rumored that the drought is punishment from the Great Kings, a sentence directed almost solely at Scar himself. It is not known by the other lionesses why this could be. Perhaps it is his constant misuse of the lands and of its resources. Or that his leadership pales in comparison to that of his predecessor, Mufasa.

 

                Perhaps it is his disregard of the wise shaman Rafiki, who many claim has the ear of those above and can beseech the overlords to cause drought and famine if so desired – and, conversely, rain.

 

                Scar shrugs this off as nonsense – pure, unthinkable, inscrutable nonsense. He will not rely on some monkey to bring the rains – it is nonsense. They will come when they come. We cannot predict the weather, nor can we control it. We do what we must.

 

                Moments turn to minutes, which pass with nary a voice or sound of steps toward his chamber. Scar is perturbed, his teeth bared forebodingly as he crouches toward the back of the dark room. The cries outside have become more alarmed and frequent, but the king is impassive. The fire will not travel to his quarters. He is safe.

 

                Again he thinks: She will come. She must come. She always comes. Yes, my queen, yes.

 

                He hears a snapping of a twig nearby. His yellowed eyes dart forward hastily. A young lioness stoops at the entrance, glancing around the circular cavern. Scar smiles.

 

                “Nala,” he speaks once. The lioness jumps, spinning around to face the direction of the voice. Scar slinks out of the shadows, coming into full view. Her gaze narrows.

 

                “Your majesty. I knew I’d find you here.”

 

                “Ah, looking for me, were we?” says King Scar, his words venomous. “I’m flattered, really. But what for, hm?”

 

                He prowls toward the lioness. “You are late, after all. Your hunting report was due by sundown. Surely it is far past that time by now.”

 

                Nala stares at the old king incredulously. “Do you even realize…”

 

                “Perhaps there was no report at all,” the king begins to circle his prey – slowly, as if she were a little zebra he did not wish to startle and cause to run away for all it was worth. “Perchance you are here for a different –”

 

                “A quarter of our land is aflame, as Sarabi already told you. I came merely to get our king to come lead his kingdom in its time of need,” she says.

               

                “Oh, give up,” growls Scar, shooting a furtive glance toward the entrance. “There is nothing I or any other can do. It is the will of the land, Nala dear.”

 

                “If you only visited Rafiki—”

 

                “The monkey can die in this blaze as far as I’m concerned.”

 

                “And if he does, your kingship will be even more doomed than it is now.”

 

                Scar pads away from his company, his head downcast in a look of sorrow and regret. “Doomed. You are right, Nala. I am doomed.”

 

                Nala feels a twinge of consideration for the king, thinking she has perhaps gotten through to him, but her conscience gets the best of her and she snaps back to reality. Scar’s words drip with apathy.

 

                He speaks again. “For you see, Nala, I am without a queen.”

 

                “Clearly.”

 

                The king’s head swivels to face her. “And that, I must say, is not the will of the land.”

 

                “Hm.”

 

                “Perhaps my focus since I assumed the throne has been a little… off.” He is pacing again.

 

                “Can’t disagree there.”

 

                Scar sees this as an opening. “So you agree?”

 

                More cries outside. “I think the fact that we’re having this conversation right now all but confirms that.”

 

                “Yes, indeed…” the old king glowers at the lioness – hungrily. She is perfection, he thinks. Every lustrous curve proves this. I must possess her.

 

                King Scar takes a step forward. “Then why not make this official, my dear?”

 

                Nala shoots him a bemused look. “…what? What do you mean?”

 

                “Oh, I think you know precisely what I mean,” rumbles Scar.

 

                The lioness is taken aback momentarily, still unsure of the king’s intentions. Shaking this off, she turns toward the mouth of the chamber. “Then come, we must find Rafiki. He can stop this. He can bring the rain.”

 

                Scar sighs languidly. “Still on about the monkey, are we? Let him die.”

 

                “Scar!” she roars, her face contorted into an expression of rage. “Come. Do you wish to right your wrongs or not? This can be fixed, if only you’d just listen!”

 

                “I could say the same of you.”

 

                The statement causes Nala to miss a beat yet again, before she shouts, “Regain your focus, Scar!”

 

                “Oh, but I have.”

 

                He leaps toward her.

 

                It is a combination of the darkness and being caught so off guard by his advances that causes Nala to be conquered quite quickly. Scar is on her almost instantly, pinning her down, a claw on his right paw unsheathed and pressed firmly against her neck. The lioness cries out, but her howls are muffled by the king’s other paw.

 

                “Why must we do things the hard way?” he whispers sinisterly, his muzzle not even a pawbreadth from her left ear. The lioness whimpers.

 

                “I have been patient,” he continues. “Oh, have I. Waiting for you this evening, my dear, has been oh-so-tempting.”

 

                Nala whispers something, but it is unintelligible against the rock floor and Scar’s

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