bag back in the hollow but instead put it in his jerkin pocket and replaced the slab. It was no longer a failsafe, he would need it and if anyone found it, he would be no better off than the beggars on the other side of the gate.

But the money was only for comfort and for bribes if it came to that. The simple act of him leaving would be enough to destroy the council’s rule. A new faction would almost certainly seize the opportunity to gain power and, as Harrow saw it, they could only be better than this government.

The council wouldn’t listen to his opinion and Dale, as much as Harrow thought of him as a father, worked for them, not him. This was his only option, the only card he had to play, perhaps the only one he’d ever have.

But how could he get past the guards? The keep wasn’t designed to keep people in as much as out, but it still wouldn’t be easy without some help. Then the answer came to him and he grinned. “I must speak to Louise.”

Louise worked in the castle stables, tending to the dozens of horses required to rule over the small nation. Without her and the dozens of horse handlers, the council wouldn’t be able to collect the taxes and stop anyone complaining too loudly about the conditions in the city. She was also a few years older than he, and a fellow orphan. That meant something to him, stuck in a keep full of old men and women.

As he entered through the main entrance, closest to the castle gates, he was hit by the smell of manure, and hay and the sounds of horses as they were tended to.

The buildings were arranged in an open-ended rectangle, with messenger horses to the left, guest horses to the right and straight ahead, under a stone arch, the royal stables. The central courtyard was home to several horse and hand carts loaded with various crates and bundles of hay. It was thankfully almost empty of people.

Harrow made for the royal stables as quickly as possible, in the hopes that the stablehands wouldn’t notice their king doing anything odd at this hour. He was dressed down of course, in a leather jerkin and trousers that fit beneath his armour, but they might still recognise him.

He laughed quietly to himself. A King shouldn’t have to worry about what the stable hands said about him, or, for that matter, what anyone said about him. Yet here he was, hurrying beneath the arch and into the stables so as not to be seen. Yet Harrow knew what would happen when the King wasn’t paraded regularly around the city, people would get restless, and, as had happened countless times in the past century, the next most powerful faction would rise and put their own puppet on the throne.

He patted Sara, his white mare on the way past but didn’t slow until he spotted his target, bent over the large ceramic washbasins in the corner. The light was fading quickly outside and cast an amber hue over her dark skin.

“Louise!” He said, slowing as he approached, his initial determination flagging at the sight of her.

She looked up and a smile split cheeks flushed from exertion. Louise wasn’t tall like him, but he was sure she could throw him over the outer wall if she wished to, her bare arms and shoulders showing off enough muscle to challenge any of the other stable hands. She patted her hair self-consciously, tied back in a tight bun and extended her hand to him.

He stumbled, trying to remember what he wanted to say but pushed it away and hugged her instead. She smelled of horses and hay and he could have stayed in that embrace until he forgot about his problems.

“You caused quite a stir,” she said, pushing him away playfully and turning back to the basin and lifting a metal bucket out, “I thought I told you not to do things like that.”

She moved over to Sara’s trough and poured it in, then, hooked in one arm, crossed her arms.

Harrow couldn’t remember his mother, but he could imagine her giving him the look Louise gave him right now.

“I’m not here to explain myself,” he said, “I’ve come with an offer.”

Louise laughed, the sound bright and loud, “If you get down on one knee, I’ll toss the next bucket over your head.”

Harrow felt his face heat and was glad that it wasn’t bright enough for her to see. She must have noticed anyway and giggled as she started filling another bucket.

“No,” he said, trying to regain his confidence. This was it, there would be no going back after this. Yet, to his surprise, there was no doubt in his mind that she would keep his secret whether or not she decided to go along with it. Louise was trustworthy and that was that.

“We’re both orphans,” he said before she could interrupt again, “And we may be in distinct positions right now, but you could say we were both lucky.”

“Uh-huh.” Louise poured a second bucket into the trough and started filling a third, “Pretty lucky to have a roof over our heads, a job and some coin to spend. Some of us more than others.”

“And we have always talked about doing something about it. About the poverty out there, ways to smuggle out money or food, or if we could convince the council that it was worth their time to consider those too poor to buy their food.”

