The King drummed his knuckles against the arms of his throne, sighing to himself. "Alright, alright, I understand," he raised his hand, silencing the man before him. "You may go."
"B-but I wasn't finished, Sire," stuttered the pathetic little man. Henry grimaced, exasperated. This whole thing was terrible waste of his time, and his Kingly powers. What was he to spend the end of his days listening to mumbling idiots before him? How was this advancing his country?
"I think I get the jist of it. Leave now," said Henry, lazily shifting in his stoney seat as he attempted to ease his sore bottom. He turned to his wife, listlessly staring forward as if she was not in the room. "What troubles your pretty head, Love?" Reaching forward, he brushed back a stray, golden curl. She flicked her eyes briefly to him, as if he was a mere, irritating fly. Henry slumped back in his throne, "I am hungry; are you, Dearest?"
"Not really," she looked away.
He clapped his hands heavily, the sound echoing throughout the grand hall. Through the side door several servants with their hands held tightly behind their backs hurried in, lining up just before him. "I am hungry--food, now."
"Yes, Your Majesty," "Yes, Your Majesty," they each murmured, hastily bowing before the two royals and disappearing.
He sighed once more, lifting his fingers to gaze over his jewel-encrusted hands, the bright rings sparkling as he shifted them in the light. After all his hard work, it was good to be King.