Maliba duAlben, newly coronated Queen of Alben, stepped into her throne room as the fanfare ceased, leaving nothing behind but shimmering echoes. The young queen's hair was done up artfully, plaited with fine wire of precious metals, adorned with gems and blood pearls. Her brown skin had been rubbed with pumice stone, wrapped, then soaked to get every last bit of road dust and travel hardship from it, and it looked soft to the touch. Her dress was black, symbolizing purity, while on her head rode the crown of state, a heavy, ornate piece of jewelry that predated the Lich Kings themselves. The new queen was young, still under the age of majority, and just barely of the age where she could sit on the throne, assisted by a regent and the council or not. Even at fourteen her face was grave as she walked toward the dais at the far end of the throne room, the heels of her shoes clicking on the inlaid tile floor.

Her face gave no clue as to how badly it hurt to see the new tile laid on the floor around the throne. The throne itself had been repaired at the same time as the floor, but the tile still reminded the young queen of what had happened.

When the Queen of the World, IV, had been destroyed the backlash had slain powerful arcane wielders throughout the Six Worlds. The Queen of the Arch-Duchy of Alben had been a powerful sorceress, as had the young queen's sister, the Crown Princess. Both had burst into flame, burned by their own arcane energies from inside out.

The bronze kobold that moved forward with the young queen flicked his fan-like ears at the sight of the replaced tiles. His egg-mate had stood with the Queen and the Crown Princess, and had been filled with magical power that would have eventually blossomed and made her the Princess of the Kobolds who resided within the Arch-Duchy of Alben, but the backlash of IV's death had consumed her just as it had consumed the Queen and Crown Princess.

Before that terrible moment the young girl who drew close to the throne was known as the Princess in Exile, dwelling in the Seven Sisters far to the north by treaty and custom. The Queen Mother of the Seven Sisters had managed to survive the death of the immortals, and had informed young Maliba that she was now the Queen of Alben. When Maliba had begun to weep the Queen Mother had taken Maliba's chin in her cold white hand and informed her in an icy voice that a Queen was not permitted to cry for herself, only for her people and her country. Told her to draw strength from her duty, the loyalty of her people, and her vision of the greatness her nation was capable of.

Ritual and custom had made it so that it took nearly three months before the Queen Mother ordered her daughters, several of the Seven Sisters, to unbind the ritual chains the young girl wore. Once that was done she had been paraded through the streets before being moved by caravan back home. There had been state visits, cheering crowds, and condolences the entire route. Every parade, every royal or noble condolence, every cheer had rent her heart, but she'd gathered about her the cold detached mantle the Queen Mother had given her through example and wisdom. She'd stared at the gathered crowds, thanked people for their condolences, and gathered that mantle about herself while in public. In private, she'd wept. For her mother, for her twin sister, for a father that had died defending the Six Worlds from the tyranny of the Lich Kings before she could walk. Her companion, the great bronze kobold Karka, had held her, petting her hair and making soft noises to comfort her, just as she had comforted him as he wept for his mate that he had once shared an egg with. In public, none of that was evident; the icy shell she had learned from the Queen Mother had protected her.

That same mantle was draped about her as she slowly ascended the dais, the young girls who carried the train of her gown sweeping around her to carefully fold and set the train on the padded throne. The Master at Arms, a broad shouldered Loyalty Bound who had died defending the very throne room he eternally watched over, slowly drew his sword. Light flared from it as the runes filled with an inner fire, and as Maliba sat down he slammed the flat of the blade against the heavy engraved and enameled shield thrice.

"Queen Maliba duAlben is now enthroned." The massive undead boomed, his deep voice rolling through the throne room.

The gathered nobles, many of whom had not seen the young queen before the coronation in the palace courtyard just a mere hour earlier, knelt down on their left knee, their right hand balled into a fist and pressed against the tile while their left hand shaded their eyes. The pose was in honor of the farmers who fueled Alben with grain and worked the vast farms and ranches. Many nobles were content with the pose, but flickering rage shown in more than a few eyes at having to adopt such a subservient pose.