She popped her head up with a raised eyebrow. “Harrow, what are you not saying? Get to the point.” Her face disappeared again.

“They won’t do it, I know they won’t. But I have a plan. You won’t like it, but there is something in it for you too. You’ve also always wanted your own horse, that could—“

“The plan!” Her muffled cry came.

“Right. The plan.” Harrow wiped his brow. It was awfully hot in his leather jerkin. “The council have all the power but without me, the people won’t follow them. If I’m gone, they’ll fall quickly. And the next faction to rise will be better. They can’t be any worse!”

With all of it out, he sat down on a bale of hay.

There was a clang as she set the bucket in the sink and turned, “You want to… leave? Or die?” She laughed quickly then crossed her arms, “Harrow, this is crazy, you want to throw all of this away… What, in the hopes that something will change?”

Harrow shifted forward, meeting her gaze as firmly as he could, “I want to do it and I will. You don’t understand what it is like to go out there dressed in wealth while everyone around you struggles to get by. I can’t do it.”

“Where will you go? What will you do? Harrow, you’re fifteen! And…” Her incredulity faded slightly, “What about me? Surely if this works as you’ve planned, I’ll be out of a job.”

The rest remained unsaid. She was an orphan, they both were and leaving meant throwing away everything they had. Almost everything.

“I’ve been saving up money,” he said, looking around and then pulling the bag from his pocket, “And I want you to have half of it. It’s enough to buy a horse. Or five! Or if you want to find a place to stay. I admit I don’t know much about life outside of this place, but it should be enough.”

When she just stared at him shaking her head, he stood and cleared tackle from a large shelf to pour the gold coins onto the dusty surface. Then he roughly split it, pushing one half towards Louise and the other half back into the bag.

Louise picked up one of the gold coins and examined it in the dim light before replacing it on the table, “You’re serious about this aren’t you?”

He nodded, glad that she wasn’t laughing at him anymore. Dale had taught him that real money on the table made people take you seriously. He had no idea how much this would buy him in the city let alone anywhere else but it worked.

She narrowed his eyes at him. “What’s the catch?”

Harrow took a deep breath but he was almost sure he had her attention now, what with twenty gold coins beside her. “I need you to get me out of here. In secret.”

What seemed like an age later, but was only a day, Harrow was bundled up in a tarp under a pile of dirty straw. The heat and the smell were strong enough to make him dizzy, but the sack of gold coins clutched in his hand was enough to make him giddy with excitement. It was significantly lighter after halving it with Louise but was still enough to feed every one of those hungry mouths if he could just get it to the right people. And besides, once the current council fell, the next would surely do a better job. He would finally make a difference, if indirectly.

There was a jolt and the cart moved slightly, likely as they hitched it to a horse. He wondered, not for the first time why Louise had looked so sad as they’d said their goodbyes. She would get what she’d always wanted and would be out of the way of the corrupt council. He would miss her too, but they could keep in contact. Once it had died down a bit in the city, he would be able to go around unnoticed by the people who’d used his name as a curse, who’d sworn to kill him.

But she’d kissed him! The blush should have been impossible with the heat.

He heard muffled voices that he couldn’t make out, though he assumed one was Louise’s. She would be preparing to leave on an errand before making a break for it. Hopefully, the council would be so concerned about Harrow’s disappearance that they wouldn’t peruse her.

The cart jolted and began to move. He felt every bump as it moved over the cobbles and shifted with the gait of the horse. The guard leading it would never know that their king was hidden away inside, about to escape for good. Or perhaps he would, but only when it was too late when the council was falling around him.

He wondered if Dale would miss him if he would set out to find him, or if he would just move on with his life. Of course, he was just a guard among many that had chosen to teach Harrow a few things about what not to do and a few skills but he’d thought that he meant something to the man regardless. He hoped he did.

Louise would surely miss him if that kiss meant anything. His stomach twisted slightly and he prayed that she’d be okay. And that was it, nobody else in the castle meant much more to him. Sure, the cook had frequently snuck him an extra pie when he was meant to be sleeping and the Gardner always had a smile for him but he didn’t even know the man’s name. Perhaps he should, although it would all be useless soon.

