CHAPTER 10: A ROYAL VISIT IN HELL’S KITCHEN.
THE ARRIVAL AT GOLDEN MARINA BRIDGE.
As Princess Victoria's convoy approached the renowned Golden Marina Bridge, a staggering sight awaited them, and the sheer scale of the reception became clear. One-third of the entire population of Front Marina had descended upon the far bank, a sea of humanity that stretched as far as the eye could see. The security personnel were stunned by the sheer size of the crowd that had turned out for her arrival.
It was a powerful testament to the high regard in which the public held Victoria—despite the widespread disappointment many already felt toward her father, the king.
It was a healthy sign—Victoria remained the gold standard of the Lucianan monarchy. She had earned this admiration through years of dedicated service.
Victoria herself commanded genuine respect and high regard. She had built an exceptional standard and maintained strong relationships not only with the residents of Crownpoint Province but also with citizens across Luciana. This day was dedicated to the people of Hell's Kitchen, Crownpoint Province, and the everyday challenges they faced.
The overwhelming turnout forced the security forces to intensify their measures. Guards radioed one another constantly as the convoy crossed the bridge. Above, fireworks tore through the daylight, boom! Crackle! Fizz!, painting the sky in vibrant streaks of welcome. The air vibrated with the rhythmic thrum of street drums reverberating through the air—dum-dum, pa-pa-pum!—and the deafening chant of her name.
It felt less like a political visit and more like a Brazilian carnival—a riot of color, sound, and unbridled joy rivaling the likes of the grand celebrations of Rio.
Victoria's popularity was not born of mere optics but of action. Beyond the clean water project she had commissioned, Victoria had also launched a charity initiative called Food for All, aimed at feeding the poor. Twice a year, accredited restaurants and shops provided free food, clothing, and other supplies to those in need, with all expenses covered by the Crown.
Victoria spearheaded the entire operation, a role she had taken on since she took the mantle of the King's Regent. Victoria had become more than a royal; she was a lifeline. These acts of compassion had made her not just beloved but iconic, to the point where citizens openly called for her father to abdicate in her favor.
Her contributions outshone those of the Royal Minister—the kingdom's equivalent of a prime minister—as well as provincial overseers (the equivalent of modern-day governors) and district mayors. To the masses, the royal ministers and provincial overseers were mere ghosts of bureaucracy. Victoria's impact made their government and policies appear mediocre and ineffective.
She had also introduced a medical subsidy program to ease the burden of healthcare costs and provide benefits for the disabled and elderly. However, this program had recently faced challenges, as favoritism had crept into its administration. She was not yet aware of the issue—though corruption had begun to taint its noble intent, something she had yet to uncover.
But today, those grievances were buried under the weight of celebration.
The crowd didn't just watch the motorcade; they marched with it. A massive human tide escorted her from the bridge to the City Hall, singing and jubilating in a display of loyalty. King Lucious, her father, the king, had never for once received such recognition and reception from his citizens.
VICTORIAAND HELL'S KITCHEN WARM WELCOME.
When the convoy finally arrived at City Hall, security personnel were already in place. Tight barricades had been set to prevent the crowd from entering reserved spaces. Royal police formed several large defensive lines with riot shields—not to suppress a riot, but to provide protection from the overwhelming crowds who had come to show their love and respect.
Victoria stepped out of her vehicle, Norris holding the door for her. The crowd roared with joy, producing noise enough to cause a miniature earthquake. Hell's Kitchen had a staggering population compared to Upper Crownpoint, its neighboring district across the strait. Cameras flashed from every corner; the shutter clicks were so deafening that you could barely hear the person next to you. Norris's presence only worsened the noise, as the people had not seen their greatest hero for the past fifteen years. Norris's and Princess Victoria's visit to Hell's Kitchen was a monumental, extraordinary event for its residents—a day not to be forgotten or missed by anyone living in that city.
Hell's Kitchen, with its swelling population across the strait from Upper Crownpoint, had never seen such a moment. Today would be carved into memory—no one would forget it.
The entire Front Marina district had voluntarily declared a three-day public holiday in honor of the occasion. Yet across the rocky hills that formed a natural boundary lay Undercity, the dark and dysfunctional counterpart to Front Marina. There, Victoria's visit barely registered. Undercity existed in its own grim reality—a lawless dystopia where danger lurked, especially after sunset in its downtown municipal areas.
