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𝖎. heavy is the crown
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VIVICA WAS LATE.
Her sandals struck the cold marble floor with sharp urgency, the sound ricocheting through the quiet corridors of the palace like a heartbeat. She clutched the sides of her silken gown to keep its delicate fabric from tangling around her legs, its flowing elegance entirely unsuited to the mad dash she now found herself in.
The library had done it again. It had proven to be a perfect escape. Hours had melted away as she sifted through centuries of knowledge, her mind lost in the labyrinth of Asgardian history. And now? Now she was paying the price.
Thor’s coronation.
It was the event her older brother had been crowing about for weeks, his booming voice echoing through the halls as he regaled anyone who would listen with stories of his destined reign. Vivica muttered a curse under her breath, frustration mixing with the unease gnawing at her. Of all the days to lose herself in ancient texts, why did it have to be this one?
The towering double doors of the Great Hall loomed ahead, their gilded carvings depicting scenes of Asgard’s glory and triumph. They seemed to sneer at her, mocking her tardiness with their grandeur. Vivica quickened her pace, her breath shallow and uneven as she tried to smooth her hair with one hand.
She reached the doors at last, their immense weight held steady by the guards stationed on either side. With synchronized precision, they pushed the doors open.
A wave of hushed silence rolled out to meet her.
The hall was magnificent, even more so than usual. Sunlight poured in from high windows, refracting off polished golden fixtures. Lavish tapestries swayed gently from unseen breezes, their threads shimmering with depictions of battles and victories.
Hundreds of pairs of eyes turned to the entrance as one. Their faces were expectant, alight with anticipation for the grand entrance of Thor, the favored son of Asgard, the soon-to-be king.
