Little Red Riding Hood and the Prince

Chapter 27- Coronation

"My King"

Darrius, one of the few remaining members of the old council stands in the doorway of my room.

"Don't call me that. I'm not yet."

I don't want to be, ever, but the day looms heavy with expectation.

"Yes, my Lord. However, the ceremony awaits you in the throne room. I have come to escort you."

I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing that I did not have to go.

Is there any point really? I have spent the last 20 minutes, since the servants who prepared me left, contemplating that question. After all, I have no desire to rule, or any idea how to bring together this nation left in shambles. Surely someone more qualified than I should be king, and yet no one is left.

I've put it off as long as I can.

Inhale, exhale, turn. I face Darrius and then follow him through the halls, and then I'm standing in front of the throne.

The priest approaching me is a gangly and inexperienced looking youth who could scarcely be older than myself, not at all what I expected. I'm reminded yet again of how much we've lost, as I half listen to him nervously giving the ceremony's opening words.

Finally, the important part comes.

"Do you, Darin Charles Fredrickson of the Norveux family, accept the position of ruler for the lands of Francida? Do you promise to protect the people and our borders, to rule with justice, and carry the responsibilities of king for as long as you are able?"

My tongue is leaden as I stare into the young priest's eyes, but I hear someone, myself I suppose, respond.

"I do"

"Then by the power vested in me by God, as the current head priest of the royal court, I charge you with the responsibilities of this crown and scepter, and now proclaim you the 26th King of Francida."

The crown feels almost heavier than I can bear as the weight settles upon my head. As the scepter is coaxed into my stiff fingers, a cheer breaks out.

It feels pitiful, even though there is a kind of desperate hope in the sound.

I look at my assembled subjects, every remaining member of court, soldier not on patrol, and castle servant able to attend. My eyes count roughly 60, less than half of what would comfortably fill this room. Still, I force myself to smile for them, to sit on the throne, and allow them to briefly greet me one by one as their new king.

It's an exhausting blur, and I'm happy when the procession finally ends. I slip the crown off my tired brow, hand both golden objects back over to the priest, and make my way to bed.

I lie abed and I wish again I that there was someone else. If only my father were still here. But I am alone, and made far away from all others now, set above the people as king.

It's the loneliest position in the world.