Poll's lips curled into a subtle smile, a perfect blend of confidence and mystery. Relaxed yet poised, he radiated an aura of quiet control. "Ah, yes, Your Majesty," he began, his voice as smooth as polished steel. "The ace card. It's more than just a symbol. It's a strategy—a hidden force. One that can shift the balance of power, provided we reach an… understanding."
The king's gaze narrowed, but his pulse quickened. There was something magnetic about this boy, something dangerous. Poll wasn't just speaking; he was weaving a web. And the king, for all his experience, felt the strands tightening.
Poll's expression deepened into something almost playful, yet sharp as a dagger. "You see, Your Majesty," he said, gesturing subtly with one hand, "while the ace holds the lowest number in the deck, it still outranks the king. Funny, isn't it? A reminder that even the greatest authority can be usurped by something unseen."
The king's expression remained neutral, but his thoughts churned. Is he testing me? Challenging me? Or is this some elaborate ploy?
Poll didn't wait for an answer. With deliberate motion, he reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a small, ornate case. Flipping it open, he revealed a set of cards. Each one gleamed faintly in the dim light, their intricate designs almost hypnotic.
"These," Poll began, laying the cards on the table with care, "are not just a game. They're a story. A reflection of power."
He placed the king card first, its golden crown glinting. "The king," he said, his voice dropping into a measured cadence, "is the realm's figurehead. You, Your Majesty. The pillar that holds everything together."
Next came the queen, her expression regal yet sharp. "The queen represents the nobles," Poll continued. "Ambitious, persistent. She whispers questions and demands answers, not because she lacks power, but because she craves control."
Poll's hand hovered over the jack before placing it down with a flick of his wrist. "And this? The jack—your clergy. The moral compass of the realm, or so they claim. They seek dominion of a different kind, striving to wield faith as their sword."
The king leaned forward, his interest piqued despite himself. Poll's words carried a weight that made the cards feel more than symbolic—alive, even.
"And yet," Poll went on, his tone darkening, "these powers rarely align. The queen and the jack—the nobles and the church—are too preoccupied with outmaneuvering each other to truly threaten the king. A fortunate dysfunction, wouldn't you say?"
The king nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on the tableau before him. Poll's narrative was absurdly precise, each word cutting like a scalpel. But then Poll reached for the final card: the ace.
"And here is the ace," Poll said softly, holding it between his fingers. "Unassuming, quiet, even humble. But don't let that fool you." His eyes flicked up to meet the king's, gleaming with a dangerous light. "Because the ace is something the others will never see coming."
He set the card down with a deliberate tap, its stark black-and-white design standing in sharp contrast to the richly adorned others.
"The ace," Poll said, leaning slightly closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "is the wild card. A hidden force outside the hierarchy. A player with no allegiance but to its master. And if used wisely…" He trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air.
The king's eyes flickered with understanding—and something else. Excitement. "You're suggesting we create such a player," he said, his voice both measured and intrigued. "A force neither the nobles nor the clergy would recognize, let alone suspect."
Poll inclined his head, his smile faint but loaded with meaning. "Precisely. A shadow within the game. One that acts decisively, without being bound by the usual chains of power."
The king's thoughts raced. The idea was audacious, almost reckless—but brilliant. This ace could tip the balance in his favor, allow him to outmaneuver his rivals without ever stepping into the fray. A weapon that struck silently, leaving no trace of its master.
"Tell me, Poll," the king said, his voice carrying a hint of challenge, "how do you propose we create such a force? And more importantly, how do we ensure its loyalty?"
Poll's smile widened, his confidence unwavering. "Ah, Your Majesty," he replied, his tone almost playful. "Loyalty is not earned by force or fear. It is earned through necessity. The ace will serve because it knows it must. Its survival depends on it."
The king studied Poll carefully, the boy's every word and gesture like pieces of a larger puzzle. His confidence, his cunning—it was intoxicating, dangerous. He's not just proposing a plan. He's placing himself as the ace.
Straightening in his chair, the king allowed a faint smirk to touch his lips. "Before we dive headfirst into this game of yours, Poll," he said, his tone sharp, "I want proof. A trial run, if you will. Show me the potential of this ace."
Poll nodded, unfazed. "Of course. I'll require three subjects for the initial test. Details about their influence, connections, and weaknesses. The more precise, the better."
"And, Your Majesty… I'd also like details on today's meeting, especially if it concerns these three or anything to do with the demon king."
The king considered this, his fingers drumming lightly on the armrest. "You'll have what you need. And Poll," he added, his tone firm, "if this fails…"
Poll met his gaze without hesitation. "Failure, Your Majesty, is simply another lesson. But I don't plan on teaching one today."
The king chuckled softly, the tension in the room shifting into something sharper, more dangerous. "Very well. You'll have your details by tonight. But Poll," he said, his gaze hardening, "do not forget who holds the crown."
Poll inclined his head in a mock bow, his smile never faltering. "And do not forget, Your Majesty," he said lightly, "who holds the cards."
"Then, with your permission, I'll take my leave," Poll said, offering a respectful bow.
As Poll turned and exited the chamber, the king found himself staring at the ace card still lying on the table. A shadow in the game. A force unseen.
His lips curved into a smile—not of mirth, but of ambition. Let the boy play his game, he thought. Soon, I'll decide whether he's the ace… or the joker.