Undercity—a broken realm of poverty, crime, and indifference. To its inhabitants, Victoria's visit meant nothing. The kingdom's light rarely reached that far down. If Front Marina was considered dangerous, the municipal ruins of the Undercity after sunset were a death sentence.
Prominent dignitaries of Hell's Kitchen waited in the reserved area to greet her. Victoria had deliberately chosen an open-air venue so her citizens could see her in person rather than through screens or radio broadcasts—especially for those who had traveled far to be here. She wanted to stand where they could see her, breathe the same air, and look her in the eye.
THE CITY HALL—OPENING CEREMONY.
Among the dignitaries, the acting provincial overseer stepped forward. With Magnus still recovering in the hospital from knee surgery following the infamous banquet incident, Julius Lancaster now stood in his place. He raised his hands, begging for the crowd's full attention and silence.
The people complied at once, falling quiet as Julius began to speak. He introduced himself to those who did not know him and briefly described the current difficult state of the province, including the unfortunate circumstances of the provincial overseer's absence. At the mention of Magnus and his hospitalization, a wave of boos rippled through the crowd. It was a clear sign of how deeply the public despised their provincial overseer and his administration.
Soon after the speech, Julius signaled for the orchestra. When the murmur settled, the orchestra took the stage. Strings swelled, horns glimmered—Luciana's national anthem filled the air in solemn reverence. The people stood straight, respectful, and silent until the final note softly faded.
When the performance ended, Julius returned to the stage, holding a small bell. The moment the crowd saw the bell, everyone stood at attention out of respect for the crown, including distinguished guests and dignitaries.
Julius struck the bell gently with a slender rod.
Ting!
Across the hall, thousands of hands moved in unison. Every hand in the crowd rose: one placed over the heart, the other at their side—the traditional salute to the Crown.
He struck it again.
Ting!
In perfect harmony and one unison voice, tens of thousands of voices rose together as the crowd pledged its allegiance to the crown and country of Luciana:
"For the crown that binds us all, let the covenant of heaven never leave her side.
Luciana, stone to stone, blood to blood, I pledge my allegiance to you.
One nation, indivisible under the heavens.
Equality, freedom, peace, and justice for all."
A brief silence hung before Julius raised his voice once more; he leaned closer to the microphone and asked:
"To whom was the covenant promised?"
The crowd answered as one, their voices ringing with unity:
"To us, the sons and daughters of Luciana. One kingdom, one nation under The One in All, Our Father."
Julius thanked them once more for their cooperation and support and called their attention to properly welcome their favorite person of the day, leaving the stage for Victoria.
Then, with a warm smile, he turned toward the stage and announced:
"And now, please give a proper welcome to the person we have all been waiting for today!"
Julius nodded, his task complete. "People of Front Marina… your princess."
The applause was a physical force. People chanted her name until their voices cracked. Victoria stepped forward to the edge of the stage, watching them with a steady, appreciative gaze. She didn't try to speak over them; she let them have their moment. They clapped continuously while some chanted at the top of their lungs.
Only after several minutes did she raise a hand, a gentle, sweeping gesture for calm. Slowly, the roar subsided into a respectful, expectant silence, thousands of eyes fixed on the woman they hoped would lead them into a new age.
THE CROWN AND THE COMMONS: THE CITY HALL DEBATE.
The atmosphere inside Luciana's grand city hall was electric. Princess Victoria's presence had already galvanized the crowd, but the true trial was only just beginning. As she reclaimed the podium, a sea of cameras leaned in like predatory birds, their lenses catching the steady, unshakable light in her eyes.
A few minutes later, she raised her hand gently, signaling for calm. The crowd understood at once. The applause and chanting began to soften, fading gradually into a respectful silence.
When the atmosphere settled and calmness returned, she stepped forward and began addressing the crowd, speaking openly about the unique and unforgettable experience Crownpoint had offered her.
She recalled the warm reception at the airfield, the majestic chants that echoed through the streets, the excitement of the indoor tournament, the richness of the cuisine, and the gracious hospitality she had received that very day. Yet, she did not ignore the shadow that had fallen over it all.
Yet she did not shy away from acknowledging the banquet incident. Instead, she wove it into her message with courage and eloquence.
THE SPEECH AT CITY HALL, FRONT MARINA.
