The Royal Taster

The banquet hall was abuzz with activity. Edmund squinted his eyes and looked down the long oak table, but had difficulty locating the end of it. Hundreds of candles flickered inside the room like fireflies. There was not a single empty chair to be found. To dine inside this room—at the invitation of the King—was the highest honor one could receive. Any man declining that invitation was not likely to stay in the good graces of His Majesty.

Or keep his head.

Edmund flinched as the double doors to his right flung open with a deafening crack. A never-ending parade of serious-looking men marched into the room holding silver platters. The plates were covered and Edmund attempted to identify the contents of the meal based on smell alone.

If Edmund were forced to say one kind thing about the King—a difficult task indeed—it would be that His Majesty had quite the sophisticated pallet. Whereas Edmund would be content eating beef stew every evening, the King’s tastes were far more eclectic. Just a fortnight ago, His Majesty had served his Royal Council some sort of mushroom concoction that, to Edmund, smelled like the inside of a stable.

With a slight nod from the Royal Chef, the army of servants carefully placed the plates on the lengthy table. The echo of silver hitting wood filled the vast banquet hall. Having completed their brief task, the servants exited as quickly as they had entered. Each diner now had a meal in front of them, but no one moved an inch. It was as if they were suddenly paralyzed.

And they were.

By fear.

Edmund often wondered if this was some sort of test. Why else go to the trouble of serving hundreds of people before the King even entered the room? A cook had once told Edmund a story about a young envoy who feverishly tore into his steak as soon as it was placed in front of him. The man returned home with his tongue in his pocket.

No one ate before the King.

Edmund stood against the cold stone wall—he was not given a chair—and waited for what he knew would come next. It didn’t matter how many times he stood inside the banquet hall, he always felt out of place.

Edmund was not royalty. He was not a man of nobility. He wore no shining armor. He had no education.

Edmund had but one purpose—to die.

Edmund was His Majesty’s Food Taster—a fancy name for a simple job.

Eat.

Drink.

Wait.

It was that simple.

If Edmund didn’t fall over, foaming at the mouth, then the meal was safe for the King to consume. If he did, then a new Royal Taster would be found and Edmund’s corpse would be thrown into an unmarked grave.

Edmund had held his title for three years—an impressive feat considering the work involved. His Majesty had a great many enemies. Edmund’s eventual demise was not an “if”, but rather a “when”.

If you were serious about ridding the world of someone of great importance—and wanted to live to brag about it—then poison was your partner.

A drop in the wine.

A splash on the meat.

Colorless. Odorless. Effective.

The heavy wooden door opened again with a thunderous crack. Edmund watched as a diminutive man strolled into the hall with his head raised proudly. The man cleared his throat dramatically and spoke.

“All rise for His Majesty, King Robert Beaumont the Second!”

The shrill sound of chairs scraping against the floor filled the hall. Every man in attendance stood erect. Edmund himself stood straighter against the wall.

A harsh, phlegm-filled cough preceded His Majesty into the room. The hacking continued for several seconds, as Edmund and the rest of the attendees waited awkwardly. Finally, the King appeared before the mass of people.

He stumbled toward his seat, dragging his golden robe behind him like a reptile shedding its skin. The rings on his swollen fingers sparkled with resplendent jewels—each stone worth more money than Edmund would see in a thousand lifetimes.

On the King’s right, smiling dutifully, was the Queen. She wore a dress the color grass in the spring with matching emeralds on her tiara. Edmund was not a traveled man, but he couldn’t imagine there being a more beautiful woman in all the world. Her skin was milky white—healthy and beautiful—unlike her husband’s, which resembled a pockmarked battlefield.

Even from many feet away, Edmund could hear the King’s labored breathing. A line of sweat formed at His Majesty’s hairline. The short walk to the table had winded the overweight man. Decades of indulgence protruded over his waistline.

King Robert scratched absentmindedly at his crotch and fell into his seat, nearly falling off the chair completely. Edmund heard the man giggle as he righted himself in the chair. Drunk already, Edmund thought to himself.

The Royal Chef snapped his fingers and a nervous servant appeared by his side carrying a golden platter. The chef lifted the cover slightly and peeked inside at the dish. Satisfied with what he saw, he took the dish from the servant and approached the Royal Table. Edmund watched as the dish was placed in front of the King. The Chef removed the cover with great flourish.

With a bored yawn, the King surveyed the meal in front of him—braised swan legs with assorted vegetables. He lowered his head toward the table, his golden crown struggling to remain atop his fat head, and sniffed one of the legs with his bulbous nose.

“It’s fine,” he grunted.

