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Miles let out a slow and steady breath. It was his first day as a palace guard, and he was terrified. As a youngest son, he had expected he'd end up as a butcher or a cart maker or something else completely unglamorous. But it turned out his uncle knew a guy and seemingly the next day he found himself draped in armour slightly too big for him, pacing the castle hallway. He could find the pointy end of his spear at least, but felt utterly unprepared for anything else this new job might throw at him. If this was how normal guard training went, he was surprised the palace hadn't been overrun years ago.
Miles scratched at the tuft of hair that he was trying to coax into a beard. The new king's coronation had only been the previous week. A grand affair, the whole of the capital had been present to celebrate their rescue out from under the boot of the old ruler. Rumours were flying about how he actually did it - even those that were there couldn't say for certain. He wouldn't know, of course. He had been sick that day, sweat dripping off his brow and his insides gurgling like there was no tomorrow. This would be his first time laying eyes on King Kob Onetwothree, and he didn't know what to expect. Could he be as bad as the last king? Not to speak poorly of the dead but that man was a tyrant; Miles couldn't imagine his successor would be any worse. But if he was, then Miles had just put himself in one of the most dangerous positions to be: within eyesight of the ruler. His hands started to shake a little.
But his contemplations were interrupted. The doors to the throne room are thrown open and a tall figure tottered out. Moustachioed and tall, he had a dominating presence. The crown that sat on top of his floppy hat seemed like it would tip off at any moment, but somehow stayed on.
"Ah. New blood, I see. Follow; we have lots to do today."
Though trying to keep a solemn and professional face, Miles still finds his brow wrinkling a little. That was not the strong and commanding voice he imagined from their new king. In fact, it could almost be described as a squeak?
But he was just a guard, and it was not his place to comment on such things. He fell into place, just behind the king's shoulder, as his mentor Lawrence did the same on the other side.
As they walked (his armour clattering all the way), he couldn't help but keep glancing at the new ruler. This close, things were all the more odd. Though the brim of the hat hid it well, around the bushy white moustache he could see the man's skin was tinged with blue. Not that this was entirely unusual - genasi and dragonborn did come through occasionally - but paired with the slight snout twitching among the thick hairs, he couldn't imagine what parents could bring into the world a child that looked like that. Not that he could ask, of course - his mother would scold him for hours if he was rude enough to ask anyone, let alone their king. Then there was the sleeves that draped a little too long, and the way the king almost floated along the floor; there were a lot of things adding up to a pile of ... something.
The king brought him to a stop outside the feasting hall. "You stay here and guard the entrance. I don't need protecting from my food. I'll call you in once I am ready to cast judgement on those prisoners."
Miles shared a quizzical glance with Lawrence. This is not how he was expecting this job to go, abandoned outside so quickly, Not like he could defend the king from assassins or fend off wild animals when he was on the other side of a door. He could tell his mentor felt the same.
"Sire," Lawrence began tentatively, "Are you sure you shouldn't have company in there? It is our job, after all, to look after your well-being so you can concentrate on running the kingdom."
The king held up a hand. Or at least Miles thought he did; the arm of the trench coat looked oddly floppy. "No. I will be alone."
And with that, the wooden doors shut decisively behind him.
Miles waited a long moment until he was sure the king is out of earshot. "So, it's not just me who thinks that was really weird, right?" he asked, the words tumbling from his mouth. "Something is definitely odd about him. I've never seen a person that looked anything like ... that. Not that I'm an expert on everyone who has ever existed, but something is off about his face and his proportions and everything."
Lawrence held his gaze. "Look," he says. "I have not spent a lot of time around our new king but I can already tell that he has his ... quirks. But so do all royals! It's practically a requirement of the position: no one can have that much power without going a bit odd. If you value your job, and even your life, you're best to ignore all those oddities. Poking your nose where it doesn't belong will just get you killed."
Despite everything, Miles couldn't help but push. His mother always did say he was too curious for his own good. He glanced around, dropping his voice even lower. "I'm not even sure he is a person under all that get up."
Lawrence just laughed in response, a slightly hysterical note to the sound. "Oh course he is a person," he replied, failing to stifle his giggles. "What else could he be? It isn't like we just allowed a monster or something the waltz on in and take control of the kingdom. No one would be that stupid."
Barely a month later, the new king had shown his true colours. The horde of pitchfork-wielding townsfolk, angry at all the deaths, didn't allow him to stay much longer than that. They drove him out, and Miles and the other guards did not dare to stand in their way. As the now former king tumbled out of the gates of the town, Miles could have sworn he saw a few too many limbs moving around in that same trench coat.
Must have been a trick of the light.