Her voice steadied as she said, "Unfortunately, when you've enjoyed the long, cheerful daylight, you must also be prepared for the night when it comes at you without warning." Her expression softened into a solemn mask. "You wade through the gloom of the night as you await the sun's return."
She leaned slightly forward, her gaze seemingly meeting the eyes of every resident.
"Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished guests, dear residents of Crownpoint, I stand before you today with a heart full of gratitude and a spirit renewed by the warmth and resilience you have shown me since the moment I arrived in your beautiful province. Your smiles, your cheers, and your welcoming spirit reminded me of the true strength of our province—a strength born of unity and shared purpose.
With open arms, you embraced me at the airfield in Upper Crownpoint. The elegance and hospitality of your district, with its magnificent homes, pristine beaches, and world-class institutions, made me feel not like a visitor but like someone returning home. Your kindness touched me deeply, and I will never forget that warm embrace."
She spoke without a prompter, without notes, delivering a performance of such raw, visionary leadership that it bordered on the divine.
The crowd was spellbound and captivated. Her eloquence dazzled them, her words flowing with a beauty that seemed almost beyond comprehension. She had the rare gift of convincing anyone she spoke to, not through force, but through sincerity.
"Yet my heart also carries the memory of that tragic evening during our banquet," she continued. "A night meant for celebration turned into sorrow.A banquet held solely in my honor was marred by a horrific and tragic incident.
A cowardly act by the Sandman terrorist left your beloved Province Overseer incapacitated and claimed the lives of four brave Enforcers who were only doing their duty. To the families of those heroes who made the ultimate sacrifice, I extend my deepest and most sincere condolences.
No words can fully heal the pain of your loss, but please know that their courage and service will never be forgotten. The entire royal family mourns with you, and we stand ready to support you in any way we can during this difficult time."
VICTORIA —A LEADER TRANSFORMED.
Norris stood among the crowd, overwhelmed. He was impressed beyond imagination as he listened to Victoria deliver her speech—not only to those gathered in person but also to the countless citizens watching on television, listening by radio, and following across the province. Without a prompter, she spoke like a true leader, a visionary with foresight and compassion.
"In the face of such sorrow," she continued, "I was moved beyond measure by the strength and spirit of Crownpoint's people. You refused to let darkness prevail. The indoor fighting tournament that followed became a beacon of hope and joy.
As I stood as umpire, watching the competitors display skill, honor, and determination, I saw something even more powerful: I saw your resilience. That event lifted not only my spirits but also those of so many residents who needed a reason to smile again. For that shared moment of joy and unity, I am truly grateful."
Standing in the wings, at this point, Norris could no longer hold back his tears. As he watched her on the podium, addressing the residents of Hell's Kitchen and the entire province of Crownpoint, pride swelled within him. This was no longer the "little crybaby princess" he had protected for years. She was a stateswoman. Tears of joy spilled over as he realized that the girl he had helped raise was now more responsible, more capable, and more inspiring than even he was.
Every word she spoke struck deep into the hearts of the citizens, strengthening their resolve and compassion. Whether watching from the gathering itself, through television screens, or over radio broadcasts, people across the province felt the weight and grace of her words.
Without any prompter or assistance, she spoke with the composure of a true leader—visionary and resolute.
Her words reached deep into the hearts of the people. Their minds grew stronger and more compassionate with every sentence.
"To further honor the bonds between us," Victoria continued, "we gathered once more for a second banquet. This time, the evening unfolded with grace and genuine warmth. I was able to fully enjoy your legendary hospitality, and to my pleasant surprise, we were graced by the unexpected presence of Norris—the greatest and strongest Gifter in all of Luciana.
His appearance was a powerful reminder of the strength, talent, and unity that define this province and our nation."
CONCLUSION.
As her speech continued, Councilwoman Margaret and her family finally arrived at the event. Thanks to her influence, her contact had secured their entry, and they passed smoothly through the checkgate.
The children skipped along, singing in unison, "We are going to see a real princess."
Back at the podium, Victoria pressed on, her words flowing with grace.
"And now, today, you have welcomed me once again with the same kindness and enthusiasm here at Front Marina City Hall, the vibrant heart of Hell's Kitchen. Standing in this energetic district, surrounded by its thriving businesses, proud middle class, and hard-working families, I feel the true pulse of Crownpoint—strong, alive, and full of promise.
Your presence here today is a powerful testament to your love, your respect, and your unwavering support for our crown and our home.
