An Editorial from the Times-Observer
There are times—usually during some brief flare of civic scandal or the latest controversy over roadworks or tariffs—when a few grumblers will mutter, often over their cups in the tavern, that the monarchy is a relic of a bygone age. They wag their tongues about “modern governance,” “republican virtue,” and the alleged “progress” of those lands that have handed their crowns to bureaucrats and ballot-counters. These poor souls, it must be said, understand nothing of history, nor of the nature of man. For history teaches one immutable lesson: when power no longer bows to the throne, it bows to corruption.
We in the Kingdom of Eyehasseen are fortunate indeed. The Crown stands as a symbol of continuity, of duty without ambition, of authority without greed. The King does not campaign for his position; He inherits it, yes—but He inherits also its burdens, its sleepless nights, its unending obligation to serve the common good of all His subjects. The monarch is not elected to please, nor appointed to profit, but bound by sacred oath to govern in justice and mercy. There is no re-election to scheme for, no donor to flatter, no lobby to appease. There is only the solemn promise to reign well and die remembered as a steward of the nation’s soul.
Contrast this with the hideous carnival of so-called “career politicians.” These are not servants of the people; they are merchants of influence. They speak not in the language of truth but in the dialect of polls and donations. They measure not right from wrong, but risk from reward. Every policy, every vote, every speech is calculated—not for the realm’s benefit, but for their own ascent. They come to power hungry and leave glutted. And when their appetites are finally spent, they leave the country leaner, meaner, and more divided than they found it.
Let us not mince words: career politicians are evil—not because they are flawed (for all men are flawed), but because their very profession rewards deceit and punishes virtue. The more ruthlessly one can manipulate the public’s faith, the higher one climbs. The more shamelessly one betrays his former promises, the more seasoned and “electable” he becomes. They cloak their ambitions in the rhetoric of liberty, but it is liberty for themselves they seek—the liberty to rule without honour, to deceive without consequence, to profit without shame.
In Eyehasseen, we have wisely kept such serpents from nesting at the heart of our government. We have a King. And beneath the King, we have those appointed or elected to serve—stewards of His authority, custodians of His will. They are necessary, yes, for no monarch can be everywhere at once. But make no mistake: their legitimacy derives entirely from the Crown they serve. Their office is a trust, not a throne. When they act with fidelity to His Majesty and the realm, they are to be thanked. But when they act for their own gain, they are to be corrected swiftly and without ceremony.
Indeed, this is the quiet genius of our system: the Crown endures, while ministers and councillors come and go like weather. They are not our masters, but our helpers; and we are not their subjects, but their witnesses. The people of Eyehasseen owe allegiance to the King, and through Him to the divine order of law and right. We owe no such allegiance to the civil servant who sees the office as a career step, or to the alderman who whispers of “modernization” while feathering his own nest.
We must therefore guard against the creeping disease of political self-interest. It begins, as all decay does, in small compromises. A magistrate who bends the rules “just this once” for a friend. A minister who quietly secures a contract for a cousin. A delegate who votes not with conscience but with convenience. Each act seems minor—harmless even—but together they corrode the integrity of governance. And when those acts multiply unchecked, the Kingdom finds itself ruled not by loyal subjects of the Crown, but by petty merchants of power.
It is the duty of every citizen to prevent such rot. The law is the King’s command; the government, His instrument. When that instrument begins to play a tune of its own, it is not music—it is rebellion in disguise. We must remind our officials, politely at first and firmly if needed, that they hold their positions not as proprietors but as borrowers. Their oath is to the realm, not to their ambition. When they forget this, they are no longer servants but usurpers, and the people have every right to demand their removal.
We are not cynics. We know there are good and honest officials in Eyehasseen—men and women who labour quietly for the good of their communities, who see their service not as a rung on a ladder but as a sacred trust. To them, the Crown is not an ornament but a compass. It points toward duty, humility, and the greater good. These are the ones who deserve our respect, for they remind us that even within imperfect human systems, loyalty and honour can still prevail.
But we must also be vigilant. History is filled with nations that began with noble monarchs and ended with grasping assemblies. Once the people forget that kingship is service and politics is vanity, the descent is swift and the recovery long. The republics of the world are full of men who promise salvation at every election, yet deliver only slogans. Meanwhile, we who live beneath the Crown of Eyehasseen enjoy something rarer and truer: a nation guided not by the loudest voices, but by the oldest virtues.
The King is not infallible, but He is incorruptible. He cannot be bought, because He already owns nothing of Himself—His life is pledged to the realm. And in that sacrifice lies the beating heart of our nation. The monarchy is not a chain upon the people, but a shield. It guards us from the chaos of ambition, from the tyranny of faction, from the cold arithmetic of democracy divorced from duty.
So let the tavern grumblers talk. Let the pamphleteers sneer about “modernity.” We who live beneath the Crown know better. We know that a nation with a King may endure the folly of a hundred ministers—but a nation ruled by ministers alone will not endure a single generation.
Long live the King. Long live the Kingdom of Eyehasseen. And may we never forget that our freedom flows not from ballots or bureaucracy, but from the steadfast grace of the Crown.