The church is filled to the brim with mourners, and it’s apparent that Emeline touched quite a few people. She was honorable and honest, and some appreciated the change she wished to bring to England.
But it’s too late now because England’s demise was conceived on the day Emeline died. And now, these weaklings can deal with the aftermath.
“Queen Emeline was a visionary,” the priest in his red robe commences. “Her faith was strong as was her love for England.”
The men and women hang onto the priest's words like gospel. Such hypocrisy because Emeline’s methods were seen as unorthodox and not respected. She only achieved all she did because she refused to give up. Now she is celebrated like some saint when in life, she was seen as a sinner.
Soon, the priest’s words become background noise because all I focus on is Aethelbald. He sits without a care in the world, believing he is protected by all the kingdom's guards who now fall under his rule.
Lord Rufus sits by Aethelbald’s side, and he too has seen his last sunrise because come nightfall, both men will be dead.
I glance at Emeline, still unbelieving this is her. She merely looks as if she sleeps. I remember the first time we met, mere children, but we were bonded from the first moment our paths crossed.
My heart aches, and I know the pain will never subside. I have never felt this sort of loss before. It feels like I’m caught in a nightmare that’ll never end.
And I guess it never will.
There is a young soldier in front of me who leaves his sword unguarded. It’s an easy steal.
I look at Ulf, who nods.
“Victory or Valhalla.”
“Let’s send that son of a bitch to hell,” Ulf says, removing a blade that was hidden in his sleeve.
“King Aethelbald, please, address your people in their time of need. Offer them guidance and assurance that England will prosper under your rule.”
The people hum in concord, kissing the ground he walks on.
I see red.
As he stands and makes his way to stand in front of Emeline’s coffin, Ulf and I subtly excuse ourselves through the crowd. We keep our heads down, ensuring no one sees us.
“The good people of England, hear me now,” Aethelbald commences, spreading his arms out wide. “Queen Emeline had malice in her heart, but I forgive her, and I ask that you do too.”
The more he speaks, the angrier I become because he tarnishes her name when she cannot defend herself, because he killed her, a fact he omits. He claims Emeline was killed in battle, a battle she started to overthrow Christianity.
I cannot let him tarnish her name a moment longer.
The closer we get, the excitement grows because once Aethelbald is dead, then my queen can rest in peace until I join her.
I will relinquish Valhalla for her false gods because I would go to heaven or hell for my Hugrekki. I don’t care where I go, just as long as I am with her.
Ulf and I are about to strike when the distant squawking of ravens suddenly echoes from above. The crowd grows silent, slowly turning their attention to the stained glass windows, where a murder of ravens circles through the glass.
The cries grow louder and the clouds darker. Soon, the church is eclipsed in darkness as a thunderclap cracks like a titan’s whip throughout the congregation.
Screams suddenly erupt, and hysteria explodes when one of the stained glass windows shatters and in fly dozens of ravens. They swoop down at the crowd, pecking out their eyes and using their sharp beaks to break skin.
The mob soon rushes toward the exits, but the doors are locked from the outside. Men bang on the doors, whilst women shriek for help.
“Calm down!” Aethelbald roars, attempting to regain order, but the fact that ravens are feasting on the flesh of his people cancels out any orderliness.
It’s pure anarchy, which is the perfect time to strike.
However, when three ravens sit perched on a pew in front of me, Loki’s note in my pocket suddenly feels heavy. Retrieving it, I unfold the parchment and read something which changes the course of everything.
Thy drugs are quick…