Edmund watched a wave a relief wash over the chef’s face. This was as close as the man would come to a compliment from the moody Monarch. The nervous servant returned and poured a glass of red wine for the King. The servant’s hands shook as he lifted the bottle. His Majesty had never met a servant he wasn’t willing to throw out the window over the slightest transgression. Judging by the servant’s trembling hands, he was aware of this too.

His task nearly at hand, Edmund’s heart began to beat wildly. This was something he could never get used to. Each bite and each drink was a game of chance and Edmund knew the odds wouldn’t stay in his favor forever. But what choice was there? His purpose was to die, after all.

Edmund approached the Royal Table, past a line of valiant knights—the King’s Guard. Their silver armor sparkled in the candlelight. There were only twelve men, but Edmund had heard it said that they fought with the might of one hundred.

Edmund arrived at the table and awaited his cue. The King looked at him and belched. Edmund could smell his sour breath from across the table. The Queen continued to smile politely.

The Royal Chef appeared and cut off a small piece of steaming meat and placed it on a separate plate for Edmund. He then grabbed several vegetables and did the same. Edmund’s mouth watered as the savory smell floated toward his nostrils. He picked up the meat with his hand and felt its juices run down his fingers. He placed it delicately into his mouth and closed his eyes.

Edmund was the furthest thing from royalty, but for that brief moment, as the flavor from the swan filled his mouth, he was a King. Edmund savored the bite for as long as possible before swallowing. He grabbed a fistful of the salty veggies and ate those as well. If this was to be Edmund’s last meal, at least it was a good one.

The Chef poured a stingy amount of wine from the King’s bottle into a metal cup. Edmund put it to his lips and drank the bitter liquid. He had no appetite for wine. He likened the taste of it to dirty rainwater.

Edmund stood aside while another nameless servant brought out the Queen’s meal. Edmund would not be partaking in her dish. There had once been talk of Her Majesty employing her own Taster, but the King had guffawed at this idea and said “who would want to kill a worthless queen?”

After several minutes, it was abundantly clear that Edmund was not dead. He would live to taste another day. Edmund stepped aside from the table and headed toward the door.

As Edmund walked past the Royal Table, he surreptitiously glanced at the elegant Queen. To his shock, she looked up from her plate and locked eyes with him. It was as if Edmund was suddenly struck by lightning. He felt a flutter in his stomach and a lightness in his feet.

He was lost in her icy blue eyes.

He was consumed by her pink mouth.

He was…falling toward the ground.

Edmund hit the stone floor with a painful thump and found himself on his back. His Majesty leaned over the edge of the table and peered down at Edmund.

“Why is my servant more drunk than I am?” he cackled with a mouthful of meat.

The room erupted in laughter.

“Bring me more wine!” His Majesty bellowed. “Clearly I have catching up to do!”

Edmund raised himself off the ground and steadied himself on his knees. He was just about to stand up when he saw a flash of green fabric before him. Edmund looked up and saw the Queen’s pale, beautiful face.

“Are you okay?” she asked, staring down at Edmund. “You took quite a spill.”

The sound of her voice was nearly enough to make him fall to the ground again. Edmund tried to respond, but no words came to him. He composed himself as best he could and got to his feet. The Queen took her time brushing the dirt off Edmund’s perpetually dirty tunic. She smiled at him.

“No worse for wear,” she said.

“I apologize, my Queen,” responded Edmund, bowing as low as his legs would take him. “I seemed to have tripped.”

“Shall we throw him from the window?” croaked the King, spittle flying from his cracked lips. Edmund imagined himself crashing to the rocky ground below the castle. Was that preferable to a death by poison?

“Ignore him,” said the Queen to Edmund. His Majesty frowned with disappointment and returned to his meal.

Edmund thanked the queen kindly and walked toward the door. He could not leave the room quickly enough. He was prepared for a poisoning, not a humiliation.

Edmund reached for the brass ring on the door and was about to pull it open when there came a sudden crash from behind him. Edmund turned.

The first thing he saw were vegetables strewn across the floor. He followed the trail of food to the golden platter which was wobbling on the ground like a children’s toy. Edmund watched as the plate finally fell still next to a fleshy mass.

The King was lifeless on the ground.

Confusion broke out among the horde of people. The Queen screamed and fell to her husband’s side. Edmund moved closer.

His Majesty’s eyes were wide with terror. His head rocked back and forth. Through the Queen’s panicked shrieks, Edmund could hear a faint gurgling noise—like water draining from a bathtub. Edmund looked at the King’s mouth and saw a white foam bubbling from the man’s lips.

Poison.

Edmund stepped back, as the King’s Guard quickly formed a protective circle around the scene. How is this possible? Edmund thought. He had eaten the meat. He had eaten the veggies. He had drank the wine. But he remained upright while the King laid on the ground.

“Seal the doors!” yelled one of the knights. “No one leaves the hall!”

