“Svana,” I heard someone behind me, but there was a swooshing in my ears and all I could see was my knight.
Someone said, “This conversation should be private,” and I, possessed by my father’s ghost, felt his temper spew out of me like vomit.
“Then stop talking!” I yelled, quickly inhaling deep. I cooled and said, “Stop it. Please.” Then I met Elías, focused. “Lord Commander, do not make me repeat myself. Tell me. Tell me now. Is His Majesty dead?”
“Yes,” he said.
The word hit harder than any had blown I had ever known, and in its aftermath, there was a distinct and hollow pain. I remembered that I loved my father, even in his worst, and I felt guilty for not writing to him when I had the chance.
“Are you… Are you sure?” I asked.
“Your Majesty,” he said, allowing me the dignity.
I folded in half; my hands dug into the weaves of my braid. A pair of arms tried to capture me but I fought them off, instead trembling and falling and crouching, until finally I sat myself into the dust.
“Svana, my love,” Sameer said, still insistent that he comfort me. He placed a hand on my shoulder.
Behind him, Cyrus simply watched. Frozen in time, like me. I could not escape the words that resurfaced as his…It’s over. I concede. You’ve won.
It’s over,he’d said. Cyrus had left me.
“My love. It’s… It’s alright,” Sam said.
I wanted to argue, to tell him to eat a rock, or leap from one much larger, but I just sat there lifeless–a hunk of rotting meat.
“Your Majesty,” Elías said. “I am very sorry for the crassness of this arrival; it was not my wish to do things this way. For that, I apologize, as you seem preoccupied with... other things, but there are matters that we must attend to. One of which is your Coronation. By law it must occur within the week.”
“What?” I asked, bemused. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying we have to go,” he said. “Now. Oreia is far away.”
“Alright,” I said. I stood, settling my skirt again, despite its ruin.
“That’s it?” Sam argued. “Congratulations, you’re Queen? With zero explanation on who or what happened?”
“Sam,” Cyrus said.
“Was it bandits?” he asked.
Elías shook his head. “No, Your Highness.” He exhaled, pausing. “The doctor said it was his heart.”
“His heart… Did he suffer?” I asked. “Were you there? With him, I mean? Did he…?”
He said, “Yes. I was there. No. He did not suffer. He didn’t die alone.”
Did not,I repeated to myself. Did not. Not ‘didn’t.’ I wept and Sam moved closer, cautious.
“It’s alright,” he said.
“No, it is not alright,” I replied. I glared at him. “My father dies and it’s alright?”
Elías cut in, carefully knifing the space between us with his bladed hand. “Your Majesty, we need to leave.”
“Of course,” I said.
I prayed to turn to stone. Oreia was so far away. Everything, everything was so far away. I nodded, then stood, discarding the Prince and Mr. Evergreen, to fall into line with Ser Elías.
“Your Highness, Mr. Evergreen,” he said on my behalf. “You’ll forgive Her Majesty for her swift departure. We’ll be in touch.”
