Navigating the seamless marble hallways, the guards who greeted Simba lead him to the throne room. The doors flung open, and the scene was all too familiar. The metaled helmets of the guards that lined the red carpet shone in the flood of light, separating his line to the steps of the throne from the people gathered for his arrival. Meant to be a whited sepulcher, Simba leapt at the chance to change the end of his father's story.

As he walked forward, the people cheered at his presence, only to turn into low murmurs after a bride was nowhere in sight and no knights to follow him. It was just the Prince that remained, walking up the stairs, locking eyes with his father who sat elegantly on his throne in wait. Davu stood stiffly at the right of his son's regal seat, piercing Simba with his angry eyes. Simba saw his father's face stretch in surprise, a slight look of relief in his face with a smile. His demeanor confused Simba, but he remained firm, eyebrows low on his face and acting the part of the weary hero. On his way to the castle, preemptively planning on deceiving those gathered here today, he roughed himself up as if putting fake cracks on an expensive vase. He had ripped his clothes with a knife, self inflicted a few wounds into his skin, and stained his  uniform with dirt, grass and blood. It was almost overdone considering he was already dirty and wounded from the campsite ordeal, but how else was the people who his father had gathered supposed to see these small details from across the throne room? Simba may not be the King of Sanitatum, but he was the King of drama. He bowed his head in a performative manner.

"I have returned home from the mission." Simba declared, his voice echoing across the hall. His father sat eerily still, Simba assumed grasping at a new plan after his old one began to fall apart.

"I'm glad to see you arrive home, but you appear torn with no Princess and with none of your assigned guards. What happened on your journey, my son?"

Simba remarked to himself how excellent an actor his father was. He sounded genuinely concerned. Though his acting was excellent, Simba was surprised he had given him the opportunity to rewrite the narrative at all. He expected more of a back and forth; a verbal lash of the tongue to win over the people they ruled. Simba should have been grateful he made a mistake; his father didn't make many. Taking advantage of a misstep was necessary to win.

"The witch's magic was too strong. It killed my men, and took the Princess when it fled. I fought as well as I could, but I was overpowered all alone. I'm sorry, father. I couldn't protect them all by myself."

The crowd stirred, gasping exclamations of woe. Simba knew the people feared the curse and it's magic. If he told a fable, no matter how ridiculous, he would find himself in the people's sympathy. He shot a warning glance to his father with furious eyes. His back faced his people so only Kasim could see his face. Kaism swelled into an empty vessel, unreadable and vacant as his son waited for him to make his next move. Simba knew he had him stuck, but his clever strategist of a father wasn't even trying to strike. He let Simba command over him, back him into a corner, and did nothing but look at him. Why?

Kasim suddenly stood, and the hall fell silent. His face tightened, looking down to his son adamantly. Simba knew he had come up with a counter, and his heart skipped a beat as his father's dark eyes glared down onto his face. His smile had now washed away, and any sympathy or concern vanished with it. He waited in anticipation to see if his father would counter the way he wanted. He had prodded the sleeping lion in his own den. Now he roared to life. Good thing Simba was a lion too.

He reached his arm out to Simba, putting his hand on his shoulder again. There was no hesitation this time.

"My son, you did well to fight so valiantly in a battle where my best men died. I apologize for sending you into such a battle without being properly equipped with the strongest my people have to offer."

Simba felt a pain of frustration in his chest. Simba could have used his father's failure to properly evaluate the threat of the mission against him, but Kasim thought of it before Simba could even develop the thought. This was the fight he was expecting, the one he planned for- but Kasim was too late. Simba had already planted the seed of his legendary battle against a threat to the whole realm. He imagined that his imaginary battle against the witch would be written in history books. But he waited to see what would come next, his next move reliant on whether he grabbed the bait or nibbled on the hook. He held his breath.

"You did well to survive, but the Princess still lives too. She is still a captive of this witch, and now goes beyond the name of your future bride. Her safety is of top priority, as we cannot allow a threat of that magnitude to take hostages."