Finally, I want to thank each one of you from the bottom of my heart. Your decision to come out today, despite everything that has happened, is a profound sign of loyalty and courage. It means more to me than I can express. Your support has strengthened me, and I promise to carry the spirit of Crownpoint with me wherever I go."
The panel and Interim Overseer Julius Lancaster were left dumbfounded. Everyone watching from their homes or listening via radio broadcast felt proud to call Princess Victoria their own. If the citizens of Luciana had been given the power at that moment, they would have thrown her father, the king, from his throne and crowned Victoria, his daughter, as queen.
Even King Lucious himself had been unable to address the nation after the terrible tragedy; instead, he had imposed a state of emergency on Hell's Kitchen, Crownpoint's economic and financial hub.
As Victoria approached the end of her speech, her voice carried a quiet strength.
"We pray for the best and keep in mind to prepare for the worst. Life has two phases, whether you choose to believe it or not. As your leader, I intend to lead by example. Together, let us rekindle our confidence, restore our faith, and carry forward the spirit that binds this province as one family. Crownpoint stands because of you—its people—and with your devotion, its future will forever shine brighter than before."
She straightened her posture, her eyes shining.
"Thank you for welcoming me, for believing in our shared strength, and for proving, once again, that love and unity will always triumph.
Together, we will rise above every challenge. Crownpoint will continue to shine as one of the brightest jewels in Luciana.
Thank you. Heaven bless you all, and heaven bless the Province of Crownpoint."
For a moment, there was silence—then it erupted.
CLAP—CLAP—CLAP-CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!
A thunderous wave of applause surged through the crowd, followed by cheers and chants that rolled on for nearly fifteen minutes. It felt as though the entire nation had risen to its feet. Even those watching from their homes joined in, clapping along, united in pride and admiration.
ALL HAIL KING JULANDE.
Far below, in the dim sprawl of Undercity, Hell's Kitchen, Der Sand sat watching the broadcast from his hidden layout. The infamous Sandman—the very Sandman who had attacked the banquet hall the evening Victoria visited Crownpoint, who had single‑handedly infiltrated the private dinner, costing four Enforcers their lives, just because he wanted to chat with the princess.
"Boo-yah!" he bellowed, surging out of his chair with adrenaline-fueled glee. "She nailed it! And they actually have the nerve to say she isn't fit to wear the crown in place of her incompetent father."
A henchman, startled by the outburst, rushed in nervously. He burst in to check if all was well. "Um… Boss? Was that you screaming?"
"Wow!" Der Sand exclaimed, still buzzing. Turned, eyes wide with manic amazement. "Don't worry about it, pal. We're more than good here. Go back to your duty—there's nothing to worry about."
"If you say so, Boss," the man muttered, and withdrew.
As the henchman left, Der Sand's telephone rang. He picked it up.
"Hello?"
A voice came from the other end. From the way he sounded, you would have thought the person was high on cheap narcotics and white powder—like someone who had just escaped from an unfinished program in a psychiatric hospital.
"Well hello there, my little peasant," the voice crooned. "It is I, your king—King Julande!" He pressed on with his delusional tone and lunatic talk: "The sky gods spoke to me through my burning JBQ PartyBox speaker while I was busting my move—'move-it-move-it' kingly moves!"
Der Sand suppressed a groan, forcing a laugh of feigned surprise and laughter. "King Julande! My man! How long has it been, buddy?"
"Shut your mouth, you sand-hogger!" Julande snapped instantly. He shunned him over the phone. "As my menial and pathetic peasant, you are not to speak but to listen to me—your mentally unstable king." On the other end, Julande gripped the receiver and spun in a manic, 360-degree circle. "For I have a banana basket full of useless wisdom to offer you!"
Der Sand was dumbfounded and perplexed, not knowing why this delusional, self‑claiming king was calling him. "Julande, why did you call me in the first place?" he asked curiously.
Again, like a man suffering from schizophrenia, Julande shunned him a second time. "It's King Julande, not Julande, you dim-witted sand monkey," the lunatic king corrected sharply. "You say the whole name—like Kool & The Gang."
"Isn't it megalomaniacal and nonsensical of you to claim kingship in a country like Luciana?" Der Sand tried to have a common‑sense conversation with someone suffering from delusions of grandeur. In attempting to apply logic to a void.
