a king walks among us
The stranger runs to him.
Who would be so eager to meet their death?
A bull, white or black, in this way they are the same.
He is golden, this man, this foolish person who would come running and, laying his neck beneath the guillotine say, ”El Rey,” the name of his executioner.
”Yes,” he says, because what else is there to say? What more could come from his mouth but that which he wonders: ”Have you come for your death? I do not know you, as you must know me.” El Rey surveys him again; he would meld with the sand had it not been so vicious on the wind. ”There are easier ways to die than by my horns, stranger.” It was true. And he did not know if today would be his end or the man’s, but he had decided it must be somebody’s, because what sort of meeting was this but a final one? El Rey had come looking for danger, for trouble, even as he left that sweetest girl behind for a visit to Solterra. I can still visit my home, it said, The rumors are false; I am not exiled. I have simply chosen to be with you.
But what she believed would not matter, in the end, if he were dead. So he readied himself for war.
@Orestes
”in blood the blade, to its golden hilt, I’ll drown,“
I pledge you now, to death they all are bound,