Kasim's voice boomed across the hall. The King now knew his son was in on his plan, surprised he had managed to escape his web he had thought was so elegantly woven together. He supposed even the best web had one weak string. His son was a man of sharp wit, and Kasim found himself cut when left defenseless. He knew his plan unraveled under his son's fabricated story of heroism, but he couldn't let him walk away from this with a free pass to the throne. He had an obligation to do what was best or his people, even if it pained him to enact it. Kasim's guilt was high, but his regal disposition powered through it. He did all he could to prolong his son's ascension to the throne, and he seemed he would have to prolong it a tad longer. He could feel Davu's cold eyes on him, pressuring him to deal with this wrinkle in the ploy, causing a bead of sweat to creep down the back of his neck.

"We will postpone the coronation until we rid this threat to the entire land. You will be in charge of the march to rid this witch from under our noses. Our people cannot live peacefully knowing this threat lurks about. You will bring peace to the land, and save the Princess in trouble."

The crowd behind Simba cheered as he let out a grin of satisfaction. His father's eyes looked back at him, a sadness sparkling behind his stern display. Simba couldn't place this father's animosity. Though bested this time, he was not yet defeated. He could see the reflection of the pollen flecks in his eyes so clearly, as if there were tears being held back in a watery veil. The two looked at one another as the crowd below them celebrated, throwing their hats in the air and exclaiming praise to the Adofo Family. Simba broke the tension between them with a bow and a strong exclamation of his unknown victory.

"I will do you proud, my King."

He descended the stairs, the people in attendance reaching their arms through the wall of soldiers that lined the red carpet in a desperate attempt to get close to the heroic future King of their kingdom. He marched himself down the crowded hall, unable to hide his smile from cracking through his face. By insisting the non-existent Princess was still alive, he opened up the possibility to search for the Princess on his own terms and will a full faculty of soldiers most likely non-the-wiser of his father's plans against him. But he learned enough form the campsite fiasco not to trust his father or anyone associated with him. This mission he would do on his own. He knew exactly where he would be able to find a Princess to "save" and replace this "Hari", now running free in his forest where he belonged. Soon Simba would too be where he belonged, seated in the chair that ascended above the kingdom.

The wooden door slammed behind him, leaving him alone to walk to his chambers, but he wasn't going to his chambers.

"Let's uncover why you did this." Simba muttered, hurrying his pace to the one person that knew more about his father than he did.

Davu watched from Kasim's side as the crowd, now brought into a frenzy by Simba's fictional bravery, was escorted out of the room by the guards. Armor flashed as they crossed the floor striped in yellow light from the windows. He was hardly able to stand still in his frustration. He joined his son, now standing while the people took their leave, watching them file out of the room after the excitement was over.

"He knows," he growled, watching the people below him squirm like ants on the marble floor.

"You underestimated him." Kasim scoffed. Davu sensed the condescension in his tone.

"And you failed to corner him," he snapped back. You let him get what he wanted."

"He gave himself a new mission to find a non-existent princess. He'll run into a wall somewhere in that plan, I'm sure."

"Whose underestimating him now?" Davu said angrily. "He won't be fooled again into using our resources. He will go searching on his own. He will find a way out of the castle and go looking to squirm his way up these stairs to this throne. He is a Prince on a vital mission, and you gave him public consent. We can no longer keep him from his deeds."

He paused, looking towards the huge windows above them with growing anger in his voice. "And what of this Hari? He must be long gone by now. We took a decade to locate him. We don't have the luxury of another one."

Davu sighed, pressing his fingers to his temple.

"Why must I always have to clean up your messes, Kasim?"

Kasim shot him a warning glance. "If you do any more cleaning, I'll have to buy you a maid's uniform."

Kasim spoke with a low tone that bubbled from his throat, snapping in anger as he descended the stairs. Davu was left alone next to the throne. He was well aware of his son's disdain at his acts to protect him. But he needed to do these things, for nothing like this would have happened if he was still King. His son was smart and capable, but he had a flaw he could never get around to be truly great. His unconditional love for his family kept getting in the way of his greatness. If Kasim would just listen to him, this wouldn't have been happening at all. As Davu placed his hand on the throne's armrest, he began remembering what it was like to sit in it years ago and call it his own.

"Funny." He muttered without a smile.