The King's metal horse

By Romanov Heiress

Before the rooster crowed, the King of the tuna country had already opened his royal eyes. At his side still rested the Queen waiting for the morning song of the birds to mark the beginning of one more of her exhausting days, which passed one after another, carefully reviewing the verses of the heralds and the songs of the court jesters, so that the sovereign would know who loved him and who did not, so that he would grant his gracious favor or unleash the lash of his fury.

The King was excited and happy; the soldiery informed him during the night that his seasoned generals managed to outwit the vigilance of the plebeians who foolishly stationed themselves among the jungle to prevent his most novel project, the steel horse that would cross the southern territories, from continuing its march. "These ignorant conservatives do not understand progress", the royal ruler had expressed on many occasions, especially every time he explained in his daily audiences, the importance of having avant-garde ideas, such as his, ahead of their time, as was the installation of that road for a machine with the strength of more than a thousand horses, to carry supplies to his soldiers and merchants of those distant villages forgotten by the monarchs who were before him.

The loyal knights of the order of the chipilin, his elite military corps, had tried to convince him that anyone who opposed his visionary idea, would be put to arms, as a common traitor to the crown; but the magnanimous one, in his infinite generosity, preferred to call the treasury manager so that those who opposed his ideas, would be exhibited and persecuted for the payment of tribute. "In the kingdom no one can have more revenue than the King," he had instructed the tax collector, ordering the proclamation of his determination in every market and public square, decreeing that from time to time, the jesters who counted on his favor, should sing aloud the names and estates of the rebels, so that the people might know who were the enemies of their beloved leader.

The Lord responsible for the work of the fire horse, by direct order of the sovereign himself, took it upon himself to establish contact with the Kingdom of Venezuela, a nation admired by the King of the Land of the Tuna, because in the past they managed to eradicate anyone who did not think like their monarch, establishing a pure government, without the vices of other empires and without the bad influence of fads like democracy and other modern inventions; after all, who could do better for the people than the one who loved the people most, their legitimate and royal ruler.

The Lord in charge brought experts from Venezuela, so that the errors that the construction soldiers had committed would be repaired, using merchants of that nation so that the money from the country of the tuna would support the king of that town, and would not remain among the local bourgeoisie so that they would not continue their work as patrons with the heralds who daily pointed out the mistakes of the Monarch.

"I am the present and future of the Tuna nation," thought the King as he retired to his quarters, after his daily audience to continue his rest, as he did every morning, before the birdsong ended.

@herederaromanov

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