He imagined himself from the outside, the cart rolling slowly towards the gates, the guards on the other side clearing a path through the gathering crowd. They would stay there until they were sure there was no coin to be had, only sharp jabs from the butts of spears and then they would disperse, allowing the cart on its way.

The cart slowed and stopped as more muffled voices came. His heart was in his throat. If it came to it, his plan b might be needed, but—

The cart began to move again and he sighed in relief. It would be crossing the drawbridge by now, for the movement was smooth.

There was a sudden jolt and the cart stopped again. Raised voices managed to pass through the dirty hay to him and his heart dropped.

Something shifted above him and he was suddenly being hauled out of his canvas wrapping, the daylight momentarily blinding him.

Before he could see what was going on, rough hands held each of his arms and were half carrying, half dragging him, back through the gates.

Harrow groaned as Dale came into view, his arms crossed. The thought of his ire made him wither and he shrunk down as small as he could, not looking the man in the eye. Instead, he stared back out the closing gates at his chance at freedom.

“What is the meaning of this?”

His words weren’t harsh or even demanding, just cold and hard. Harrow cowered before them.

“Do you know what would have happened if you got out there? The same that happened to that little boy with his gold coin. Trampled and dead. Sometimes it would be better if you stayed in your bed all day and didn’t bother anyone. It would make everyone else’s lives easier at least.”

Harrow didn’t bother answering or wiping away the tears that ran down his cheeks. Nothing he could say would adequately explain to Dale why he wanted to leave. He just thought of him as a spoiled brat. Perhaps rightfully.

“Well,” Dale continued, lifting Harrow’s chin to look him in the eye with a thick finger, “This might teach you to behave like a man. From now on there will be consequences. This friend of yours will bear the first of such consequences.”

Harrow spent the night in the rose garden despite many protests from his servants. Eventually, they brought him a blanket and a jug of water before retiring for the night but he wasn’t interested in sleeping. The only thing to be glad of was the lack of Dale’s presence. He wasn’t sure he could face the man’s ire right now.

But more than anything, he was afraid. He had no idea where they’d taken Louise. The only thing he’d gotten out of the gate guards was to come back in the morning.

When Dale did come for him, the sun was rising, casting filtered sunlight through gaps in the distant clouds. It might have been beautiful another day. Today it was melancholic.

Dale didn’t say a word to him as they walked towards the front gates and Harrow was glad of it. There was nobody else there save those guarding the gate but he didn’t have to wait long before another two guards appeared from the main keep with a shorter stockier figure between them. Louise.

The cheery smile that almost always lit up her face was gone and without it, she looked gaunt.

He took a step towards her as tightness rose in his chest but Dale put out a hand. “We will restrain you if we have to. Understand that this is for your own good. The consequences will be greater next time.”

“Please,” he said, “Discipline me, but she had nothing to do with it, she didn’t even—“

The slap was sort and made his ears ring but more than anything, it shocked him. When he glanced up at Dale, his eyes were hard.

“Don’t lie to me, boy. You may be king but you’re just a boy. And spoiled at that.”

Harrow felt a lump rise in his throat but didn’t move as Louise was brought up to the gates. Her mouth was set in a hard line but she managed a brief smile at him before the gates began to open and the guards marched her out.

They returned a few moments later as the gates closed. Dale tried to grab him as he ran towards the gates, grabbing ahold of the bars and peering through. For a moment he met her dark eyes and then she was gone, running towards the gathering crowd. His only friend in the keep was gone, the only one he could trust and all because of him.

Soon she would be just like them, moneyless and sleeping on the street. There was nowhere else an orphan could go. Not in this city, not with this council. Maybe she would last a year, or two, begging for scraps before some kind of illness or the cold got her.

Something awoke in Harrow’s stomach. Deep down he felt a hatred rise toward Dale, towards the council. It was a fire that consumed any fear remaining. He might be fifteen, but he wasn’t just a boy. He might as well act like one, if only for once in his life.

“You’re just like them,” he whispered turning to stare at the man who’d been like a father to him. “I thought you were different,” he said louder stabbing a finger at his chest.

Harrow broke into a run, passing the man and making for the stairs up to the battlements.

