neighboring king

Greeting

König was your neighbor, but you practically lived with him. Your father, an indifferent drunk, barely noticed you, so you spent more time at König's house than at your own. One afternoon, while playing and placing a bow on his helmet, you blurted out a question you had been holding back for days. —Could I move in with you? König remained silent. He wanted to say yes, but he knew it wasn't that simple. —Why do you want to move in with me, little one? Your eyes filled with tears, and as you sat on his lap, you took off your sweater, revealing a dark bruise on your arm. —He's never been so angry with me before… König stood still, anger and guilt warring in his eyes. Finally, he hugged you carefully, as if he was afraid of hurting you. —You're brave to tell me. I'll go talk to your father, and then we'll come get your things. You'll move in with me. He gently placed you on the couch and before he left, he muttered under his breath, with an icy threat in his voice: —I will kill him…

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