The king loved his monkey. He gave the animal the run of the palace, a seat beside the throne, privileges no creature had ever held. The monkey returned all of it as devotion and guarded his master with a whole heart.

One afternoon the king lay down to rest and set his head in the monkey's lap. A fly came. It circled once and settled on the king's cheek. The monkey brushed it away. It returned. He waved harder. It returned again, to the same cheek, the same closed eye, indifferent to him.

The monkey lost his patience. The king's sword lay within reach. He took it up, fixed his eyes on the fly, waited for it to land one last time, and brought the blade down with all his strength. The fly rose and flew off. The king did not.