The gossiping gentry crowding the public hallways fall silent when they see her. She ignores their stares and pageantry. They gather to mourn and seek answers, but they’ll receive nothing from her; behind every smile is a dagger. She hesitates in the doorway watching Lord Richard and Beckham argue next to the throne.

The two men bicker in hushed tones, never breaking eye contact. Lord Richard’s cheeks flush, he’s clean shaven, bald with tuffs of grey hair smooth behind his ears. Yesterday they answered to her father’s authority but now it’s hers they obey. Beckham’s eyes narrow as he inspects his new leader. The men bow, Lord Richard voices his deepest condolences; and she almost believes him.

“My apologies Your Majesty for the interruption,” Beckham interjects, “but we must speak with you,”

“Yes, of course, my lord. What is so urgent?”

“Your Majesty, please sit.” She pauses before the isolated chair as if she’s trespassing on sacred ground. A vision of her father’s hollow form flickers, white eyes gaze upon her before the man vanishes once again. When she remains standing Beckham smirks, “Your Majesty looks most radiant.”

“Move along my lord. Tell me why you call me away from my prayer.”

“I trust your father made you aware of the preparations for our new colony off the coast?” You made sure he did no such thing. “Two ships are sitting at port, they were planning on leaving today, however, the king’s passing prevented them from doing so.” Her eyes narrow, mangy hound.

“You see, Your Majesty,” Lord Richard interrupts, “the Admiral refuses to launch, requesting the day for the men to— however, a delay means missing this tide putting everything behind schedule. I fear the threat of storms and other nautical issues (you needn’t concern yourself with) will prove hazardous.”

“Frankly, the Admiral is insubordinate. Departure orders with your signature will—”

“Wait, do you mean the ships I saw anchored outside the harbour when I first arrived are still there? Those ships?” None of them respond, Richard clears his phlegmy throat glancing at Beckham. “No matter. This is a period of mourning. The ships will remain at the port until the king is laid to rest.” His lack of remorse surprises her; did he care so little for her father?

“Don’t allow the settlers to suffer the dangers of the ocean crossing—”

“Three days is all I require. They are moving off the coast my lord, not across the ocean. If the Admiral considers it safe to delay, then I’m not arguing with a seasoned sailor.”

“Your Majesty, I insist.”

“You don’t get to insist. Not here. Not now. There is no more discussion on this matter.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” they mumble as she storms from the dais joining Eclipse in the shadows.

“Was that necessary?”

“Are you going to question me as well?”

But his silence is his only response.

His people viewed him as a Mage King, but she knew his truth. To conclude his lie, she conducts his burial befitting a Mage of his position. As Royal Decree, the third day of the monarch’s funeral concludes with a procession through the kingdom to a pyre outside the Gate. A team of eight horses, their mane braided with white ribbons, pull the coffin throughout the cobblestone streets. Leading the procession is the bishop who sings of Paradise and eternal peace in the bosom of the Goddess.

Mourners stand shoulder to shoulder as they sing the chorus with the bishop. Their despondent voices hang in the air; trapped between grief and divine salvation cracking with sobs. She trails behind, with Lex and Zack on either side, in the shadows of the panther adorned banners. At her grandfather’s burial, her father explained the royal family belongs to the people. Her own birth is a birth for every mother and death is shared by all.

Today there’s no tears to cry; no pain to feel. Her father’s sacrifice, meant to redeem his integrity, fans a dormant fury inside her. Whispers in the corridors tell how his last act proved he was the man in his youth, but in reality, it was a pathetic attempt to stay relevant. Careless, she thinks. He could’ve killed them all with a stunt like that. In truth, he failed her, and she lives with the consequences.

They reach the pyre at sunset; the breeze gathers the material of her veil. The hill over looks the kingdom behind her, the dense forest to the southeast, and a shimmering lake to the west. The Priest offers her the torch, as expected, it’s her grim duty to finish the ceremony.

“Take it, my child,” he nods, “release his soul to Paradise, to Our Mother Alona.”

You’re dead and I’m alone. The torch is hers to bear and she tosses it without hesitation. Without grief. The flames consume him, blacken the white shroud, and devours the body. Chris observes her through the fire. His hands shoved deep into his pockets and his soft eyes studying her every act. Let him stare. He has no hold over me.

