Chapter 2 B "The Mock Coronation"
The throne room stank of sweat and gunpowder, the air thick with the metallic tang of blood. **Otto von Kleist** bowed low before **King Hellsing von Krapf**, his smirk hidden beneath the shadow of his feathered bicorne. The king's throne, carved from black walnut and inlaid with gold leaf, creaked as he strained against Friedrich's iron grip.
"What's the meaning of this, *General*?" the king roared, spittle flecking his beard. His crown—a jagged circlet of rubies and iron—tilted precariously as he thrashed.
Otto straightened, adjusting his sash of office. "Simple. You'll crown me king."
The king surged forward, but Friedrich's hand clamped his shoulder, forcing him back. Otto knelt again, lips brushing the king's boot. The soldiers lining the hall shifted, bayonets glinting.
"You dare—!"
"Hellsing," Otto purred, rising, "crown me King of Germany. Or watch your legacy burn."
The king kicked out, his heel cracking Otto's jaw. Blood dribbled down the general's chin. A hundred muskets cocked in unison.
Otto raised a hand. "No one kills a king not even another king, only God kills a king. But no one said we can't... *persuade* him."
A soldier stepped forward, bearing the von Krapf crown on a velvet pillow. Otto lifted it, the rubies catching fire in the torchlight, and placed it roughly on the king's head. The iron band bit into his brow.
"Now. Say the words."
"You're a *butcher*," the king hissed.
"Lets see,"
Otto gestured and soon enough men brought forward weapons. Six weapons lay at the king's feet—five flintlocks with ivory grips, one long musket. "Let God decide. Choose three. If any fire, you keep your throne and all men will be dismissed and you can publicly execute me any way you please. If not I will make you beg God to kill you sooner!"
The king snatched two pistols and the musket, his trembling fingers brushing the musket's powder horn. *Loaded. I saw them fill it*.
He fired the first flintlock. *Click*.
The crowd jeered, their laughter echoing off the vaulted ceiling.
The second. *Click*.
The soldiers' taunts swelled, a wolfpack scenting weakness.
The king gripped the musket, barrel wavering. For a heartbeat, he aimed at Otto's chest—The king then quickly pressed the musket's cold barrel beneath his chin. *One shot. One escape*. He pulled the trigger.
The recoil tore the weapon from his grip, its butt slamming into his collarbone. The bullet ripped through his jaw, shearing off his ear and carving a furrow in his skull. He collapsed, howling, fingers scrabbling at the ruin of his face, blood pooling on the flagstones like spilled wine. The queen awoke screaming, her voice a shriek that cut through the din.
The king writhed on the floor, his left cheek torn open like rotten parchment, jawbone glinting in the torchlight. Blood pooled beneath him, black and viscous, as he clawed toward his fallen crown. A shard of skull jutted above his ear, white as porcelain.
"Y-you... *vermin*," he gurgled, teeth clacking against exposed bone. "Rot in hell... Otto..."
The queen stared, her hands trembling. *He deserves this*, she told herself. *Seven ministers. Twelve commanders. My sister—*. But his mangled face, the wet rasp of his breath—it wasn't rage she felt. It was pity.
"You *monsters*!" The queen lunged for Klaus's holster, her silk sleeve snagging the flintlock's trigger. She fired.
The bullet punched through the king's heart, silencing his gurgles.
Silence. The queen dropped the flintlock in fear
Otto raised a hand, halting the soldiers' retaliation. "She's the queen. For now."
The queen fled upstairs, her silk slippers slipping on blood-smeared steps. The bedroom door hung askew, its brass knob blown away by Friedrich's earlier shot. She threw her weight against it, but it swung open, revealing the shattered remnants of the king's sanctuary—torn curtains, feathers still drifting from the gutted mattress, the stench of gunpowder clinging to the air.
"*Stay out!*" she screamed, clutching a silver hairpin like a dagger.
Klaus shouldered through first, his nose still crusted with dried blood. "Drama's over, *Your Majesty*."
Friedrich followed, his fractured wrist bound in a makeshift sling. "Come quietly. No one needs to hurt you."
She lunged with the hairpin. Klaus caught her wrist, twisting until the pin clattered to the floor. "Should've aimed for the eye," he sneered, binding her hands with a silk cord from the bedpost.
Dragged back to the throne room, the queen faced Otto, her defiance crumbling. The king's corpse lay splayed on the dais, his remaining eye staring emptily at the vaulted ceiling. Soldiers had already begun scrubbing the blood from the stones, but the iron scent lingered.
Otto knelt before her, the von Krapf crown in his hands. Its rubies gleamed wetly, still streaked with the king's blood. "Crown me," he said, bowing before the queen who contemptuously looked at him.
He then moved closer to her ear ,his voice a serpent's whisper. " I know you are pregnant with the king's illegitimate child, thats the gallows for you."
"You wouldn't dare!"she barked
"Its almost morning and I'm starting to get annoyed, now crown me !"
Her hands trembled as she lifted the crown. The gold was cold, the blood tacky. She placed it on his head with deliberate slowness, then dipped her fingers into the king's congealing wound. The cross she drew on Otto's forehead glistened crimson.
"May God rot your soul," she hissed.
Otto smiled. "He'll have to wait in line."
Otto seized her bound hands, pressing his lips to her knuckles in a mockery of chivalry. Her skin crawled at the touch, his breath hot against her scars. "Your loyalty is... *touching*," he murmured, lingering too long before releasing her.
Soldiers hauled the king's corpse away, leaving a smeared trail across the flagstones. The mistress, half-conscious and whimpering, was carried to the dungeons alongside the queen. Her bloodied foot left scarlet droplets in their wake.
Otto strode to the courtyard, Friedrich and Klaus flanking him like wolves. The army erupted in cheers, their chants of *"Lang lebe der König!"* echoing off the castle walls. A soldier rang the castle bell seven times—a deep, sonorous toll that rolled over the sleeping town like thunder.
At dawn, Otto mounted his black stallion, the crown glinting on his brow. Friedrich and Klaus followed on matching bays, their flintlocks polished, uniforms stripped of bloodstains. Behind them, the army marched in lockstep, their boots pounding the cobblestones in grim rhythm.
Peasants gathered in the square, their faces pale with fear and awe. A butcher's boy pointed at the blood cross on Otto's forehead. "Is that... *holy?*"
His mother yanked him back. "Quiet. That's the devil's work."
Otto raised his sword, the rising sun catching the blade. "Today, Bavaria is reborn!"
The crowd's cheers were hesitant, brittle.