"I recognize no other king apart from the handsome, hairy coconut that is me!" Julande shot back. He rose from his "throne"—his power seat—and began admiring his reflection in a nearby mirror. He flexed his arms like a low-budget lightweight fighter, shaking his backside at the glass. "Whoo, baby! Oh yeah! I'm handsome!"
Der Sand gripped the phone, fighting to maintain his own sanity and cool. He tried his hardest over the phone as he listened to King Julande admire himself. He couldn't help but interrupt the psychotic king. "Julande, why did you call me at such a delicate hour?"
DER SAND AND THE FLAMBOYANT KING.
Again, Julande snapped, "It's King Julande, you freaking coconut!" He corrected Der Sand. "It's like you're pronouncing the entire name of Kool & The Ga—"
"I get it!" Der Sand interjected, his eyes twitching in frustration. "Like Kool & The Gang. You don't separate 'Kool' from 'The Gang.' I get it."
"Heyyy... look at you," Julande chuckled. "Spend a few minutes on the phone with me and you're already becoming wiser. That's the gift of spending time with the King, my dear sandy peasant." Feeling proud like an addict on disco biscuit "That's what royal wisdom does!" He added.
"King Julande, why did you call? I'm currently busy with something important," Der Sand said calmly.
"Nonsense. Nobody has the right to be too busy to answer the king," Julande replied playfully.
This buffoon still isn't answering my damn question, Der Sand thought with annoyance.
Right on cue, as if King Julande could sense his frustration, he finally answered. "I got a call from Sharma. It seems the donkey‑faced peasant isn't happy with you. Looks like my partner didn't get his daily kickback—Sharma wasn't able to meet his quota."
"First of all," Der Sand replied calmly, "I wanna apologize on behalf of the team for Sharma's incompetence," Der Sand said. Then he continued his explanation: "Sharma is blaming me for his failure and incompetency, which has nothin' to do with me."
"Why is he blaming you, Sandy?" Julande asked slyly.
Der Sand hesitated. He knew how obsessed Julande was with his imaginary relationship and romance with Princess Victoria. He also knew Julande was his only link to "The Man," the kingpin. One of the few in the underground network of smugglers and traffickers.
He didn't want to mess up the only opportunity to meet "The Man." The vibrant, rhythmic, playful king loved Princess Victoria; Der Sand knew this too well. The last thing he wanted was to be on the wrong side of Julande. To stay in the game, he had to navigate the lunatic's triggers.
"I paid the princess a visit the day she landed in Crownpoint," Der Sand explained. "She was being hosted in Upper Crownpoint, Crownpoint's most deluxe district."
The response was a literal shriek that nearly blew out the phone's speaker. Julande yelled with all his strength over the phone, like a lunatic—which, ironically, he was.
"WHAT IN THE WORLD WERE YOU PLANNING TO DO WITH MY FIANCÉE, YOU UNSTABLE IMBECILE?"
He was furious that Der Sand had visited the love of his life without his consent. Der Sand, on the other hand, already knew he was dealing with a man who should be under intensive psychiatric care. She doesn't even know you exist, jackass. He couldn't help but mock Julande's buffoonery in his mind, but given the situation, he had no choice but to play along.
Der Sand kept his voice steady, silently mocking the lunatic of a king in his mind as he played along carefully.
"I went there to pay my respects and show my support for all the wonderful things she has accomplished." He let his voice drop into a performative tone of regret. "Unfortunately, there was an... accident at the banquet hall. I may have gone overboard. Four Enforcers ended up dead, and I… may have incapacitated the Province Overseer a bit."
"You sleek SANDY-DEVIL!" Julande's mood flipped instantly as he flamboyantly praised himself while shading Der Sand. "I know I'm beautiful and kingingly handsome, but I never knew a sleazebag peasant like you had it in you! It's been a long time since I've seen someone do something awesome and dangerously amazing that wasn't me."
"I learn from the best, Your Majesty," Der Sand replied smoothly. "And looking at where things stand now, I don't think anyone is more groovy than you," he said, pretending to praise him.
King Julande excitedly shunned him. "Shut up, my little peasant." He continued exalting himself, launching into another self-praising monologue: "I'm a king with great and potentially delusionary visions. I invest my time only in things that go up." He burst into laughter. "Just like my ego—it's always at an all‑time high."
Behind the mask of a psychotic peacock, King Julande might be a flamboyant, eccentric, vibrant man with delusions of grandeur. He was no mere buffoon, but underneath his psychotic and megalomaniacal personality was a powerful Gifter.
