The King is Dead

“The King is dead, I am in control now!” Calvin shouted, lifting the crown up to his head.

“Uh, excuse me, sir,” said a butler, in full butler regalia, “but I think you are confused. You cannot kill the King and take control. There is a strict line of succession. Your name please?”

Calvin looked at the butler, a smirk on his face. “You can’t stop me, but it’s Calvin Manis.”

“Hm, indeed. Well, Mr. Manis, you are number one hundred and twenty-three thousand, four hundred and sixty second in the line of succession, barring any relevant births between now and then. I’m afraid, sir, that you are not the King. The crown passes to princess Libby, who is now Queen Elizabeth the eighth.”

“But I’m the King!”

“No one recognizes your royalty. Hand me the crown, immediately.”

Calvin sighed, taking the crown off his head. Everything had led him to believe this would be much easier. Now he had a large amount of research to do, and an even larger amount of work before he could get the crown again.

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