The four princes of the holy Queendom were renowned throughout the land for their beauty, intelligence, and wit, and the matter of which lucky noblewomen they’d be married off to was a constant point of gossip around the palace, until the queen’s most loyal advisors betrayed her.
The coup was swift and well-coordinated, and the queen was quickly forced to flee into exile. The first order of business for the conspirators was to divvy up the land’s greatest prizes amongst themselves.
The General selected the proud, gallant firstborn, whose dreams of leading an army himself would crumble before the demands of a true battle-hardened warrior. Before long he would diligently warm the old wolf’s cold tent on campaigns to put down rebellions across the land.
The Archpriestess would take the rebellious, dashing second-born, and urged him to humble himself before the Goddess and her representatives. She spent many evenings in prayer, muttering hymns as the maverick prince kissed her feet and begged the Goddess for forgiveness.
The Chancellor took the studious third-born, training him to be useful to her in many ways – in public he was her focused administrative secretary; in private he was her footstool when work was long, her punching bag when work was hard, and her personal whore when work was over.
And the Chamberlain took the docile youngest, dressing him in fine jewels and sheer silks before leading him around the palace on a silver leash, her peals of laughter echoing off the walls for all to hear as the prince’s face turned redder than the rubies around his neck.
To the victors go the spoils.