The Broken Crown

A Good Omen

The warm summer breeze painted the solemn face of Leala Maxwell, her eyes gazing out across those surrounding the memorial. It was a simple memorial – a foundation for what would follow with time – with the names of those who had perished inscribed to the stone, representing both werewolf packs and the mages. It did not matter the title or bloodline of those carved into the stone, for each name was held to the same font and size, calling out their names. There were those who argued the simplicity, for the name of Alpha Mathis faded into the crowd. Others were fond of the simplicity, for it held each life lost as equal.

The matters of if the memorial were to be impactful enough did not make their way to the head of Leala Maxwell, for the Alpha had other concerns which had been keeping her up the past two weeks. Though the young alpha still walked with a limp from her slow healing wounds, matters of politics and drama were what lived in her head.

The ear-piercing scream of the lavender-eyed elf still sent shivers down Leala's spine, recalling the sound of Keva's skull knocked against sharp-edged rocks before the harsh waves of the ocean pulled her body into the abyss of what lay below. Leala had feared for her life in those moments, her fingers barely having grasped the stone walls as she believed she too would meet a similar fate of the elf. Yet River had been there to catch her, to protect her, and to comfort her as she lay bleeding in his arms. The foggy memories Leala could recall from those final moments were fused together, for she could remember being cradled in River's arms like a child while she gazed into those golden eyes, yet she could also remember stretching out her arms and picking from the garden a posy of lilies, cosmos, and foxgloves. Leala did not recall what became of that posy nor did she recall having been carried into a portal.

Yet River recalled those moments, as he cried out the name of the woman he loved, rushing to find a way to return Leala to safety. The bodies of the elves which scattered the garden, their deep crimson blood running through the crevasses of the stone path, and the bodies of both wolf and man – some mid-shift – as their glassy eyes seemed to follow him. That day, that battle which River would never forget, it was one of pain and guilt for the golden-eyed man. To have grown up within that palace, to look out over the faces and recognize every set of eyes, everything called out to River.

He had wondered just how many of these elves had turned on their own werewolf pack members and slaughtered them when Keva made the call. He had wondered how many of them felt remorse when they turned on their wolfen kin and served Keva. It caused River to once more wonder just how much control he had truly held over Eternal Shadows.

Pretending like the blood of the elves spilled did not phase River was a curse. It haunted his dreams and every moment, for the guilty he felt was enough to pull him to the shadows. Dark thoughts surrounded the young man, memories of how he had killed who was once his best friend, wished for the death of the woman who raised him, slaughtered so many of those who he once trained beside, and witnessed the destruction of the pack he was promised. All of those bundled together made a memorial ceremony all the less enjoyable, crafting a darkness to swirl within the alpha, leaving a bitterness on his tongue. Yet do not be deceived, for River still understood that what was done needed to be done, for what had become of the pack he was promised was a hollow shell of what it once was.

Finding happiness in this moment was just not something River could connect with. Though finding closure and happiness were things many struggled with in this moment. Closure was something most at the ceremony struggled with, for they understood the nasty politics and drama to follow for years.

Alpha Yusuf had even come to wonder if Mathis was one of the lucky ones, for he would go down as a hero and not have the stress of building a kingdom and government to put up with. Yusuf understood that he was lucky to be alive, yet he still wondered. The importance Yusuf would play in the building of the kingdom was something which weighted on his shoulders every second, for as Yusuf looked out to the face of the future queen, he understood her level of stability. Leala was to be a young queen, one who held secrets and scandal which Yusuf would try and shield the media - and figures like Finley - from.