The flames engulf the pyre. As the charred ashes kisses the twilight sky she realises, despite her efforts, she is in the exact position she dreads; wearing a crown she can’t understand. Anger buries her sorrow as it boils through her veins.

A week after the funeral, she unlocks her mother’s parlour for the first time, since her death eight years ago, and converts it into her private office. Servants move her father’s papers and dockets to the room, and one by one she reads every page. Hours pass, her own notebook overflows with scribbles and questions as she tries to make sense of the task she’s left with.

She sips her tea in a cushion chair facing the ivory curtains obstructing the late-night storm rocking the glass. The financial documents glare from her lap, the columns and numbers revealing superfluous spending. Pulling her eyes from the margins, she glances at the crystal sparrows perched in a gold birdcage near the window. After a well needed dusting, they glimmer in the candlelight. Finally, Lord Rose’s precious gift is on display once again.

“It is ideal for the preparations for your coronation to commence immediately.” Eclipse speaks from the desk buried under another stack of papers.

“Ideally,” she pretends to read invoices.

“Technically, preparations should already be in place.”

“Technically.”

“You can not avoid this anymore.”

“I’m not avoiding it. I’m not ready.”

“But you are.”

“I’m the one who decides whether I’m ready or not.” She bites back. “Let’s just get through these invoices, there’s a lot left to do.” Eclipse returns to the desk reviewing records in silence. Sensing another late night, she takes the empty teapot into the hallway where a servant waits on a bench.

“Stop, you can’t! It’s not protocol!” yells a voice from the end of the hall.

“Shut up!” Chris barks, “get a doctor!”

Chris shuffles towards her, with a barely conscious man hanging off his shoulder. The servant doesn’t give up, he follows them insisting they leave the royal wing. The frantic footsteps round the corner, and a group of three women in soaking travelling cloaks rushes towards them. In the candlelight, she recognizes Nicole, no longer dressed in elegance and diamonds, but a muddy dripping cloak over a grey torn dress. Her flush exhausted face matches that of her entourage.

“Nicole?” the pot slips from her fingers, shattering in pieces. Tears well in her eyes, as she steps over the shards and embraces her friend. “Did she hurt you?”

“Luckily we got away in time,” answers one of the girls as Nicole sobs in her arms, “but Westley needs help— the soldiers followed us all the way to the border.” She motions to the young man Chris struggles to hold upright.

“Get the doctor,” she orders the servant. “Blankets, hot tea, and food. Prepare rooms. All of you in here.” Chris helps the man to a chair where his quick hands move in a fury, removing the wet layers, pushing her papers from her desk for the doctor’s tools, and ripping her shawl. He shoves the bundle in the third girl’s hand and directs her to apply pressure from a dripping head wound. The sight of blood sends Nicole into a panic. Moira guides her to a small sofa beside the unlit fire. The other woman follows, pulling an ottoman beside the princess and takes her hand.

“It’s too awful for words,” Nicole sobs. A servant enters with tea and the wide-eyed doctor who, with a medical bag in hand, gets to work. “I’m scared; she has gone too far. I wanted to come to you, I did. But once you left, she forbade it; confined to the castle, no letters, and no visitors. I am so sorry about everything. Even rushing in here at this hour unannounced.” She accepts the teacup from the servant and glances at the wounded man.

“I’ve taken sanctuary in your home many times, I’m glad to repay the favour.”

“Mother will be furious once she discovers I left. I knew nothing of her plan to murder your father. I swear. After you left— I felt something was wrong, but I did not suspect...”

“That she is capable of murder?” Eclipse interjects.

“That my mother is evil.” She takes another deep breath trying to quell a sob.

“How about you start from the beginning, what brought you here tonight.”

Nicole’s tea cup clatters against the saucer; her trembling hand bringing the rim to her lips. But its her friend that clears her throat. Her appearance is just as haggard as the others. The violet ribbon pokes from her soggy matted braid. But she slips a blanket over Nicole’s shoulders.

“It started with Westley’s friend, Jasper, poor kid was working at the castle polishing shoes. According to him, Jasper discovered something underneath the kingdom. Of course, Westley being Westley made his way down there when Jasper didn’t show up to work one morning. That’s when he discovered them.”

“Them?”

“There were complaints of people disappearing throughout the kingdom.” Nicole adds, “I only discovered the rumours when Mother Superior revealed one of her nuns vanished.”

