She knelt softly before the high-backed throne of her forefathers, her head bowed to the man standing between her and her future.
"Is thy majesty willing to take the oath?" he asked.
"I am willing."
"Do you solemnly swear to uphold the laws of the land and those who share this duty, to defend thy people and their country, to pass judgement in a fair manner, to govern thy territories justly, and to govern thy people to the best of thy abilities?"
She took a breath and the whole room seemed to freeze. "I swear to so do, as was said."
He lifted the crown from it's stand and placed it gently on top of her head.
"I now present: Queen Kale of Ievre!"
The crowd clapped and chanted, "Long live Queen Kale! Long live Queen Kale!"
She smiled. They needed her smile. They had been hit harder than she was by the recent events. She was the last heir to the throne. If they were to ever recover, they needed to see her smile, to feel her confidence. They needed to know that she would be the one to fix the kingdom.
Her smile was only half-hearted.
YOU ARE READING
The Plop Tart War
FantasiaEveryone believes they are living, until they start dying. At what point do you change? Alita was my rock in a raging river. If I held on tightly enough, I would never drown. Then my fingers started slipping and my rock started to break. My sister...
