Prince Gerald had an epiphany. Half-way unto the breach, he feigned a leg cramp. Thus, brave brother Rainer surged ahead and climbed the rubble-pile first, closely followed by a hundred men-at-arms.

Rainer tumbled down as fast, an arrow through the eye. The whispers began immediately. Later, the battle won, the castle carried, Gerald marveled at his insight. I will be king, he thought. And so he was. With Rainer’s bones interred and his widow warming the royal bed, the whispers grew.

“A king must rise above mere rumor,” Gerald said.

His reign was long, enlightened and generous; his name, immortal.

I wrote this story for the 100 Word Challenge #350 at Velvet Verbosity.