Me! Me! Me! The King Who Shouldn't Be-Excerpt

UPDATE: A new illustrated paperback releasing July 1, 2026!

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"Lucky, lucky, lucky, we're so lucky. Lucky, luck-" Justice stopped singing when his mom rode up in a cloud of dust, jumped off Blue as she plowed to a stop, looked Justice in the eye and said-

"Trouble."

"Mom?" Justice took Blue's reins.

"The King's Royal Messenger will be here within the hour." Jill swiped blonde hair full of road dust out of her eyes.

"But they...they've never sent..."

Jill shook her head, "They did once. You were a baby, nineteen years ago. Nineteen years, no trouble. Damn." She blew out a sharp breath, took a long look out over Humble Haven Farm, frowned deeply.

Justice felt his gut tighten at the look on her face as she scanned their family farm.

Like a long last look.

"Maybe...maybe it won't be...be that bad?" He heard how feeble his attempted reassurance sounded.

It was normally an ordinary messenger who would tack a notice up on the village's bulletin board.

This was where the citizens of Gorge Valley could find King Gorge's delusional edicts, which grew in outrageousness apace with his ever-expanding girth, receding hairline, and infinite, infantile idiocy. The latest stupidity was awarding himself yet another fictitious medal for a non-existent accomplishment to hang upon a ribbon where the gold medallion would dangle on his chest, secured snugly, and without sway, between his growing breasts.

"Maybe not that bad?" Justice said more forcefully.

Jill rolled her eyes at him and Justice instantly went, "HEEKKU!" Hiccups always betrayed his rising nervousness.

Jill patted his shoulder, "Nothing wrong with trying to stay positive."

"Breakfast!" Bobor called from the house.

Jill winced toward the thatched roof cottage. "I have to tell your father." She sighed, "We'd better make contingency plans."

He watched her walk away as Biscuit, their small curly haired blonde dog, ran onto the farm. Jill turned back to Justice, calling, "I couldn't wait for her."

He remembered then why she'd left the farm so early; a veterinary emergency. "How'd the emergency go?" He called out.

"Great, thank goodness!" She called back, just before entering the house, muttering, "At least the day started well."

Justice pulled Blue's saddle off and hung it on the top rail of the pasture fence. He unbridled her and turned her out to the pasture with their Holstein dairy cows and calves. He smiled as the blue roan bucked and ran with joy and set off the calves to running and bucking with her.

Gorge Valley didn't take calves away from their mothers as other shires did. They didn't get as much milk from their cows but the denizens of the valley preferred happier, stress-free cows who never got mastitis. Justice was glad to live in such a kind place. He felt his stomach lurch at the thought the King's Royal Messenger would bring news that would substantially change this place he loved so.

Biscuit trotted toward him down the long curving farm road. The tall, narrow poplars lining the road always reminded him of sentinels guarding the farm. They seemed magic to him as a young child. He wished now he could still believe in their power to protect their home and all the beating hearts who dwelled within.

He brushed the wavy brown hair out of his brown eyes as the wind picked up. The stand of aspens bordering the farm with their shiny trunks and shimmering shushing leaves sent the earthen fragrance of the forest to him. He closed his eyes as the light wind now also brought lavender, lilac, and wild rose to his nostrils, 'Lucky, lucky, lucky.'

He opened his eyes. "We were so lucky." And then silently kicked himself, 'Don't be such a pessimist.'

He squatted down to hug Biscuit as she leaned into his legs. "Come on, girl, let's get breakfast." It was one of the deep pleasures of farm life that breakfast came after hours of chores that worked a body and stoked an appetite.

As he and Biscuit walked toward their cozy cottage, he thought about his parents and the conversation they must be having over this breakfast. Jill and Bobor were much more concerned with the politics of the Royal Court than Justice. He thought it was because he hadn't faced any challenges as difficult as his parents had before they built Humble Haven Farm.

It was humble. It was their farm. And, most certainly, it was their haven.

Justice was born and had grown up here. He wanted 'here' to remain as it had always been. He had banked on the fact it was on the far edges of the Kingdom and King Gorge hadn't bothered with this place for all of Justice's life. And so, it remained the same.

That was all Justice ever wanted. The same. Same was good. Same was safe. And safe was the same as happy.

***

Biscuit growled, so Justice slowed as he approached the top of Home Hill. He peeked over the crest of the hill and saw the largest crowd he’d ever seen gathered on Only Street.

