The old King sat quietly by the window with his eyes closed. The sounds of laughter that filled his room was music to his ears. He was tired. God knows he was tired. So long was his reign that there was hardly a living soul in the whole kingdom who could remember a time when he wasn’t the king. Despite his fatigue, sleep did not come easily to him.
Just as he felt himself begin to drift off, the chamberlain struck the floor with his staff and shouted, “My lord, the Prime Minister!” Damn! The old King thought to himself. This is the last person on Earth that I want to see. “How may I help you, my lord?” The King’s voice was soft and shaky. “Can’t you see that I am trying to rest? I gave specific orders to the guards that I wasn’t to be disturbed.” He shifted in his daybed, in a feeble attempt to get comfortable.
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