Long Live the King – lostandwhatever
Originally published on my Patreon.
“That filthy hag!” the boy king cried. “Look what she’s done to me!”
His beautiful young queen tried to hide her smile as she replied, “She did as you asked, your majesty. She made you younger.”
“I told the witch I wanted my youth back,” he whined. “Not my childhood.”
“Maybe you should have paid her, then,” the queen suggested, “instead of threatening her life.”
“Listen, you,” he started to say, pointing at her, but stopped when his crown slipped down over his eyes.
As he tried to readjust it on his too small head, the queen stifled a chuckle. Seeing the old man who had been so cruel and threatening reduced to a tow-headed boy buried in oversized robes, looking barely old enough to mount a horse, seemed so fitting in many ways. Since she had been married off to him, she had always felt he had been an overgrown, spoiled brat. Now, his body matched his choleric humor.
“Calm yourself, your majesty,” she said. “The courtiers might hear you and come to investigate.”
The boy king looked worriedly at the closed door of their chambers. “What will I do?” he asked, directing the question at no one in particular.
The queen picked up the green glass bottle which had held the potion and examined it, saying, “Maybe you could beg the witch for another spell.”
“No!” he cried with palpable fear in his quivering voice. “I refuse to even lay eyes on that demon again.”
The queen set the bottle on a table and looked down at her child husband. She was torn between a desire to pinch his round cheeks or spank his little bum. Instead, she stood up tall and proud and stepped closer to him, emphasizing the new difference in their relative sizes.
He looked up at her fearfully, and took a step back, and then immediately stumbled over his own loose slipper and fell down on his backside.
She leaned forward, holding out her hand while showing off her impressive cleavage, and said, “May I help you to your feet, your majesty?” She had given up trying to hide her amused smile.
“S-stay away from me!” he cried and tried to crawl back away from her on his hands and heels.
She stood up. Feeling the upper hand was finally hers at last, she inquired, “Or what?”
“I’ll…” he searched for some cruelty to inflict upon her. “I’ll have you imprisoned, thrown into the oubliette.”
“How?” she asked, grinning.
“I’ll call the guards!”
“The guards won’t take orders from a boy.”
“T-then, I’ll call my chancellor,” he said, searching desperately for a solution. “He will know me. I’ll convince him.”
“I think he’ll find me more convincing,” the queen said, giving her husband a knowing look. “The chancellor and I have a… special relationship.”
The boy king’s fury momentarily overcame his terror. He shot to his feet. “You and him?” he demanded of her.
“Outrageous! I’ll have both of your heads!”
“Oh, please,” she said. “It’s your fault for marrying a woman too young for you. You should have been expecting to wear horns as well as a crown.”
He balled his little fists and attacked her, landing a hit on her gut before she could respond. Soon, though, she had him by both wrists and was holding him off from her with surprising ease.
“You naughty boy!” she declared. “How dare you strike a woman, a queen even!”
“Let me go, wench!” he cried as he struggled to free himself in vain.
Feeling empowered unlike she had ever felt in her whole life, she dragged the petulant boy to a chair, sat herself down on it, and laid him across her lap. As she dug his royal bum out of his voluminous robes, he cried, “No! No!” clearly realizing what was about to happen. “Please, no!” he added, having become aware that he lacked the strength to escape.
She spanked his pale little bum, eliciting a cry of pain from him. Then, she spanked him again, and relished in the cry that followed. She kept spanking, listening to him weep and cry out in pain as his cheeks grew pink and sore.
When she felt his body untense, when it was clear that he had given up resisting her, she stopped. Then, she sat there a long moment, delighted in the power she held over her little husband, the king reduced to a weeping boy with a sore bum. Soon, her more maternal instincts took over, and she began to comfort him, covering up his backside and patting his back.
“There there,” she said. “It’s over now. You need not worry about a thing anymore. I’ll handle everything from now on.”
He sniffled and tried to regain his composure as he quietly listened to her words.
“Let’s see. What will we do with you now?” she asked, delighting in her newfound control. She was no longer a pawn in someone else’s game but a player herself. At last, it was her turn to start moving pieces. “Of course, the easiest option would be to cast you out into the streets as a naked orphan.”
She felt the boy tense up a moment.
“Worry not, child. That would be no good for me. Some other heir would be found to take your place, pushing me aside. No, we need to keep you here as the monarch.”
He relaxed again.
“I know what will work. The chancellor and I will craft a story to explain your disappearance,” she said in her most soothing voice. “Then, we will reintroduce you as your own secret son, a prince, long hidden from view for your own safety. People will believe you are related to yourself, after all. Naturally, a boy your age is too young to rule. That task will be left to your regent, the chancellor, and your loving queen mother.”
She patted his head gently. “Yes,” she said. “Now, I will be the mother to the prince you always wanted, and you will be my good little princeling. You will play your part in our game by our rules, and if you choose to break our rules, well… accidents happen.”
The boy showed no sign of resistance. He lay on her limply, defeated, ready to comply.
“The king is dead,” she declared. “Long live the king.”