With the ability to brainwash and manipulate the actions, emotions, and memories of his enemies—causing them to suddenly develop protective instincts or a hero complex by merely touching them or intoxicating the atmosphere, making them high, dizzy, and energetic.
In summary, King Julande's ability was brainwashing and illusionary manipulation, turning enemies into literal servants and slaves against their will. He could instill a "hero complex" in his enemies, turning them into mindless, energetic slaves willing to die for his whims.
"As your wise, majestical king, I have come to a conclusion: Sharma is a crybaby who lost his pacifier because you went groovy‑groovy with my wife without my permission." He continued his lengthy blabbering, still delusionally referring to Princess Victoria as his future wife. "I will set up a meeting for you with my amazing friends, especially Sharma's boss. He's been a useless noble peasant to me. I hate to see him lose money."
Like an open heaven with angels singing and rejoicing in Der Sand's head, his biggest dream was about to come true in the most unlikely way. His struggles of three years—prevented from achieving greatness by Sharma's obstructionism—were about to be solved by King Julande.
THE KING'S AIDE—MORRISON AND MONTH.
"Stay on hold, my sandy Sasquatch. Don't go anywhere while I put my advisor on the line," he said. "A king like me is too busy with his glamor and kinging duties to keep noble pinecone information in my head."
He placed a call to his advisor, whose sole duty was to keep track of everything pertaining to King Julande. As the phone rang for another five seconds, his short‑span patience wore thin, and he screamed in frustration: "HOW LONG IS THIS GOING TO TAKE, FOR GROOVY SAKE?!"
"It's only been five seconds into the call… I believe he's not far from the telephone…" Der Sand tried to calm the impatient king.
"Shut up, Sandbox," Julande cut him off. "I'd rather listen to a mango than you. Nobody asked for your opinion."
Twenty seconds later, someone finally answered. Before the person could speak, Julande screamed:
"WHERE IN THE BANANA ISLAND HAVE YOU BEEN, MORRISON?!"
Instead of the apology King Julande expected as usual, this time a calm, adoring, oddly innocent voice came on. One could tell from the voice that the speaker was a familiar and obsessive follower of the delusional, flamboyant king.
"Hiiiiiii… King Julande, it's me," the mysterious voice said.
Immediately, King Julande freaked out and screamed in fright. With playful annoyance, he asked, "Month, why in the fruitcake are you answering the private king's telephone? Where's Morrison?"
"I wanted to hear your voice! I miss you!" Month chirped with satisfying delight in his voice. "It's been so long since I touched your feet."
"Ew, you are one lunatic and creepy freak," Julande muttered in disgust.
"Aww. Did you just say I'm fantastic and pretty?" Month was filled with adrenaline and excitement.
"No, you freaking idiot," Julande snapped. "I said lunatic and creepy, Month."
"Ohhh..." Month's excitement reached a fever pitch. "You mean I'm magical and happy?" he asked repeatedly.
"Oh my goodness! You're such a freaking idiot, Month." King Julande let out his frustration. "Who taught you how to hear?"
"I miss your sensational hands," Month giggled. "I can't even remember the last time you pushed me off a ledge to measure the distance or used me as a poison tester."
With a calm, gentle voice, King Julande made himself clear and audible to Month. "Now listen carefully, you little peasant. If you don't go find Morrison and put him on the line, I will not only replace you as my human test subject—you'll no longer be my footstool or my nutcracker. I, King Julande, will make sure you don't take photos of my feet ever again or touch my walnuts and peanuts. Did I make myself clear, Month?"
Immediately, Month burst into tears and begged his dysfunctional king not to replace him or ban him from his servant duties. He picked up the wireless telephone and started searching for Morrison all over the premises, screaming his name like a lunatic on the loose—because he didn't want his beloved king to dump him.
Over the line, Der Sand heard the sound of feet pounding against floorboards as Month began a frantic search for the advisor, wailing Morrison's name. He continued, running helter-skelter, begging for his "duties" not to be stripped away as he searched for Morrison.
He sprinted off down the hall, screaming Morrison's name like a man possessed.
Der Sand could not believe what his ears had just heard. He had thought he was crazy until he met someone crazier. I thought I was crazy, he mused as the thought ran through his head, but these two redefined insanity—a flamboyant, narcissistic, psychotic, grandiose, delusional self‑claimed king and his loyal, obsessive subject.