“The citizens claim it’s a monster,” the same girl speaks again, “Westley decided to investigate, he’s always getting his nose in something.”

“And how is Westley associated with you?” Eclipse asks, “I know you from the castle. Miss Waltz, correct?”

“You can call me Kendra, my lord. Westley is my younger, pig-headed brother.” But her bottom lip trembles as she watches the doctor press gauze to his wound. Chris hovers beside him holding a lamp moving it where the doctor directs.

“What did he discover?”

“Mother’s secret in the catacombs. I would not believe it if I did not see it with my own eyes.”

“You explored the catacombs?”

“I was against it at first. I wanted to pretend it was all a misunderstanding or a hoax. But then I spoke to Kipling, and I knew in my gut something was wrong.”

“What did he say?”

“He said mother volunteered to donate her belongings to the church. He said they wanted to auction it off to raise money. Can you believe it? My whole life I knew that woman; she rather die than give anything she owns away. For free, nonetheless.”

“So, you went?”

“So, we went. My people needed help. And I found a monster. Big yellow eyes, scaly skin, sharp teeth. I know what you two are thinking, but I know what I saw. They turned the passageways into cages, to keep them in.”

“It was hot and stank of burnt skin.” Kendra continues, “we heard soldiers shouting, but Westley insisted on getting proof.” She tosses a pouch on the table. Moira unties the strings; pulling a cracked turquoise amulet with a long-serrated tooth jutting from the leather. “A human hand came with it, but we thought best not to travel with that.”

She sighs, remembering the old farmer who proudly displayed the talisman. This is where you ended up? Poor Nathanial, rest in peace.

“The soldiers brought us to Kipling who beat Westley and locked us in my sitting room. He became deranged ever since he returned from here.”

“Killing two kings will do that to a guy,” Chris retorts, pressing bandages to Westley’s head as the doctor fumbles in his bag.

“We escaped through the servant entrance,” Kendra blushes, “we use it on occasion to sneak ‘things’ in without people knowing.” She tries to ignore Chris’s elvish grin and focus on the conversation. “We found Westley, stole a carriage, and promised a stable hand eternal glory if he got us to Alexanderia as soon as possible.”

“I hate involving you in a family issue like this.”

“You are the closest to a family I have left.” She squeezes her hand, “It’s my duty to protect those in need. And frankly, your mother made her rise to power a personal vendetta against me. Whatever political repercussions’ my lords will chide me for is not a concern right now. Only your safety.”

Once Westley is stable Chris helps him to a room where he can rest. Nicole and her ladies retire as well. The storm rages outside, rattling the windowpanes. A servant enters to light the fire; she manages a small smile in gratitude, but she can’t find the words to speak. The world seems heavier now. And nothing she can do will fix it. Chris and Eclipse return, both looking like battle worn soldiers. Eclipse sniffs the amulet but doesn’t comment on it. That farmer offered to help them out of the goodness of his own heart. What a terrible ending.

“A monster?” Chris reclines in a chair, shuffling a deck of cards he pulls from his pocket.

“Sara must not know,” Eclipse whispers as he paces the empty room.

“Why is she kept out of the loop?”

“Dragons,” she presents the amulet, “Margaret must’ve taken the dragons and imprisoned them in the catacombs.”

“And…fed them, people?”

“Our army can’t fight dragons...”

“No one is fighting anyone,” Eclipse interjects. “I suggest we get some sleep. Goodnight.” He slinks from the room, the door closing with a thud behind him.

“What’s his problem?” She’s too exhausted to explain how dragons will complicate matters. Or how Nicole is officially a political refugee which places Alexanderia in a difficult position. She stares at the tea set listening to him shuffle the cards. “What’s on your mind Angel?”

“The saucers don’t match the cups.”

“Looks like it’s time to fire someone. Do you think there are dragons under Bellavere?”

“Nicole has no reason to lie to me.”

“Maybe she’s a spy for her mother?”

“Maybe she is,” but she doubts Nicole is capable of that level of deceit.

“What good is an informant if you can’t trust them?”

“She is my friend; she isn’t an informant.”

“A friend’s only purpose is to gather information. She’s honest with you but are you honest with her? If not, in my business, she’s an informant.”

“And Zack calls me jaded.”

“We’re birds of a feather Angel. Isn’t the Phoenix most radiant when it sets itself on fire?” he flashes a grin. “Sometimes the monster in the dark is just our shadow.”