Trial of the Small Lion

I was born in a castle of echoing gold, where love learned to look away. Books were my armor, a laugh my shield, I drank truth from darker casks each day. Brothers carried banners, I carried names they spat like rust; So I sharpened wit on every slight and taught my tongue to trust. Measure me by inches if you must— I measure men by promises and dust. Every hall becomes a court where eyes deliver sentence, Every jest a mask I wear to bargain for my presence. Put me under lantern light, weigh bone against my worth; You’ll find a ruthless mind that learned to fight from birth. I’m not your monster—just the man you feared to see, Standing on the edge and arguing for me. I steered a city made of knives, played Hand to a crown that burned. Green fire bloomed upon the bay, and tides of iron turned. A scar was etched across my face, but victory kept the score; Small men can lead giants when the giants won’t lead war. Gold lions roar; I answer with a grin— If brawn writes laws, then brains will write the win. Every hall becomes a court where eyes deliver sentence, Every jest a mask I wear to bargain for my presence. Put me under lantern light, weigh bone against my worth; You’ll find a ruthless mind that learned to fight from birth. I’m not your monster—just the man you feared to see, Standing on the edge and arguing for me. I gambled love and lost it all to pillows, pearls, and lies; A father’s justice smelled of pride and crossbow ash and sighs. I crossed the sea in broken wine, hid wisdom in my shame; Advising queens and counting costs, I bartered blood for aim. Here I stand beneath their chandeliers—accused by gasp and rumor. I did not slay their darling king; I’m tired of being humor. What I confess is simpler still: since breath one I’ve been judged. If truth can’t live in gilded rooms, let steel and gods begrudge. Bring forth your champions of hate; I’ll answer with my scars— A life spent in the dock has taught me how to argue stars. Every hall becomes a court where eyes deliver sentence, Every jest a mask I wear to bargain for my presence. Hammer falls, the gallery howls—I do not bow or bend; The mind that they dismissed becomes the means to end their end. Call me what you will, then watch what I become— A small lion in the dark, and the dark is where I’ve won. Pour the wine and pass the map; the board is set anew. I’ll play the game in honest lies until the game is through.