Edmund looked out into the crowd and saw panicked faces. He had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Edmund took off toward the back of the room, hoping to hide himself within the mass of people. A hand reached out and grabbed his arm. Edmund looked up to see the same knight who had just shouted orders.

“Where are you off to?” said the man in silver. Edmund could only stammer in response. He had could hear hushed voices coming from where the King had fallen. The Queen had stopped her hysterics and was now quiet. After a few minutes, she stepped away from the circle of knights. Her face was emotionless. She spoke, but Edmund could not understand her. His heart was beating in his ears. The Queen repeated her statement and this time Edmund heard her clearly.

“The King is dead.”

Those in the crowd who were close enough to hear the statement repeated it to others. Soon, the whole room was humming. Edmund desperately wanted to leave. He felt lightheaded. From the corner of his eye, he could make out a cloud of green approaching him. It was the Queen.

Her eyes—soft and kind minutes earlier—were now burning with fury. She pointed a skinny finger at Edmund.

“Why are you alive?” she asked suspiciously. “You ate from the King’s meal, but you are not dead.”

“I don’t know, my Queen,” stammered Edmund.

She stared at him, looking him up and down. “Search him,” she said calmly.

The knight grabbed Edmund by the shoulders and threw him to the ground. He felt a pair of hands canvass over his body. Edmund was about to protest when one of the knight’s hands reached into Edmund’s empty chest pocket.

Only it wasn’t empty.

Edmund watched helplessly as the knight’s hand pulled out a glass vial with a rubber top. The vial was the size of Edmund’s pinky. It was empty inside.

The knight turned toward the Queen and showed her the object. Edmund looked at the knight and then toward the Queen. Everything was happening so quickly.

“No! That’s not mine!” he pleaded. He looked out into the crowd of diners, who were now hungry for something else entirely.

They wanted blood.

The crowd began to inch closer toward the Royal Table, their faces filled with righteous anger. The Queen’s voice rang out.

“No one shall touch him!”

The mob stopped advancing toward the table, but Edmund could see that anger had not left their eyes. He looked at the Queen, relieved that she had saved him. She was a kind woman. She would listen to him. She would understand that he had nothing to do with the King’s demise. She would—

“Take the murderer to the prisoner’s quarters!” she ordered.

Two knights grabbed Edmund and pulled him to his feet. “My Queen!” he yelled desperately. “There has been a misunderstanding!“ He pleaded with her as the powerful knights dragged him toward the door.

They carried him down a spiral of stairs, advancing deeper and deeper into the bowels of the castle. The air became colder. The walls were wet with condensation.

“Please. You must listen to me! I didn’t poison the King! I had nothing to do with it!”

“Shut your mouth!” came the terse response from the knight behind Edmund. They walked down a long, dark hallway.

Edmund continued undeterred. “Please listen! I am not a—“

The prisoner was quieted with a swift blow to the back of the head.

Edmund awoke later on a moldy cot in a dark cell. His head was swimming with pain. He sat up and rubbed his eyes.

“I was worried you were dead. But then I heard the snoring.”

The sudden voice startled Edmund. He jumped up from the creaky bed, searching for where the voice came from. On the other side of the metal bars was a figure. The darkness prevented Edmund from identifying a face.

“Who is it?” he asked nervously.

The figure moved closer to the cell, its footsteps soft.

“You don’t recognize your Queen?”

Edmund’s heart jumped in his chest. Finally! He would have the chance to plead his case. The Queen was an honorable woman. She would listen to Edmund.

“My Queen, I did not kill the King! I did not poison him!”

“I am aware of this.”

Edmund stared toward the Queen. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could just make out a tight smile upon her face.

“I don’t understand,” he said.

“My late husband had a great many enemies.” She paused and let the silence hang in the air. “Including his wife.”

Edmund’s head was spinning. He had difficulty following what the woman was saying.

“I’m sorry to involve you, she continued. “It’s nothing personal. I apologize for tripping you as well. You really did fall quite hard. I hope you’re okay.”

The pieces were beginning to fit together in Edmund’s mind. He thought back to earlier in the evening.

The Queen helping him to his feet…

Her hands touching his chest…

“You put the vial in my pocket?” Even as he was saying it, he couldn’t believe it. But it was the only explanation.

“The King poisoned by his own Royal Taster!” The Queen laughed. “They will write songs about that.”

Edmund felt the blood pounding in his temples. “The people won’t believe it.”

“They will believe whatever I tell them. I am their Queen.”

Edmund fell to his knees. The room was spinning. He closed his eyes to keep from vomiting.

“Say hello to my husband for me,” whispered the Queen. “I expect you’ll be joining him soon.”

Edmund heard her soft footsteps retreating away from his cell. He put his head in his hands.

There were no tears. There was no anger.

For he was the Royal Taster.

And his purpose was to die.