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The crimson blood ran from his veins like a river. The Drunken King watched as the dagger was ripped free from his stomach and a second blow was delivered. Stab wounds littered his body. His red draped cloak swam about the floor and his blood sunk in with it, creating the illusion of a pool of blood much larger than it actually was. His heart beat slowed. Slowed.
Stopped.
The king fell forward onto the hilt of the assassins last plunge into his flesh. The point had dulled and only the immense weight of the king allowed the dull point to sink inward. He breathed his final words for the assassin to hear, though they'd never be retold.
"Of all the people..."
The assassin smiled under their hood. The teeth shined through the darkness of it and was reminiscent of the Cheshire cat's grin. The assassin ripped the blade free from the corpse that had once been the king. They spat on the king's eye, watched the spittle collect on the corners and drip down, appearing as tears. With the ritual complete, the assassin slipped away into the dark of night. The swimming stars of the cosmos being the only witness of the bloody deed.
Hours later, the king was found dead, stab wounds littered the body, each one had the possibility of being a killing blow. In the corner of the throne room, a jeweled mace lay without any blood on it. The king had fallen without a fight or, at least, not much of one. An assassin's note was left on the throne of the dead king, it wasn't made from the expensive paper the court messengers used, but, rather, from the much cheaper papyrus. Not many in the court of the king could read so they were forced to bring in an old wizard with dwindling vision, he could read though and that was the only thing desired of him.
When this wizard arrived, the king had been swept away and put in a coffin. There was no funeral, no last rites, only a wooden box. The Drunken King was not well liked throughout the kingdom, not even from his own family who were as disgusted with him as the people who the king had ruled. He wasn't even placed in a coffin fit for royalty. Instead, he was stuffed in an old oak coffin and burned. The only thought the people had in his kingdom was; "What a waste of good wood."
As the wizard approached the throne where the letter had been left, he couldn't help but notice how quiet it was. He could feel the eyes of the rest of the court upon him; knights, squires, messengers, jesters, servants. They watched him like he was a stray dog infected with rabies. The air became hush when he put his hand on the letter, even quieter when he opened it, and finally the world seemed to hush entirely when he read it. Only three words were written on it.

His old quivering voice was hushed, but in the quiet of the room, he seemed to be yelling. "You are welcome," said the wizard. He turned around, saw the rest of the court standing still expecting more from him. He only shook his head. "That is... all it says." The court breathed a single, collective, sigh. A jester in the back, dressed in purple and wearing a skull mask, tittered. In other circumstances, the jester would have been killed, beheaded. These were not those circumstances however. He laughed on unhindered by the bulky knights and their menacing axes. The wizard glanced around the room, saw everybody had ceased paying attention to him, and slipped away whilst nobody was looking.
The jester left the castle, his purple dress flayed outward, the mask he wore was grimly close to an actual skull. A black hood was pulled up. The sleeves and legs of his dress were black too, on his chest was a pattern. A cross was in the center with hearts in the top left and bottom right corners, and a laughing mask in the other ones.