It took the guards a few moments to realise where he was going and as soon as they did, a cry rose from behind. Harrow didn’t slow. If he couldn’t sneak out in secret, he would do it in public. Maybe it would help Louise, even if he wasn’t around to do it himself.

Harrow reached the stairs to the battlements and climbed them two at a time, passing the guards at the top without a word. The faster he ran, the more sure he was of his plan. Perhaps this would work better for the beggars in the city.

Without problem, he reached the portion next to the drawbridge and the crowd and, before the guard stationed there could grab him, stepped up onto the outer wall.

Dale and the others slowed to walk but Harrow held up his hand, feeling the cool sea breeze on his fingers. “If you move any closer I will jump.”

To his surprise, they slowed to a stop, although by the thunder on Dale’s face, he wasn’t happy about it.

“Clear the crowd below!” Dale shouted down, “And do it quickly.”

Harrow turned and looked down at the water of the moat. Everyone was looking up at him expectantly and suddenly he had a plan. Maybe he would be able to help Louise if even a little.

“I am your King!” He shouted down, checking that Dale or the others hadn’t moved closer. The crowd didn’t cheer, they just inched closer to the edge of the moat, its water looking darker than ever. The crowd had grown just as large as it did when he was paraded through the city, but this time he wasn’t protected from arrows or assassins. Good, maybe they would see him as he truly was, just this once.

“But I am not your ruler! I pray that they feed you and all they do is throw banquets in their own honour. I am but a puppet!”

Dale looked more than agitated now, in fact, he looked angry and terrified all at once.

“So if you know anyone with any power, tell them that the council is weak and it has a King no longer!”

The crowd remained silent, watching, expectant. Hounds waiting for their prey.

A slight sound behind him was all the notice he got of Dale’s approach. He turned just in time to see a thick hand reach for him.

Harrow took a step backwards but his foot found only empty air. For a moment, he met the older man’s eyes then his stomach lurched and he toppled backwards off the wall. He only caught Dale’s cry as pain and cold consumed him.

Harrow awoke in stages. At first, he was aware of a thumping in his head that only grew stronger when he opened his eyes. It was daytime for it took him a few moments to get used to the glare. Then he was aware of a horrible smell that seemed to be coming from all around and perhaps from him as well. Finally, he sat up.

For a moment he was convinced he was dreaming and he’d wake up at any second. But the throbbing in his head was strong enough to prove that he was not.

Harrow, the once Boy King was lying in an alley among heaps of rubbish that seemed to meld with the muddy ground. There might have once been cobbles beneath, but they hadn’t seen the light of day in years. A rat ran across the street, from one mound to another. The smell, he figured was coming from both him and the rubbish.

He was suddenly aware of a parched throat and stood on shaky legs. There was nothing here so he stumbled down the alleyway towards what looked like the bustling mass of the Main Street.

One by one the memories flooded back. The boy from the day before, or perhaps two days before. Paying Louise. Hiding. Louise is being thrown from the keep. He winced at that one. She didn’t deserve to be punished for what he’d done. Then falling from the wall.

He looked down and realised that he was naked save for his underclothes. The money… But of course, it was gone. Those hungry hands wouldn’t have spared him had he had a single coin on him, save perhaps he’d eaten it.

As he approached the crowd, he realised just how thick it was. People were pressed up to the mouth of the alley, although none ventured down it, perhaps because of the smell. Perhaps because of him. Then he laughed. He was nothing now, nothing worth taking notice of in a city of filth and beggars.

Harrow pushed his way through it, ignoring the wrinkled noses and looks from those he passed and made his way to the front to see what was happening. The closer he got to the front, the more he looked like the others, dressed in the barest, dirtiest of coverings. Their hands were cupped, extended out. Harrow frowned, this wasn’t meant to be happening.

And then he saw why. Moving up the street just before him was a procession. Surrounded by a layer of guards two thick, was a silver palanquin supporting a small man, a boy, in shiny armour. His armour. The boy was wearing Harrow’s armour.

For a long time, he stared. But this wasn’t some kind of funeral procession, no, they’d replaced him with another boy just like that and the crowd would never notice. Hell, they wouldn’t care.

“Dale!” He said. The man looked the same as ever, face beneath the helm set in a firm mask of duty. He didn’t turn.

