After the incident with his daughter in the village, Mexxy returned to his banishment with a heavy heart. Confused, alone, betrayed, he drowned out his sorrows with beer, and occasionally allowed a woman or two to coax him into their room. He fathered two more children, whom he never connected with-he couldn't be a parent again. He couldn't feel the pain of not being able to connect with them.

One of his children turned out half-bacca-Jerome. The mother was a witch who used a mortal facade to sleep with him. The other, Liam, turned out mortal for some odd reason, and he didn't even get to see him for two minutes before the mother took him away from him in disgust; she was hoping for him to give her immortal offspring.

Through rumours and whispers, he heard news of Ridge's seventh child being brutally aborted. He smirked when he heard the news-he deserved it.

The King was slowly spiralling into insanity. And Mexxy knew it was only a matter of time before he was kicked off the throne.

______________

It was less than three months later when Deamon sought him out in a little hut he had built in the woods.

"Mexxy" Deamon smiles when he sees him, hugging the ex-king softly. Deamon was Mexxy's rock, who kept him sane, who kept him updated with the outside world. He spoke of Tia sometimes, occasionally telling him big achievements that he had not been able to witness. Her first tooth coming out. Her first time reading a whole page of a book on her own. 

One of the most heart-wrenching things Deamon brought was a picture, scribbles of colours, but the intent was clear. It was him, surrounded by fire, with a halo around his head and angel wings. Granted, it was a stick-Mexxy, with short arms, and wobbly legs, and the fire was nothing more than orange squiggles. But the point got across.

"Deamon" Mexxy smiles lightly, greeting his only friend.

"Word is spreading. A rebellion is coming."

"A rebellion?" Mexxy echoes, eyebrow raising.

"Yes. The people no longer want Ridgedog on the throne-there are plans to kick him off, and put you in his place." Deamon grins. Although he still thought of Ridge as a best friend, he had to admit-being a king was slowly killing his friend.

"Huh. The tables turn at last." Mexxy chuckles, then sighs and shakes his head. "It won't work. I'm not fit to be a king."

"Don't say that!" Deamon hisses, and Mexxy turns to his friend in shock at the determination in his voice. "You WILL be King again, mark my words. You were born for the throne, fair and square. And the people want you. You don't have to do much, just stand in front of a crowd, tell them you're taking over, and then the kingdom is yours!"

Mexxy hesitates. "I'm not sure I want the throne."

"What would your father have done?"

Mexxy stiffens, gripping the table stiffly. "He would have fought for the throne.

"Exactly. So-"

"But I am not my father." Mexxy finishes, looking out of the window. "I can't, Deamon."

"Do it for me" Deamon pleads. "Do it for Tia!"

Mexxy flinches at the name, shaking. "I...I..."

He knew what Deamon was going to say next. Mexxy stared at Deamon, dreading the words coming soon.

"Do it for Carmine."

There it was.

Mexxy's heart felt like it was wrenched from his chest. He physically felt an ache, and memories flicked past his eyes in a heartbeat. Shutting his eyes, tears filled them for a moment, before he clenched his fists, nodding once in silent agreement.

"I'll do it." Mexxy hisses between his teeth, determination flooding his veins. "I'll lead the rebellion."

Deamon smiles in relief. "I'll let you get ready, then." He quickly flies out of the window.

"For Carmine" Mexxy whispers, and he sighs loudly, before following.

____

Sitting upon his throne, Ridge sighs. His pale fingers tighten on the golden arms, the icy metal making his hand withdraw, exploring further up the arm to the soft material padding, tracing the various threaded patterns and stroking the velvet fabric. Ridge had been sat on this throne for quite a while now, yet he had never truly appreciated its beauty.

Reluctantly, he retracts his fingers, and turns his gaze to the colossal room before him, his deep blue eyes lingering on every object-he does not have a lot of time left.

Exactly, in the centre of the room, hanging from the ceiling is beautiful chandelier, with coloured crystals draping low, and pure white candles perched in fragile stands. When darkness fell, and the light was turned on, it always cast such beautiful shadows.

In the corner of the room, a large banquet table is the main attraction, and it is usually filled with an array of different foods; Ridge can almost taste them: roast chicken drizzled with steaming gravy; racks of tender lamb dripping with mint sauce; battered fishes, some as long as your arm; rich soups of all different foreign flavours, and platters of fruit picked fresh from the local orchards. And the desserts-

His stomach rumbles loudly, and he is snapped from his daydream. Hesitantly, he returns to the current situation.

The Mad King, that's what they call him. Sometimes, he would walk among the market stalls with a long black coat and a hood to shield his identity. Amongst the intoxicating spices and perfumes carried from foreign islands, and the swirling dresses, silks and leathers of busy traders, he would hear them. Whispers of his name, rumours of a rebellion to kill the Mad King and put the people's "favourite" on the throne.

Ridge's fingers tighten on the arm of his throne. He hates, he loathes, he abhores Mexxy, right down to his very soul. The damned silver haired ex-prince was getting in the way of his plans, and Deamon was helping him. A pang of annoyance made him shudder-his own best friend is betraying him. 

After the abortion of his seventh child, Ridge knew he couldn't take anything anymore. Emotionally, he's a wreck, and physically, he has definitely looked better. Bags under his sunken eyes, messy hair, and a thin skeletal form which caused his clothes to droop miserably.

As the king recalled the event which was clear in his memory, and his emotions brewed to breaking point, the open room suddenly felt too close, too suffocating; the fire which had dwindled a long time ago provided no heat, leaving the room cold and still.

Ridge shuffles uncomfortably in the silent room, before his head snaps towards the door when he hears a clang outside.

Automatically, his heart begins to pound. The rebellion, his brain is screaming, it's here.

His time is up.

Sluggishly, he rises from his throne, his hand reaching out behind him momentarily to stroke the fabric once more, savouring the feeling on his fingertips. Before he takes his crown from his head and rolls it in between his hands, gazing at every jewel encrusted in it. The gold metal shimmers in the light, like it is winking at him, and he suddenly doesn't feel so attached to it. This crown was supposed to bring him power and happiness. All it brought him was regret and pain.

Footsteps begin to echo as hordes of people were suddenly at the door, hammering at it furiously, chants and yells raking fear down Ridge's spine. And through the brittle glass, he sees the familiar blue and gold coat.

Of course. Mexxy led the rebellion. Ridge snarls angrily at himself, clutching the crown. He should have killed him all those years ago.

"Let us in Ridge-it's over"

Mexxy's voice seemed to drift over everyone elses, and Ridge swallows, glancing down at his crown. Gently, he turns and places it carefully on the seat of the throne.

"I'm here to take my crown back!"

"You're welcome to it" Ridge whispers, taking a long look at the life-ruiner on the throne, before turning abruptly and sprinting towards the wall. He plows through it, and as he freefalls into the clouds, he finally feels free.

__________

When Mexxy and the group finally ram through the door to find the crown perched on the throne, Mexxy suspected a trap. But then he spots the hole in the wall and he puts two and two together.

"Do we follow him?" someone asks.

Mexxy considers. "No. Leave him be for now."

A hand is placed on his shoulder, and he turns to see Deamon grinning at him. "Come on then. Let's get your crown back."

Mexxy returns the grin, before slowly advancing towards the big red chair with golden arms, and the crown on the seat.

Silence fell behind him, and he continued his slow pace until he was right in front of the throne. Glancing down, he looks at the crown quietly, before picking it up. He turns, and almost jumps-the whole room has filled up with people, watching and waiting eagerly.

Mexxy sits. And places the crown on his head.