Maliba settled into the throne, raising her chin slightly. Unlike the nobles she wore no makeup, the only jewels her adornments of office. Other jewels would come in time, grateful tokens, badges of rank, and physical representations of things that would pass into history bearing her name. Her brown eyes stared at the assembled nobility as she made a motion at the Master of Arms.

The massive undead sheathed his sword, snarling with arcane energy, with a crack as the sheath suppressed the sword's mystical energy. "Queen duAlben gives permission for those assembled before her to rise." Despite the new queen's unfamiliarity with the customs of what had become her court, the imposing Loyalty-Bound knew customs, rituals, and formulae that others no longer remembered. Maliba felt a source of gratefulness toward the massive figure as he continued. "Queen duAlben has returned."

"Long live the Queen." The gathered nobles said softly as they slowly got to their feet.

"How has the Land and the People fared in my absence?" Maliba asked.

Some nobles rustled as she used unfamiliar phrasing. The Loyalty-Bound remained motionless. He had stood for queen after queen, now thrice seeing a Princess in Exile take the seat of Queen in Residence, and knew that the eternal Queen Mother left deep impressions upon the young girls who sat at her feet.

It was still acceptable within ritual to the massive Loyalty-Bound.

The murmuring of a few of the nobility was not. His burning amber gaze swept across the nobility, and they immediately calmed, going still beneath the weight of the undying gaze.

Lord of the Interior Larmak, who had served the crown since he was a small boy who ran errands for his father, who had been a secretary in the office of the Lord of War, stepped out of the line of nobles, a young girl carrying a stack of scrolls in her arms following him. The elderly man bowed stiffly before his new queen, not out of anger, but out of simple age.

"The Land and the People have survived the fall of the Lich Kings." Larmak stated. A simple statement that had been cast in doubt many times during the terrible war.

Some faces still paled at the mention of the nearly omnipotent figures that had ruled the Six Worlds with an iron fist for eons, but a few had the smug look of someone who considered themselves superior to the fallen on the mere basis that they were alive.

"I am pleased to know the Land and the People given unto me as precious jewels have survived. I wish details as to how they fare and how I may seek to ensure that Alben remains a jewel upon the crown of the Red City." The young queen stated.

Some of the gathered nobles felt fear fill them at the cold and detached sound of her voice and the strange phrasing, but a glance at the Master at Arms showed that he was unmoving, his eyes still a cool amber of approval.

Larmak looked nervous as he turned and picked up the scroll at the top of the stack. Another young girl ran up and knelt in front of him, allowing him to drop the bottom of the scroll in her outstretched hands. He unrolled the top, stared at the top row of figures, and those close enough saw his hands begin to shake. Some saw his shoulders shake slightly and wondered exactly what the Lord of the Interior had to say that could cause this much fear in the man. Some secretly hoped he was about to be forced to admit to some wrongdoing and thus be forced to step down, opening up a powerful office to any who could grasp it.

"Since the leaders of all sides of the war were destroyed, citizens of Alben who had marched to war have been slowly returning. In some cases they were announced, in other cases it was quiet, and in some few cases small groups who have returned from the war have homesteaded on abandoned farms regardless of their nation birth." His voice was deep and smooth, calming despite the stress that some could hear in his voice. "In the last six months nearly a quarter-million men and women of various races who were assumed to be lost to the war have returned, and over three hundred thousand living beings have returned to fair Alben." He nodded toward the large bronze kobold that sat beside the young queen. "We do not have full numbers on how many kobolds have returned, but from what we understand, many chose to stay wherever they were when the war ended." The kobold nodded stately. "However, over fifty-thousand have returned, bringing with them nearly a quarter millions eggs with them."

Many of the nobles had begun to relax, giving into boredom at what was just another accounting of how many soldiers were returning home from the war. Each month the numbers grew, but to most of the nobles it was old news, as they knew how the returning numbers had swollen their own lands. The young queen broke into Larmak's carefully cadenced speech.

"These numbers are meaningless without knowledge of the full effect this war has had upon the Land and the People entrusted to my care." Maliba stated, her voice cold but still full of authority. "Do you have a report prepared to tell me the full cost of our war to free ourselves, and what it has cost that precious jewel which is Alben which has been entrusted to me?" Again the cold detachment and strange phrasing brought chills to many nobles.