Der Sand's mind could not comprehend what he had just witnessed—two people suffering from multiple psychological and pathological conditions:
folie à deux (shared psychosis)
pathological codependency (dependent personality disorder)
delusional disorder (erotomanic type)
schizoid/schizotypal dynamics.
All he saw was a relationship best described as pathological attachment.
In truth, both Julande and Month were locked in a destructive psychological loop—a shared psychosis, codependent and delusional. Scientifically, it could be explained as folie à deux, a case of contagious insanity driven by mutual obsession.
MORRISON THE SANE BUTLER.
From afar, Morrison saw Month holding the royal private telephone and running around the house screaming. Without hesitation or care for explanation, he dropped on Month like a bulldozer running through a demolition wall. The impact sent Month flying across the room, barrier‑bursting through multiple walls until he finally landed on the third floor—the same floor as King Julande's office. The guards and servants working in the mansion showed no concern, as this was a regular Tuesday between Month and Morrison.
Morrison also acted as a caretaker, managing Month's chaotic, obsessive, and sometimes naïve behavior. In this role, Morrison served as the balance between King Julande's chaotic, selfish, flamboyant personality and Month's naïve, unpredictable obsessiveness.
Morrison, ever the levelheaded advisor, best friend, and personal butler, picked up the phone with quiet anxiety.
"Greetings, Your Majesty. I'm sorry about the inconvenience and delay caused by my shortcomings."
"Morrison, how many times have I warned you about letting that indurating freak of nature touch the sacred king telephone?" King Julande asked.
"Multiple times, Your Highness," Morrison replied smoothly.
"Anyway, I will deal with your incompetence later. I want you to set up a meeting with that noble cashmere chameleon—the one who loves to give me free money for no reason, like a footless goat." Julande laughed uncontrollably as he instructed Morrison.
"Yes, Your Majesty, I know him," Morrison replied cautiously.
"Of course you're sure—or else why in the coconut would I be paying you for?" Julande snapped.
"Um… ahem… you don't actually pay me, Your Highness. I voluntarily work for you for free," Morrison said.
King Julande picked up his tiki drink and sipped it, then leaned back, basking in the sun. "Well, my charming and royal Poinciana looks are enough payment for you. You should be grateful that I allow you to grace my beauty, you useless man Friday."
"I don't think I should, Your Highness," Morrison stated clearly. "Do you need anything else, Your Majesty?"
"Matter of fact, I do, Morrison," Julande replied with a vague smile. "How's the purchase for the cage coming along?"
Without hesitation, Morrison replied, "The required description—strong enough to hold Month—isn't available on the black market. The salesman said a customized version would do the job perfectly."
"Place the order, Morrison. I'm running out of patience dealing with Month's madness." Julande ordered.
"Yes, Your Majesty," Morrison said calmly. "But I'd advise against seeking a restraining order on Month. It's meaningless since we all live here together."
King Julande wailed in frustration. "How then do you expect me to deal with that annoying freak called 'Month'? You need to do something about that midget, Morrison, before I end up in a mental hospital."
Der Sand couldn't suppress a faint involuntary chuckle. In his mind he thought, Y'all need to be seriously locked up in a mental institution already. It's not safe for society having you two running around.
King Julande overheard the chuckle. "Why the laughing, sandy peasant?"
"Oh, nothing, sir. I'm just waiting for Morrison to carry out your order—setting up a meeting with me and passing the required information," Der Sand answered.
Turning to Morrison, King Julande asked, "And what are you waiting for before you do that?"
"If you may recall, Your Majesty, it's unlawful to hang up on you while talking over the phone," Morrison reminded him. "I'm just waiting for you to hang up so I can continue with your client."
"You may proceed, my useless man Friday." Julande gave the go-ahead.
"Okay, Your Majesty. And please do cancel the application for a restraining order you plan on placing on Month. It's pointless since we all live under the same roof," Morrison added.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever, you freaking goat." King Julande waved him off and hung up.
All that remained was Morrison and Der Sand on the phone. The flamboyant psycho of a delusional king had hung up. The madness receded, replaced by the cold, professional tones of two men discussing the business of shadow and bone.
Morrison and Der Sand began discussing how their meeting should proceed, exchanging ideas and suggestions about the best solution for their common interests.
