The great monarch lives only in the reverie of their people; the disdainful monarch suffers a thousand and one deaths—the first in life, the rest in the ire of those they failed.

  It had been a decade since ?nnywella Gekaryna Herst’s father, ?thalrykk Herst VI, had first spoken those words to her, and only two nights since his death; and now she rests her head against the upholstered wall of the coach, the red velvet lining soft beneath her cheek as she peers out the window and watches the clock tower of the College of the Third Moon recede into the distance, knowing that in less than a quarter-maiden she will be crowned queen within its towering blackstone walls, that in less than a quarter-maiden the weight of crown and kingdom will settle upon her head, yet it is not that burden which frightens her so, but his words—words that terrified her then, and still terrify her now.

  The coach's metal tires click against the large black stones of the northern bridge. The funeral procession has left the Crown Isles, and the mourning masses behind as it rolls its way towards ?thalrykk's burial tower.

  It did not feel like a funeral procession to ?nnywella; it seems to her as if her sorrow is being flaunted as a spectacle so she might appear human to those she will soon lead.

  “Where are Tyes and ?wlan, sweetie?” Anwelyse asks her daughter; she does not understand how a child—how her sons—could miss their father’s funeral, and she reaches behind her black lace veil to wipe away tears with a white handkerchief, smudging her black mascara down her cheek and staining the cloth.

  ?nnywella looks to Anwelyse V; she had been lucid the day prior, grieving but lucid—more than could be said about Anwelyse V for the past eleven years—and says, “Tyes is out of town and will not be able to make it in time. ?wlan said he will be meeting us at the tower; he is coming from the college,” and she lies, for Tyes had been assassinated eleven years prior, poisoned, left clawing at his neck as he died, and ?wlan, he might as well have been—she wishes it had been.

  “The heir should be present for the funeral of his father, but he leaves his mother and little sister to grieve alone. I shall have a stern talking to both of them; where did I go wrong raising them?” Anwelyse could understand them not being present for the occasional dinner—even if Tyes's pitiful attempts to sneak out and meet with that peasant girl annoyed her greatly—but a funeral was something else.

  ?nnywella places her head in her palms as old wounds reopen. She feels the pattern in the black lace pressing into her skin as she watches Anwelyse V through her fingers.

  “Do not cry, sweetie; Tyes will be an excellent king; your father taught him all he knew and more. ?thalrykk will always be proud of all of you.” She knows he will; ?thalrykk taught Tyes everything he knows: she has nothing but faith in her firstborn.

  ?nnywella hardens her heart—the first thing her father taught her after her brother’s death—she has no time to grieve, but Anwelyse V’s constant life in the past made it all the more difficult, “Yes, Mother. He will,” ?nnywella removes a folded piece of paper from her black leather handbag and unfolds it to quickly refresh herself on the eulogy she will have to recite once they arrive at her father’s burial tower.

  One by one, the carriages exit the bridge and onto the rim of the caldera. The bumpy transition jostles those inside. The procession turns left.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  The road along the edge of the caldera is paved with laid bricks of black and gray. Iron sigil lampposts line the road with about one every twenty meters, sitting just before the treeline.

  All along the road, travelers pause—men bowing, women curtsying—as the carriage bearing the mounted catafalque of ?thalrykk Herst VI rolls past them. Drawn by six black Ianyan draft horses, the bier is enclosed within a glass case edged in northern black oak; from the neck down, ?thalrykk's body lies beneath a deep red velvet funeral pall, the Herst family crest embroidered at its center, an oak-and-acorn border running the hem, every thread picked out in gold.

  The procession comes to a stop outside of ?thalrykk's tower. Three of the four pallbearers, Kolaus Ulme, Romyll Dornytter, and his brother Hynewykk Dornytter, leave from one carriage, two behind the catafalque; K?spar S?wyr steps down from the driver's box of the carriage carrying the catafalque.

  Together, the four men carefully remove the catafalque from the carriage and bring it to the burial tower. The Hersts and their attendants follow behind.

  The catafalque is placed upon a pulley system and slowly lifted to the top of the tower. Kolaus closes the two double doors to the tower as Hynewykk slowly turns the winch.

  With the door clicking shut beside her, ?nnywella walks up to the podium, but her mother stops her, grabbing her arm.

  “Wait for ?wlan, sweetie. He should read the eulogy.” Anwelyse says.

  Two of her attendants quickly pull Anwelyse back from ?nnywella, sitting her back in her wheelchair; they tell her that ?wlan is late and it won’t be acceptable to keep the people here for too long.

  ?nnywella steps onto the footstool behind the podium and places the eulogy before her. Her husky voice quickly silences the crowd.

  “Nobles and people of the Kingdom of the Great Moon of Our Lady, who have taken the time to walk here in honor and mourning of our great king ?thalrykk Herst VI, I thank you.”

  “He was born to Klausynn Herst III and Beatryce Herst on the 15th of the first maiden of 1008, on a cold winter evening—my grandmother used to talk about how he warmed the room after he was born; she said it was his heart. He left us two days ago on the 10th of the 10th month of 1063, of what doctors and apothecaries say was a case of apoplexy, which struck while he was sleeping. For better or worse, I choose to believe that Grandmother Beatrice was correct in her assumption, given yesterday’s chilly temperature.”

  “He reigned from 1035 to 1063, with outstanding success—as you can see.” She gestures to the tower behind her. “He used to boast to advisors about his success with the guilds—how, despite the fragmentation of our glorious land, he managed to allow for all goods to be traded with ease between kingdoms. I feel as though this diplomatic feat is what he would most like to be remembered for.”

  “He was a great king, a wonderful husband, and, as biased as I might be, an even better father. He always had what would be best for his people in mind with every decision he made—a trait he made sure he passed to me. If he wasn’t with his court or family, he always talked to the public with the guards, ensuring even the smallest voices were heard and considered.”

  “He was proud of his tower—which stands behind us now—while it was being built, as it is one of the tallest at 425 meters. I know he will be enjoying the view up top; he always did when he would show me the view from atop while it was being built. I find solace in knowing that such an amazing man will always be watching over the people he cared so much about.”

  “Though he leaves behind my mother and I, he leaves also a kingdom he loved and a people who will carry his spirit forward. I thank you all very deeply for your attendance. May Our Pale Lady smile upon you all.”

  She folds the paper and returns it to her handbag, watching as the crowd before her thins and drifts away—some toward home, others forming a quiet line to ascend the tower and pay their respects—before turning back to her mother and ladies-in-waiting, who tell her they will return to the carriage, while ?nnywella says she will remain, wishing for a moment alone with her father, and a few lingering mourners come to offer their condolences, which she thanks them for, for their words and for coming, until at last only ?nnywella and her ladies-in-waiting, Enlynn and Ede, remain, whom she asks to leave her, and she ascends the tower by herself.