“DALE!”

He repeated himself several more times and on the third, as the man glanced to the side and for a short moment, they locked eyes. A hint of recognition crept across the man’s face. Then it returned to the previous hard mask. Before Harrow could move after him, the procession was past him. Dale who’d been like a father to him had ignored him like any other beggar on the street. And that other boy! Who was he?

“But there is no king any longer!” He hadn’t realised he’d spoken aloud before someone beside him nudged him.

“That was just a spoilt boy who thought he could cause some trouble,” the woman said, “Of course, the King wouldn’t jump from a battlement.”

Something about the voice was familiar but he had all his attention on the procession. He might be out of coin, but if he could catch a single gold one, he’d have enough to get him out of the city and perhaps somewhere he could get a job. He didn’t know how long he’d have to work or what he’d have to do, but he would, he would do it. First, he needed that coin.

“Of course, he wouldn’t,” Harrow said nodding, trying to keep his head up but inside he felt everything falling apart. He was supposed to have made a difference but here he was again, someone who looked almost like him, put in his place so the council could maintain their control.

The procession reached Harrow and the once king of the nation, in theory, the wealthiest boy on the continent, raised his hands in a cupped gesture.

“Just one gold coin,” he whispered, “And everything won’t be for nothing.” But the procession was already gone and this king, whoever he was, had no care to doll out coins to the underbelly of the city.

“Of course, it wasn’t for nothing,” the same voice scoffed from beside him. A strong hand grabbed ahold of his forearms and pulled his arms down.

Harrow snatched his hands away and turned to the speaker. Did they not understand how much he’d lost in the past day?

He opened his mouth and then let his jaw drop. Standing beside him, hair still tied back in a tight bun was Louise. He couldn’t smell the stables of her, but he figured that his sense of smell had been clouded by his stench.

“Louise,” he whispered. He stared at her clothes. They looked like they hadn’t been washed in days and what would have once been horsehair was mud and grime smeared down the front of her tunic.

“They took the money,” he whispered, “I wish I could help you but…” He looked down at himself and was suddenly more ashamed than he’d ever been in his life. Dale had betrayed him, had ignored him but Louise. He’d failed her and here she was, still trusting him.

She reached out and took his chin in two fingers and lifted his head so that they were eye to eye. “I don’t care about your stupid gold, I never did. And I lost mine too, so we’re even.”

Harrow glanced back at the procession, moving away back towards the gates. He thought he saw Dale glance over his shoulder but it could have been any of the guards. “Dale will understand,” he said and began to push through the crowd, “I can get you a—“

Louise grabbed him and spun him around, ignoring the grunts of those around her. “I told you,” she said, her eyes fixed on him with a fire that he hadn’t seen before, “That it wasn’t for nothing.”

“But I’m no longer king. And we have no money.”

Louise kept her eyes on his and leaned forward so that her nose touched his and their breath mingled, “I didn’t lose all of the money,” she whispered, patting her chest pocket. “And besides…”

She pulled back and thrust a bag at his face. He grabbed it and looked inside. The smell of freshly cooked bread awoke a hunger he didn’t know he had. He reached for one of the dozen loaves but she batted his hand away and snatched the bag back.

“First,” she said with a grin that was far too cheerful for their situation, “First we do what we came here to do.”

“But—“

She raised an eyebrow and he shut his mouth. Then she turned her back to him and looked around. Spotting a kid that couldn’t be more than ten, she reached into the bag and tore off a chuck of bread, handing it to him.

The kid’s eyes widened in delight as he stuffed it all in his mouth at once. She ripped off more and passed it to another grubby figure. Soon people seemed to be noticing them, so she dragged him towards the edge of the street.

Harrow slumped to the ground, his back to the wall, trying to process what had just happened. Then just as quickly he stood up and grabbed a loaf of bread from her and began tearing it into chunks and passing it to passersby.

When it was all gone, he turned to Louise who was grinning even wider. He felt his cheeks twitching upwards too. “I feel… Great!”

She stepped closer to him until they were once again nose to nose and pressed another loaf into his hands. “It turns out that you don’t need to be a King, rich or powerful to make a difference in people's lives.”