Biscuit growled again. He patted her, “It’s okay. It’s okay, girl.”

Every time Justice walked Only Street, he thought it was the prettiest street in the world, not that he'd seen any other street. On Only Street, every storefront was a different bright colour, with contrasting shutters and window flower boxes. Pretty benches lined the street. At Only Cafe, townsfolk chatted at the outdoor tables. Happy shopkeepers waved at Justice as he strode past every afternoon.

Today, they were all in the street. As Justice made his way through the crowd, he heard a lot of grumbling: ‘What do they want now?’ ‘Why can’t they just leave us alone?’ ‘Do you think it’s true?’

Rumours had been flying for months around the valley about some outrageous new tax levied, as always, only on ‘Ordinaries’ as the King called anyone not High Born. They couldn’t do anything about the tax, but the village had a gesture in place if it turned out to be true.

Justice looked for Cobbler Joe and Cobbler Jane. He spotted them easily by their bright red hair.

“Heaps o’ goody good there, young Justice.” Cobbler Joe greeted him.

“And Heaps o’ goody-gooder there, Cobbler Joe.” Justice replied, tipping his felt hat.

Cobbler Jane looked past him, “Where are Jill and Bobor?”

“One of our cows is sick. They sent me to see what the messenger has to say.”

Joe and Jane exchanged looks, Joe cleared his throat, "You know it's the King's Royal Messenger coming."

Justice nodded. "Mom and Dad would have been here but a cow was sick." There was no sick cow. He hated lying to his good friends but he couldn't say why his parents were avoiding anyone from the Royal Court.

Joe nodded, said, “Wondering for a favour there, young Just.”

“Yes?”

Cobbler Joe described an onerous task Justice did not want to do. So of course, Justice said, “Yes, of course.”

He said, 'yes’ to all the onerous tasks the townsfolk requested. Did it make them respect him anymore? As much as Light? Did it as heck like.

The sound of hoofbeats on the cobblestones silenced the crowd. The King’s Royal Messenger rode in, impressive in his red and gold caped uniform atop his palomino steed. The crowd hushed and Justice noted their impassive faces. They were doing a good job of not looking 'full of the bitters' even though they were.

The Royal Messenger pulled a scroll out of the saddlebag and unrolled it. His voice boomed out, “Subjects of King Gorge pay heed now to Your Lord God King God King Gorge’s very own words this day.”

The Messenger cleared his throat and concentrated on the scroll. “‘My loyal subjects who be subjected to your Lord God King God King Gorge’s beautiful and historical best-est leader-ing in historical histories, I, me, your Lord God King God in infinite wisdom-ness and smarty smart-ness, decrees, decries and declaims that each subject of the Kingdom of King Gorge be assessed a piddle poo tax calculated thusly: three pee pees and one poo poo per day at a cost of six gorges per pee pee or poo poo. This tax applies to Ordinaries and Lowly-Lows only. Royals and High Borns are exempt-er-rated from such taxings. Your Lord God King God King Gorge loves all his loyal subjects. Except, of course, the Cheaps. Long Live Your Lord God King God, ME!’” The Messenger looked at the crowd. “That is all!” He spurred his horse and galloped off.

"All?" Justice said, "We already knew that tax was coming, why send the Royal Messenger?"

Cobbler Joe said, “I’ve never seen a Lowly-Low or a Cheap.” as the crowd grumbled amongst themselves.

Justice said, “What a thing to call people. But I’ve heard the Cheaps only live in the Capitol.”

Cobbler Joe shook his head, “No, young Just. My in-laws live in Fairlifeshire. There are some over there and in Smithshire and yes, they do all the toughest work in the Capitol. Poor sods.”

“Poor souls.” Cobbler Jane said, then turned to Justice and smiled. “Young Justice, have the boots I made for you yet trod beyond this valley?”

Justice sighed inside. Always the same question. “Uhm…not yet.”

“But soon? Yes?” She put her hand on his shoulder. “What about adventure? Adventure is for the young. And for all the young souls.”

“I read about adventure. Lots of adventures. I read about all the adventures in all the books.”

Jane leaned against Joe, gave him a peck on the cheek, laid her head on his shoulder. “What about romance? Companionship? It too is for the young. And young souls. Everyone.”

‘I’m nineteen not ninety.’ Justice wanted to say. ‘There’s time. There’s lots of time.’

