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The two older men dragged the prisoner roughly by his elbows through the large double doors into the main hall and marched him to the back, throwing him onto the floor at the foot of the golden throne.
"Here he is, as you asked," Geoff said, standing up straight and switching his spear to his right hand.
"Is he well?" the king asked, and the prisoner felt his heart skip a beat at the rumbling voice. He scrambled to his knees and bowed his head deeply, afraid to look up at the monarch.
"Not a hair on his head out of place," Jack said, lifting his chin higher and tapping the butt of his spear on the floor.
"So, we finally meet," he said quietly, and the rest of the men in the hall laughed.
The young man shifted in his creeper leather and kept his eyes carefully trained on the floor.
"Look at me."
He closed his eyes and shook his head.
"You’re a brave boy, but that will get you nowhere now. You are already in my grasp. Now look at me."
When he shook his head again, the king looked to Geoff and nodded. The guard kicked the creeper in the ribs, knocking him down onto the cobblestone floor, then hauled him up by his tunic.
"You will look at the king," Geoff whispered to him in a deadly tone, shoving him back onto his knees.
Finally, the boy looked up and bit his lip. The mad king was sitting askew on the throne, his right arm over the side and propped up on his sword, his left leg over the other, booted toe drawing circles in the air. The crown was crooked on his head, his eyes were wide and red-rimmed, his jacket was rumpled and unbuttoned, and his kilt wasn’t doing much to hide what lay underneath.
The king smirked and winked. “That’s a good creeper. Now, why don’t you tell me your name?"
"G-Gavin, sir," he whispered, voice hoarse from unuse.
"Gavin. I like that. Suits you." He planted both feet on the floor and stood up. “Tell me my name."
"You’re King Ryan," he said, watching the king lay his sword across the throne.
"That’s right." He approached the young man and stood in front of him, hands on hips, feet shoulder width apart. “You’ve been stealing from my villages."
Gavin said nothing.
"You’ve been hiding from my guards and rejecting my invites to the castle. If you were any other man, you’d be beheaded where you sit."
The young man swallowed.
King Ryan bent over, his blue eyes meeting Gavin’s green ones. “I have a proposition for you," he said quietly. “I need a thief. You’re very good at it. I would wave your punishment if you agreed to work for me."
"You’d do that?" Gavin whimpered.
"Absolutely. But only on one condition."
Geoff shot Jack a look, and Jack pressed his lips together tighter, shaking his head slightly.
"I’d do anything, sir." Gavin’s eyes were wide.
"You need to prove your loyalty to me. And I can’t think of a better way to show it than right here, in front of my guards and my court." King Ryan’s upper lip curled back, and he straightened up, reaching for the belt holding his kilt in place.
Gavin’s eyes went wide when the monarch dropped the kilt to the floor. “You don’t mean—"
"It’s exactly what I mean. It’s either this or beheading." He reached out and grabbed a handful of the young man’s hair, and pulled him in.
"All hail the mad king," he whispered cruelly, and the hall laughed uproariously.