His throne is broken. He enjoys it anyway. He has no reason to get up and leave, as the throne remains in shards.
The keeper of the throne may not sit upon it, she may only appoint a king of her choosing, but this one was crafty. This one made a deal with the keeper.
Rumor of a fatal virus spread through the castle. “As long as I remain on your throne, I will give you a supply of the antidote. You will remain alive and well!”
The keeper had a feeling they were only sugar pills. Placebo. She didn’t care to try to live without them.
Her only job was to take care of the throne. Her single most important task was ruined at the hands of a lie: The lie of need.
I don’t need it either. The only virus is a false king.
The only medicine is to stop needing the medicine, for it has the power to give life to a lie.