Larmak nodded, quickly rolling the scroll upwards, filling the part he held by winding the paper around it. He reached a part toward the bottom, his eyes looking back and forth, and once again his hands began to shake.

"How badly has the jewel entrusted to me suffered, Larmak?" The queen asked, her voice hardening slightly.

Larmak swallowed, still looking at the scroll in front of his eyes. The queen stared at her advisor, a thin, careworn man whom the Lich King War had ground to a pale shadow during his lifetime. He was holding the scroll and staring at the numbers on it white faced. The young queen's heart went out to the careworn man, but she had her duty and she would not shrink from it, nor allow anyone else to shrink for theirs.

"How bad, Lord Larmak?" The queen repeated. Her voice was cold, implacable, and could not be denied. "Start at the beginning and move on from there."

The Lord of the Interior opened his mouth, closed it, tried again, only making a choking noise, then managed to speak after clearing his throat. "Your Majesty, as you may or may not know, the Arch-Duchy of Alben had a human population of two point five million citizens at the beginning of the Lich King War. This was according to the Lich King census completed the year before. In the intervening century and a quarter our human population had dropped to one point two nine million living people." His hands started to tremble. "Based on the recorded birth rate, infant mortality rate, and mean life expectancy, the Royal Census Bureau has determined that the Lich King War cost the Arch-Duchy of Alben forty-seven," here his voice faltered, and his hands shook harder. "Ahem, forty-seven million human lives."

The entire court became silent as the terrible cost sunk in, and everyone heard the Lord of the Interior as he continued to tally up the death toll of the Lich King War. Millions of Phaelan, over a billion goblins, billions of kobolds, thousands of elves, an entire generation of forgekin; the toll went on and on. Hundreds of millions of tons of food, ore, and lumber. Billions of coin in defense, rebuilding, aid, military spending, medical care, and more.

The list went on and on, and the young queen held tight to her throne as each number crashed into her like a wave. Someone began sobbing, someone else joined them, and soon the court was either sobbing or stoically staring at the Lord of the Interior as he delivered some of the worst news.

"It appears that at least seventy five percent of the last three generations of kobolds have regressed into Summer Peepers rather than reach adulthood." He finished.

The great bronze kobold beside the young queen gave a low mourning cry, swaying slightly as he heard the terrible news that broke through the stoicism that kobolds were famous for. His body went rigid and then he slumped, his fan-like ears snapping closed and pressing against the sides of his head. The young queen reached out and set her hand on the round knob at the back of his head, gently stroking. Crooning softly the bronze raptor laid his head in the queen's lap, tears rolling from his eyes at the news that whole generations had been lost. Summer Peepers never grew up, refused to enter adulthood, and remained for years or decades as small mischievous infants. They could rarely be rescued, rarely be convinced to grow up, and that great amount meant that for a brief period of time the members of the kobold race who lived in Alben had been under such stress that huge amounts of eggs and peepers had gone without songs from adults to teach them to grow up.

"Inform the Red City so that they may inform the Eternal Elba that her chosen people, given unto me to watch over, are in danger and Alben requests that she bring her grace to its fair Land so that her people may feel her touch." Maliba said, her fingers moving to stroke the long neck of the weeping raptor. She thought for a second. "I will prepare a missive in my own hand, one that the Senate of the Red City may forward, and another one that my Karka will have prepared so that he may speak for his people.

"Milady, that last part is most unusual..." Began one of the noblemen, from the house Valtun.

The queen turned and stared at the man, seeming to draw up slightly, seeming to get larger. It was a trick she had learned from the Queen Mother, to remind them, without words, without threats, who was in charge.

"As is the death of eternals, titans, immortals and gods, the loss of the flower of generations, and the breaking of the power of the Lich Kings." The queen said with a steady cadence to her voice. Neither her words nor tone showed distain for the nobleman or ridiculed him, but the man flushed angrily and stepped back all the same.

