The Lesser of Two Evils

Vincent Astor was a narcissistic, adamant individual, who only got involved in the affairs of himself. No one knew this better than his longtime servant, Spencer Doyle. Hence, the premise on which his hatred of his employer was established. The only person Spencer even came close to hating more than Vincent, though, was Marquise DeVoe. Marquise was the rival of Vincent, and while under normal circumstances that would have made him and Spencer best friends, this was an exception. The whole mess started with an act unprecedented to their country: the murder of the king.

The king had been a gracious man. He’d been beloved to all and no one had wished him any harm; or so they’d thought. This delusion had been abolished one morning in late summer. A morning that teemed with objectionable gossip—that is, until it was known to be fact. Under the cover of night, someone had slipped into the king’s resting chamber and stabbed him through the heart. The hunt for the murderer was on, but there was little evidence to go by, for no one had seen the intruder. In fact, the only thing out of place in the whole room was the trail of blood that led from the bed to a trapdoor that lay under the carpet, which explained how the trespasser had gotten in. The passage had been intended for escape, not vice versa. The blood was of little use considering there were no means of analyzing it. However, it did reveal one thing: the person responsible was marked. Checking everyone for cuts didn’t seem to be an effective way of singling out the murderer though, just time consuming.

It was a day filled with sorrow, grief, and questions. Oh so many questions. Who had done it? Why had they done it? Who would inherit the crown? The latter was the most popular. The king had only two children, neither of which were boys. They were twin girls, who had both married noblemen of their same age. Consequently, there was no remarkable difference that could earn either one a crown. The two men went by the names of Vincent Astor and Marquise DeVoe.

Over the next few days, both couples were brought to the castle to wait out the decision that would change their lives forever. It had been decided that the previous king’s most respected advisors would make the life-altering decision. In the opinions of the two noblemen, though, these were not fair terms. No one was more aware of the men’s distresses than Spencer Doyle. Being Astor’s longest serving help, he’d been asked to accompany him to the castle (much to Doyle’s dissatisfaction). While there, he played witness to many arguments and in some cases fell victim to the wraths of the rivals. Astor, in particular, was known to throw a punch when he was aggravated. Spencer, unfortunately, was usually on the other end. For years, the helpless servant let his emotions build up inside of him on these occasions where Vincent couldn’t control himself, until the unknown day when Vincent would pull his last straw.

It had been two weeks since the king’s death. People all around the nation were anxious to find out who their next leader would be. However, the board remained indecisive, and any conclusions were left up to guess. It was on one of those nights, where restlessness filled the atmosphere, that Spencer Doyle made the decision for them. All had been calm. Most of the workers were up in the sitting room tending to guests that had gathered, when Astor decided to slip down to servants’ hall. It was obvious he was drunk, for the scent of alcohol clouded around him. That, and he was also acting completely irrational. Once again, he was worked up about whether or not he would be king. This was a problem that plagued his head, and it seemed the only way he could let it out was through his fists. After the cruelty was over, Spencer sat idle, wiping the blood from his nose. It was no sooner than the blood stopped, that Marquise DeVoe decided to make an appearance. He strutted into the hall with an air of superiority. When he looked at Spencer, it was as if he was worth no more than dirt. Spencer sat vulnerable, not knowing what to say. After a moderate pause, DeVoe decided to get down to business. As if he’d done it a thousand times before, he swiftly grabbed two champagne glasses from the cupboard and poured into them the best wine available at the time. Then, taking off his glove, he grabbed a small vile from his back pocket. He poured the contents of the flask into one of the glasses. In the process, Spencer happened to notice a long scar across the palm of his hand. He slid the glove back on. DeVoe picked up the tray on which the glasses sat, and handed it to Spencer. “Listen here, savage”, he started, “I need your assistance in a little deed.” Spencer remained silent. “Bring these glasses upstairs, and make sure this one ends up with Vincent Astor”, he gestured to the glass he’d just violated. “Why?” Spencer questioned shyly. “Just do as your told, and you will be rewarded”, he turned on his heel and departed up the stairs. After he’d gone, Spencer was left to his own thoughts. He had not been directly told what was in the glass, but he was fairly positive he knew. After all, how many different motives could a person have for slipping something into his opponent’s glass? As he stared at the goblets, though, he was not certain that the glass in question would go to his employer. How could it not though? Had Astor not beaten him senseless countless times before? But still… DeVoe was obviously not going to rule the country any better than Vincent would. And had he not just seen the mark of murder on DeVoe’s hands? Spencer turned over the facts in his head for a long while. Finally, he reached a decision. He grabbed the trey and went upstairs, eager to turn his thoughts into actions.

Vincent and Marquise were busy conversing in the sitting room. The fireplace stood directly next to them, illuminating their tall figures. As Spencer walked toward them, he felt confident as ever. He met Vincent’s eyes first, where he was greeted with a blank stare. His eyes then shifted to Marquise, who was looking at him knowingly. Spencer could see his eyes twinkle with anticipation. He handed them each a glass and then stepped back, joining the other servers around the room.

Marquise flashed Vincent a dazzling smile. “A toast?” he proposed. They held up their glasses in unison. “These past few weeks have been very stressful,” he drawled, “but I am certain that fate will ensure a bright future for this wonderful country. Long live the king.” And then they drank.