William stormed into his private chamber, which did not look like it belonged on a plane. The carpet was plush and red, and always made him feel like he was walking through flames.
Elaborate chandeliers hung from the ceiling and tinkled prettily whenever there was turbulence. In the corner, a four-poster bed was stuffed with the feathers of a thousand geese. The walls were a veneer of marble – his engineers had insisted thick slabs would impact on the plane’s speed, the worthless cretins. On them hung his most treasured paintings. He’d ordered them to be placed here so they could be with him at all times; his jet was more of a home than any of his castles, thanks to his frequent travels.
William stopped in front of the portrait of his parents.
‘You understand, don’t you, dear Mother and Father? You understand why I have to have her.’
Arthur and Catherine James gazed upon him with implacable expressions. His father was dressed in a suit that cost more than most people’s annual income, and wore a black rose on his lapel. He looked like William, but more fleshed out, healthier and harder. He had been merciless in business, and taught William some harsh lessons – and William had learnt them well.
Catherine was the more intimidating of the two, a raven-haired woman with a prouder jawline than either husband or son. Any threat to her family had been answered with calculated reprisal, and she had no qualms about throwing the weight of their vast fortune or network of contacts against anyone she felt deserved it. With William she had often been distant, but it made the times when she was warm all the more precious.
This painting was among the few in his collection that he had not painted himself, yet it was his most valued. It never occurred to him that there was a lesson in that.
‘She clearly belongs in my collection,’ William told them. ‘Beauty is just an idea unless it can be possessed!’
Just like love, he thought, his eyes growing misty.
William’s parents had been killed when he was just nineteen, run off the road on the way home from a function. The other car had not been found, and even though it had never been proven, William had always suspected foul play. His parents had had plenty of ruthless business rivals, and any of them could have been responsible.
Whoever the culprit, William was satisfied they had been served justice. Having learnt everything his parents had to teach him, he had taken over their empire and run all their competitors into the dirt. He had sunk billions into acquiring every bit of the Kingdom he could, every asset money could buy. The KG had started as a private security firm contracted to guard him at all times, but as their ranks and funding swelled, they had grown into William’s private army.
After that, no king, queen, politician or businessperson had been able to stand against him. And once he had discovered the Grail and the Ring, taking ultimate control of the Northern Kingdom was easy.
‘I guess,’ he told his parents, ‘if you had not died, I might not have taken over so completely.’ William paused, as if waiting for a response. ‘Yes, as far as silver linings go, that one sparkles brightly.’
Still, whether William would admit it to himself or not, he resented his parents for leaving him so suddenly. Abandoning him to the wolves, the hangers-on. Everyone wanted something from him. No one could be trusted. The only thing that could be trusted was wealth, power, and the things it could get you.
He moved to the next portrait. It depicted three men, and he’d enjoyed painting it very much.
At school, William’s poor health and awkward manner had left him without friends. It seemed that not even his family’s vast wealth was enough to make him popular. Then one day, aged sixteen, he’d had an idea. He paid a trio of popular boys to include him in their circle. They had taken his money and, for a day, pretended to be nice to him. All was going to plan until the other kids started to tease the trio for befriending the school dropkick, and, without skipping a beat, they had turned on William and beaten him up.
Decades later, it had been easy enough to track them down. Now their portrait reminded him not to trust anyone.
‘Enjoying the view, lads?’ William said jovially. ‘Might have some new company to hang beside you soon. Would you like that?’
The three men stared back with fear in their eyes, fear which William had chosen to keep in the picture when he painted them.
‘Oh, you must be lonely,’ he chuckled, ‘and missing your families. I wonder if your wives have moved on by now. How are your kids? Hopefully not beating up anyone at school!’
William moved back to the middle of the room and addressed the entire collection.
‘In any case, I’m excited to let you all know that you will soon be joined by my latest and greatest acquisition: the beautiful Golden Unicorn. You’d enjoy that very much, wouldn’t you?’
The paintings stared back at him, as lifeless and static as ever.
‘Of course you would!’ said the Collector, and laughed. ‘And the good news is, you won’t have to wait long!’
