She looked up at him with eyes
dark and damp with tears no one would ever see again, against the ashen beauty
of her grief-stricken face. Finally, without a word, she bowed her head, leaning forward on her
throne. He raised the Crown of Rule and rested it over her silken hair. He felt
the band tighten across her brow, where she would wear it for all the days of
her life. His fingers brushed through her hair, down her cheek, as he pulled
back, kneeling before her once again. His fate was in her hands.
Tradition dictated her first act
of rule should be one of strength. Kill the messenger who bore the ill tidings
of her father’s death. Despite any fondness, Jazared had sacrificed him,
knowing he would convince the Oracle to accept the Crown.
He dared not speak, to beg for his
life. He waited, head bent, for her decision.
“I was never one for tradition,”
she said softly. He felt a flare of hope as he lifted his head. She held out
her hand, and he reached for it, rising with a deep breath he had not known he
held. She stood up on the dais, as tall as he. Staring into her eyes, he felt
the cold steel slide into his chest, felt the warm blood pulsing out of his
heart across her hand, still pressed against him. “But now I must be Queen,”
she finished.
He staggered and fell to his knees
once more, keeping his eyes locked with hers. He felt a calm resignation.
Acceptance. His sorrow was for her, not himself. When he accepted the
Messenger’s sacred duty, he knew it carried such a fate.
“Long live the Queen,” he
whispered, sinking back on his heels and onto the marble floor. As his eyes
closed, he saw a single tear glisten on her lashes and slide down her cheek for
the last time.
Dogs in house
|
Houdini
|
Music
|
Allegro Classical
2011 Winter Sampler
|
Time writing:
|
~1 hour
|
September word
count:
|
15,524
|
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