Hoofbeats. They looked toward the sound. The King’s Royal Messenger stopped his horse in the village square.

He leaned down and looked at Justice. “What village is this?”

“Gorge Valley.”

The messenger straightened and barked out, “People of Gorge Valley. The King has a further message for you.” He cleared his throat. “Subjects of King Gorge pay heed now to Your Lord God King God King Gorge’s very own words this day.” He pulled another scroll from his satchel, unrolled it. “‘Your Lord God King God King Gorge announcer-ates that Gorge Valley is to be honoured by your Lord God King God with its choice as the site of your Lord God King God’s most exciting-est project ever in the historicals of histories, the most beautiful sight your ordinary eyes will have ever behold-ed. Long Live the King forever and ever and ever. ME!’” The messenger shoved the scroll away. “That is all.” He reined his palomino in a tight turn, spurred him on and galloped away.

Cobbler Jane frowned, “That is all? All what? More King’s gibberish and falderal.”

Murmurs arose within the crowd: ‘What does that mean?’ ‘Chosen?’ ‘What project?’ ‘What’s he going to do now?’ 'Why doesn't that tiresome twat leave us alone?'

They grumbled and muttered as they went back to their shops: the butcher, dry goods, produce shops; the cafe, livery stable and tack shop; the haberdasher, bakery and library. As Justice watched them reopen their doors, he wondered again why anyone would ever want to leave this place. It had everything anyone could ever want or need.

As Justice, Cobbler Joe and Cobbler Jane watched, the shop owners unfurled new signs over the old ‘Gorge Valley’ signs. Now they were: Piddleshitshire Butchers, Piddleshitshire Produce, Piddleshitshire Fabrics, Piddleshitshire Haberdasher. The citizens had been awaiting this day for several months because of the rumours of the new tax and swore they would rename the town and village. Although still technically loyal to the King, they did not want to carry the name of King Gorge any longer. They had thought of Piddlepooshire, but it didn’t have the same zing.

Cobbler Joe turned to Justice and grimaced. “Young Justice, you’re still a growing boy. You need to eat. Ignore the tax.”

Justice looked back at Cobbler Joe with dismay. He was nineteen, hardly a boy anymore. More dismay came from feeling the ever-tightening waist on his trousers digging into him. Justice threw his bangs out of his eyes and sighed. “I’m hoping these daily walks help my trousers fit better.”

Cobbler Jane smiled at him, squeezed his shoulder. “All of your walking is even more reason not to restrict your food or water intake, Just.”

“Just.” How he hated that nickname. He knew his village friends used it with affection. But it reminded him of how he felt compared to his golden brother, Light. What had his parents been thinking? Justice and Light? Who names their kids Justice and Light? Bobor and Jill Fairchild, that’s who. And, while Light had been the light of his parents’ eyes and the true golden child of the village, Justice was…Just.

Cobbler Joe slapped Justice’s shoulder. “We’ll go unfurl our new sign. Felicitations to Jill and Bobor.” He took Cobbler Jane’s hand, and they headed to their shop.

Justice looked down at Biscuit. “What do you think, Biscuit? Time to go see Kendria?” She sat down, staring up at him intensely, every muscle in her body tensed and frozen except for the tip of her quivering tail. “Squiggles?” Biscuit jumped up and let loose with the squiggles, her body whipping side to side. Justice clapped his hands. “Let’s go!”

As he walked on toward his usual rendezvous with Kendria, he laughed at Biscuit’s enthusiastic bouncing beside him. But, as they went on, he thought back to the favour Cobbler Joe had asked of him and muttered, “Damnit.”

He said yes to all the lousy tasks the townsfolk asked of him. The “Just” echoed in his head again. Justice was just shorter than most, just softer than most, and his brown eyes were larger and waterier than most. Prone to hiccups, tics, and fainting, he was the opposite of Light, the tall, strong, fast, smart Golden Boy who had passed into near mythical status. An early death will do that for a person.

A pang of guilt stabbed Justice. His eyes stung. He blinked rapidly. He missed his older brother desperately. Sorry, Light. Sorry.

He turned his attention to Biscuit to distract himself. He slapped his thigh. “Come on, girl. Come on.” She bounded happily to his side as they made their way down into the valley below the ridge holding the new Village of Piddleshitshire.

Justice shoved the concerns of the day away. Whatever the King was planning would be revealed another day and on that day he would pay attention. On this day he could pretend nothing bad was happening. He was good at pretending, at trading thoughts of the future for right now. And, right now, everything was the same. Same was safe and safe was the same as happy.

