Something With a Prince

Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Coronation

Arlyn

    Responsibility looks different for everyone. So does destiny, if you believe in it, and the weight of each is independent from the other, regardless of how they press down as one. Shoulders can bear much more than a head can, and yet, that is where they place the crown. To emphasize its importance. It will come before anything, and everything under it will take it where it needs to go.

    For me, responsibility was deep green. The color of the forest outside my window, the walls of my bedroom, the corridor I'd take to the throne room, and the place where I would be crowned. It curled around my body in the form of clothes, pressing down on my shoulders through my father's mantle. As if he were standing behind me, and gripping right by my neck, like he used to, and telling me what I've always known: I'll never take this off.

    Destiny looked like a hallway, golden and full of windows. Beyond it was the throne room, but I stopped at the door to receive my chains. The two knights who were selected for the ceremony were talking to me with quiet and respectful voices. I answered their questions the best I could, trying not to look as anxious and nauseous as I was. They took their bows, and pushed open the throne room, which was brimming with people when I stepped inside and made my way down the aisle. I could feel his chain locked around my right wrist, clanking as I pushed forward. My ankles, wrists, hips, and back were shackled with them, hundreds of metal chains, all in respect of the kings before me. I had to pull my weight, I had to pull everyone's weight if I wanted to make it.

    My mother was at the front of the room, standing a few steps down from the Priestess, who was holding the crown out in front of her. They both smiled at me, and some of the weight lifted as I continued to walk. The people in the stands reached out to brush my shoulders as I passed, all whispering prayers and words.

    Early morning light poured through every window, spilling onto the carpet in pools of shimmering gold and white. The air was crisp and balmy with the gardens just outside. Green was everywhere, adorned by people, officials, the walls themselves. Golden spires rose to the ceiling behind the thrones, each carved with images of the country's history. Black and white dahlias filled the mantles of every window and framed the royal crest woven into a raised tapestry behind the Priestess. Three interlocking chain circles weaving over a single dragonfly, its wings golden and adorned in peridot. Below it read: With wisdom we serve. With strength we carry, With dignity we stand.

My eyes dropped to the chains thrown over my body, then lifted back to that dragonfly. It was then I understood what our crest meant and signified. Even after seeing it hang there all my life, it was just now that my mind comprehended exactly what I was dressed as. I also knew that somewhere, Lansing must be smiling at me, because for once in my life, I grasped the vitality of symbolism.

Reaching the top step, I lowered down to my knees in front of the Priestess, who was still smiling at me. She was older, with fine silver hair and beautiful blue eyes that twinkled as she spoke over me in religious tongue. Her hands embraced the sides of my head gently, and I felt my body relax into them. My head fell forward in a bow, and I closed my eyes as she began the Coronation.

"And so it has been tradition, that upon his twenty-second year the first born son will be crowned in front of witnesses and take a solemn vow to lead the people of Tuisedor."  Her voice was steady, but authoritative. I wondered if she had crowned my father.

"Upon the head, will be laid a crown. A circle unbroken to signify the trust we have in you." She tilted my chin up, and my eyes opened in time to watch her place the crown atop my head.

    "Upon the shoulders, a mantle blessed by the witnesses. To signify the weight to be borne in every decision, every word, every moment."

    I felt my father's hands again, but didn't move a muscle. From the corner of my eyes, I saw my mother's slippered feet shift ever so slightly. She was nervous too. It made me smile.

"And finally, upon the limbs and core, will be the chains of previous command. Kindred Kings to which we have served and they us until death. To signify the expectation of greatness the people have in you. May you carry it with you always, and understand that we are all connected. Linked as you will now be linked should you take this vow before your people."

    Her eyes met mine, strong and serious. The room was incredibly silent as she said to me, "Do you, Arlyn Izzat Rikkar, vow to serve the people of Tuisedor. To carry the aforementioned values those have upheld before you and now uphold them to the best of your ability no matter the cost."

    "I vow to carry this." I almost didn't recognize my voice.

    "And do you vow to sacrifice, life and limb for this Kingdom in order to preserve its people, legacy, history, and freedom?"

    "I vow to sacrifice this."

    "Finally," The Priestess's face softened, just the slightest as she got to her knees with me. The crowd followed after her causing a giant rustling noise that took a while to quiet back down. Finally, the Priestess continued her speech, taking my hands in hers and folding them tightly around my fists. I didn't know why, but the love in her face was disarming. She had probably seen me grow up, which, if  it looked more like a familial love I would have understood, but this was not a familial love. This was a new love, one I hadn't seen before.

    "Do you vow to stand with the people, fight for the people, love the people, and listen to the people as our King."  She let go of my hands to reach behind her and pull out a single black ribbon, tying it over my eyes. "To look humbly upon them now, afresh with the eyes of a friend, a leader,--"

I was being raised to my feet and turned around. The chains chanted around my body like voices. The priestess left from where she stood behind me, grazing over my shoulder as she walked down the steps and continued, "and a servant. For it was the gods  who chose you, but it is we, the people, who crown you as our King. Will you be this?"

    I took a silent breath, "I vow to be this."

"Remove the blind and gaze upon your subjects."

My hands didn't shake, the nausea was gone, and the world stopped spinning the minute I took off the ribbon. My eyes adjusted to the light quickly, and the faces of the crowd struck to the core. They all had that same look the Priestess had.

"I present to you His Majesty, Arlyn Izzat Rikkar, King of Tuisedor."  The Priestess smiled radiantly upon me and raised a glass,  "Long live the King."

Long live the King! Long Live the King! Long live the King! The crowd chanted. I don't know why I did it, but I bowed to them. And for a split second, I heard my father's voice as if he were right next to me.

Spoken in my ear with love, "Straighten up, son, you're their King."

Pushing myself straight, I looked once more over the crowd before me and they clapped their hands together as I took my place on the throne. I had expected this overpowering feeling of greatness to surge me once I sat in it. Like somehow I would know all the answers and be ready for all of this. But, truly, it was just a blocky chair with really comfortable cushions. I felt the same. That was until my attention snagged on a pair of dark eyes in the crowd, and a proud mouth, half smiling at me as she clapped.

Well done, Elleanor mouthed to me, raising her hands just a little higher.

I hid my smile, and looked away from her for a moment to compose myself. I looked out the window. The window. My breath stopped cold in my lungs, and the tips of my fingers iced over. Each of them stood motionless in the windows of the trees surrounding the garden, like centuries. Except they were not my centuries. I blinked. They remained. I blinked again. Same thing.

The center one stepped out, and carried something with him in a bag. I stood up, the clapping becoming a drowned hysteria in my ears. Like the rushing of a wave about to pummel me into the floor. The bag opened and the century dipped his hand and pulled it back out. With it came Oveda's head.