Jax quickly learned that being the Shadow of the King came with certain… unique challenges. For instance, his second day on the job began with a summons from the royal advisor, a man named Quindlehurst. A name that was at least three syllables too long for someone who was essentially a walking ball of nerves and bad ideas.
"The King requires your presence immediately," Quindlehurst squeaked, adjusting his oversized monocle.
"What, did he lose his favorite pillow?" Jax deadpanned, earning himself a scandalized gasp.
"You mustn't jest about the King's affairs," Quindlehurst hissed. "He's very particular about his pillows!"
Naturally.
By the time Jax reached the royal chambers, he found King Azgar draped over his throne like a particularly lazy cat. A group of courtiers were buzzing around him like confused bees, holding up various shiny objects.
"You're here," Azgar drawled, not even looking up. "Fix this."
"Fix what, exactly?" Jax asked, gesturing to the chaotic scene.
"They're trying to make me pick a royal artifact," Azgar mumbled. "Something about traditions or legacies or whatever. I don't care. Make them stop talking."
One of the courtiers—a particularly excitable man with a mustache that defied the laws of physics—stepped forward, holding a gaudy scepter encrusted with more jewels than taste.
"Your Majesty," Mustache Man began, "this scepter symbolizes the strength of your reign!"
"I don't need a stick to tell me I'm strong," Azgar yawned.
Another courtier, this one clutching an ancient-looking crown, chimed in. "This crown represents wisdom and authority, Your Majesty."
Azgar turned to Jax, his expression as blank as ever. "Do I look like I care about wisdom?"
Jax smirked. "Not even a little."
"Exactly," Azgar said. "Pick something and leave me alone. Or better yet, just tell them I already chose something."
The courtiers gasped in unison, as if Jax had just suggested turning the palace into a petting zoo.
"But, Your Majesty," Mustache Man sputtered, "tradition demands—"
"Tradition demands nothing," Jax interrupted, grabbing the closest object he could find: a random goblet from a nearby table. "Here. The King has chosen this… very shiny and incredibly significant goblet as his royal artifact. You're welcome."
The courtiers stared at him, then at the goblet, which was clearly just a regular drinking cup.
"A… goblet?" Mustache Man asked weakly.
"Why not?" Jax said with a shrug. "It's practical. Multifunctional. You can drink out of it, throw it at enemies, or use it as a paperweight. Honestly, it's a genius choice. The King is a visionary."
Azgar gave a lazy thumbs-up from his throne. "Sounds good to me."
The courtiers exchanged horrified looks but had no choice but to accept. As they scurried away to announce the King's "bold and innovative" decision, Jax turned back to Azgar.
"You're welcome," he said smugly.
Azgar blinked slowly. "For what?"
Jax sighed. "Never mind."
---
Later that day, Jax found himself in yet another bizarre situation: a royal feast. Or, as he liked to call it, "an excuse for everyone to argue while stuffing their faces." The table was laden with every food imaginable—roasted meats, exotic fruits, and enough pastries to give the entire kingdom a sugar coma.
Azgar, of course, was doing absolutely nothing.
"I don't understand why I have to be here," the King muttered, poking at a plate of roast pheasant with his fork. "Can't you do the feasting for me, Shadow?"
Jax raised an eyebrow. "Pretty sure that's not how this works."
Before Azgar could argue, a commotion broke out at the other end of the table. Two nobles were locked in a heated debate over—of all things—the proper way to address a letter to the King.
"It's 'Your Most Exalted Majesty,'" one declared.
"Wrong!" the other shouted. "It's 'His Glorious Royal Highness.'"
Jax leaned over to Azgar. "Want me to settle this one too?"
Azgar waved a hand. "Go for it."
Standing up, Jax cleared his throat. "Actually, the King prefers to be addressed as 'His Napfulness, Lord of Pillows and Protector of Afternoon Snoozes.'"
The room fell silent.
Azgar chuckled softly, the closest thing to laughter Jax had ever heard from him. "That's not bad," he said, reclining further into his chair.
And just like that, Jax realized something important: if he played his cards right, this whole "Shadow" gig might actually be kind of fun.