His Cobbler Jane leather boots trod the same path every afternoon. And why not? It led straight down to Kendria.

Her name meant “Wise Protector.” Justice found solace, relief, and protection with her.

Kendria was a weeping willow, the largest and oldest in the valley. Beneath her tendrils, Justice and Biscuit would flop down onto the soft earth and sigh out loud with relief. They were here at last.

Here in the dappled light winking through Kendria’s leaves, here where Kendria sighed as the breeze swept her branches to and fro, here where the scent of leaf and earth calmed his busy mind. Here where there was only “here right now.”

Justice ran his hand through the soft green leaves of Kendria’s longest tendril. The scent of earth and leaves sent a wave of joy and melancholy through him. “Good afternoon, Kendria.”

“Good afternoon, Justice.”

He whirled at the voice, blinked at The Old Lady stood behind him with her raven, Companion, perched on her shoulder.

The Old Lady was the oldest person in Piddleshitshire. She was so old that none of her generation remained alive, nor the next three generations behind her. The tiny body that contained her intense power only made her force more focused. Her deep blue eyes, set off by her flowing silver hair, were near-buried inside the folds of her face, but no one who looked into those eyes ever forgot the feeling of knowing they must listen to her, of knowing that listening to her was the most important thing on earth at that moment.

She had read every book in Piddleshitshire and all the surrounding shires. She knew everyone in the village and valley of the new Piddleshitshire and the shires many ridges over because she walked all the valleys nearby and not so nearby. No one remembered her name because she had stopped telling it decades earlier. It was a silly name given to her by her parents. A delicate flower of a name that she had spent her life contradicting.

She enjoyed being called THE Old Lady. She had earned it a thousand times over, surviving blizzard, fire, flood.

The Old Lady turned to Companion. “Fly.” The black bird took off then. She turned her gaze to the sky, following Companion up and up. “What a wonder. To fly.”

She turned her gaze on Justice now. “Justice.”

He waited for her to say more and when she did not, he simply asked, “Yes?”

“Do you love this place?”

Justice’s blood turned cold. Why would she ask him such a question? “Uhm...I…I…ye-yes.”

She smiled at him. Whatever her face expressed seemed magnified a thousand times compared to other people. Her smile thawed his blood. It surged through his body and warmed his heart.

She was sunshine when she smiled.

He cleared his throat, straightened his shoulders. “Yes.”

“Would you leave it?”

A jolt went through him. His mind spun a dozen questions in seconds: why, what for, to go where, to do what, how far, forever? Never to come back? What about his mother and father, who would look after the farm? Why? WHY?

He shook his head. “No.”

Her smile faded, but her face still held kindness. “Would you leave it to save it?”

“L-leave…it to…save…save it from what?”

She turned away then and looked down the long, lush valley. A sigh escaped her. “I don’t know…yet.”

He wanted to snort with derision, but you did not snort with derision at The Old Lady. He wished it were someone else delivering this question with no explanation.

He swallowed and said, “Uhm…Old Lady, I do not know how to answer this question. I do not know why you ask me this question.”

She turned back to him. “Something wicked is on our horizon.”

He smiled. “More wicked than the King?”

She looked far into the distance. “It is already on the wind. It is already on its way to us. On its way and…” She closed her eyes; a sudden, brisk gust of wind moved the long waves of her silver hair. “And more behind it.” She opened her eyes and turned her gaze on him. As always, he felt exposed inside the power of her bright eyes. “We need to know what is happening inside the castle.”

He tried to swallow the saliva in his mouth, but his throat seemed paralyzed. Finally, he managed a gulp and said, “And?”

“And the King’s Groom of the Royal Stool is retiring. You could get closer to the King and his minions. The information you could learn would be invaluable.”

Justice stepped back, shaking his head. What came out was a squeak. “Me?”

“You.”

“Me?” he squeaked again.

“You. Your name is Justice.”

“Everybody calls me Just.”

“Everybody is wrong.”

“You’ve mistaken me for my brother.”

“I have not. I am sorry you lost your brother. How I hate to see the young lose their lives.”

“I’m young.”

“You are indeed. And this job suits you perfectly.”

“Why?”

“You have the cleanest cows in Gor—Piddleshitshire.”

“Are you comparing the King to a—”

“Cow? No. To a cow’s ass.”

