The King stared at his son in horror and clutched his chest, his heart beating rapidly.
‘Your cook should have known the difference between blueberries and belladonna.’ the Prince said. ‘I’ve been ingesting a little poison for months, I’ve acquired a tolerance, but not for you.’
‘Why?’ the King gasped through the pain.
’I want to be King and I hate you!’
The Prince finished his sautéed mushrooms and watched his father suffer a fatal heart attack.
Twenty-four hours later the Prince lapsed into a coma and died from mushroom poisoning.
The triumphant jester sat on the throne and laughed.
by Bex Gooding
From: Friday Flash Fiction