"Has my aunt been notified of my mother's death?" The young queen asked, looking over at the Vizier. The bearded man nodded slowly, his eyes still red with grief at the loss of the previous queen. "And her reply?"

"Your Majesty, the Queen in Exile ordered me to inform you that she is coming to your assistance with all due haste, but wishes me to remind you of the savage injuries she sustained at Sky Arch Pass." The Vizier answered.

Maliba thought for a moment, looking down at the weeping kobold, then looked at the Vizier. "Tell the Queen in Exile that my Karka needs her to bring her Aktak, so that the two bronzes may comfort one another."

Her fingers never stopped stroking the kobold, trying to ease his grief and comfort the weeping reptile. The Vizier nodded and withdrew, bowing once. He recognized the power that infused the young queen, having grown to adulthood in the Seven Sisters before joining the Iron Legion and eventually settling down and becoming the Vizier of Alben, his appointment coming from the Senate of the Red City.

With that matter taken care of, the young queen turned and stared at the Lord of Blood and Heraldry, the woman in charge of keeping track of marriages, bloodlines, and who was permitted to show what sigils. She was elderly, and had served as her own house's Keeper of Honor for over two decades before Maliba's mother had elevated her to the court position. At a slight hand motion to the Master at Arms the large undead took a step forward.

"Let the Lord of Heraldry approach. Her Majesty the Queen desires to hear her words." The Master of Arms said.

He moved to the elderly woman and stiffly held out his arm crooked at the elbow, so the tiny woman could lay one hand on his massive armored forearm, by his elbow, and be escorted to stand before the queen. Behind her came two little page girls, both carrying scrolls.

The Lord of Heraldry, when prompted, spoke of how over thirty of the forty-five noble houses were at danger of being declared empty. That meant that there were no marriageable age members nor anyone capable of reproducing the line. It did not count those members who were undead, who remained in positions within the family's hierarchy due to loyalty and duty. The houses were either empty of the living, or any living members were not of marriageable age, or could not or would not marry. Of the fifteen Great Houses six were in danger of being declared empty houses, while four were empty, three of those not even containing active undead or eternals, existing in name only.

The queen sat stoic during the toll that the war had levied on the noble houses. Some of the houses had been established during the First Age, with lines tens of thousands of years old, now extinguished by the brutal crucible of the Lich King War. Each house was listed, with their standings, living and undead members, and the last known dispositions of those who had marched off to war.

"House Ralvden, Fourth of the Great Houses of Alben, has a few positions filled." The Lord of Heraldry replied after taking a sip of water to refresh her voice. "While it is the third largest house in lands, people and wealth, as I have stated, its allied houses as well as those houses who owed allegiance to House Ralvden, were badly mauled by the war. The house currently only has two living members, only one of those of marriageable age, the other is adolescent."

"What of the Warlord Bloody Elshon?" The Queen asked. "Was she not a living member of House Ralvden?"

The Lord of Heraldry checked her scroll, then looked back up. "The whereabouts of Bloody Elshon are currently unknown. It is assumed that she has left Alben to carve out a kingdom of her very own.

"She has abandoned her House?" Someone asked, shocked that someone would turn way from their duty at such a time.

The Lord of Heraldry shrugged. "Or died of her wounds after her defeat of the Lord High Marshal of the Lich King forces. From the tales that have come to my ears, she defeated him in single combat." He rattled the paper slightly. "Warlords, such a Bloody Elshon, often turn their eyes to wild-lands or unclaimed lands in order to carve out their kingdom, unwilling to wage war upon the nations of their birth." He chuckled slightly. "It's been that way since Warlord Lon carved out the Von-Lon Empire rather than declaring war upon Novack-Zuk during the First Age."

"Pray, continue. We will revisit the subject of the Warlord Bloody Elshon at another time." The Queen said. The Lord of Heraldry nodded, took another sip of water, and continued reading out the price Alben had paid to throw off the yoke of the Lich Kings.

The Queen of the Arch-Duchy of Alben listened carefully as the toll went on and on. The armor that the Queen Mother had gifted her with, a carefully crafted mask of authority and calm, never slipped.

Inside she wept.