Justice laughed.

“So, you’ll do it. The Old Groom will train you.”

Justice shook his head. “That’s a High Born job.”

“The King does not trust the High Borns anymore.”

“How do you know this?”

“I have someone inside the Royal Court.”

“Well then! You don’t need me.”

“I do.”

“Why?”

“This ally is not near the King all the time, unlike the Groom of the Royal Stool. We need to know what he is planning. He wants to leave a legacy. Those who want to leave a legacy are often the most dangerous. We need to know what he is planning. Not just for us, but for the kingdom.” She snorted. “As if he hasn’t done enough damage already, malevolent fool.”

“I…I…can’t.”

“You can.”

“This job is not for me.”

“This valley, this place is for you, and this job is for you. It is your destiny.”

His jaw dropped, his eyes widening. Some believed The Old Lady had certain powers. But he never believed it, never believed it until she stood in front of him, telling him his destiny. Never believed it until he knew somewhere deep inside him, she was right.

“It is?”

“It is.”

He stepped toward her again. He steadied his breathing, hoping his voice would follow. “Old Lady. My destiny is to live out my life in peace right here.”

“Here. Where you are always safe?”

“Yes.”

“And not ‘Out There.’ Where Light died.”

Before he could answer, The Old Lady sighed and put her hand on his shoulder. “Then here you shall stay. Until you know it is your turn to go. I will see you again then.” She put her arm up, and in moments, Companion landed and walked up to his perch upon her shoulder. She turned and walked away.

He watched her, shocked at how she was so small in stature, but so large in life. “I’m sorry,” he called after her. Without turning, she waved a hand.

He looked down at Biscuit. “What was that about?”

He looked down the valley for The Old Lady, and couldn’t see her. “Where…” Then he spotted her. “What?”

He could just make her out, a tiny speck on the horizon. “She couldn’t have gone that far.”

The rumours about her powers came back to him. Did her powers extend to divining someone’s fate?

How could she think Justice – Just – was in any way suited to infiltrate the Royal Court, to be a part of what…subterfuge…sabotage? What did she want of him?

They moved under Kendria’s green umbrella. He sat on the grass and opened his leather Cobbler Jane satchel. Wherever he went, he carried with him twelve letters, unopened.

The letters from Light arrived after word of his death reached them via the ever-slow Royal Post. They came from the far corners of the kingdom one by one. Seeing Light’s handwriting on each envelope was like shards of glass scraping through the family’s open wounds.

His parents could not bear to read them. Still, they came. During golden autumn, a crisp white winter, budding spring, and the flowering summer. Each bore the colourful stamp of a different county from farther and farther away. And then the farthest: King’s County. That last arrived during the warmest September Justice could remember. One year since Light had left on his travels.

Jill couldn’t tolerate the letters in the house, so he kept them in the barn. As he touched the stack of bound letters inside the satchel, Justice’s heart ached. He again saw his mother sink to the floor on that day the messenger came. He saw her press her face into the planks there, drag her fingernails across the wood until they bled. Heard again that wail that echoed through his nightmares still.

When he asked his mother if he could please read them, she said, “There are no answers there.”

The messenger’s note told them all. Light had been in the Capitol, Gorgetown, in King Gorge Square, and had turned red in the face. His tongue swelled. He couldn’t breathe. Many tried to help him, but he was gone in minutes. “I am so terribly sorry for your unfathomable loss. I pray your memories bring you comfort. He was a lovely young man…Irene Stone.”

All Justice knew was that Light had died Out There. And back here in Piddleshitshire, one day not long ago, his mother had thrown her arms around him and said, “My son.”

She did not say, “Don’t leave me.” But that was all Justice heard.

He moved his fingers away from the letters and their difficult memories and gripped the book Light had sent him early on the journey Out There. The title of the book was The Golden Ass.

Inside Light had inscribed it, “Does this remind you of someone?” Of course, it reminded Justice of King Gorge.

The Golden Ass of the book wanted to be a bird, so he tried to learn magic. But his stupidity failed him, and he turned himself into a donkey, “The Golden Ass.”

Justice fell asleep soon after he started re-reading the book. He had read it three times. It was as ridiculous as the man Justice thought of while reading. Biscuit nudged him as the sun sank, as she always did. They headed home. Happy.

I’m happy. I’m lucky, and I’m happy. And I’m staying right here being lucky and happy.

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