The Stolen Crown

Chapter 6: Leads to the Capital

Under the high sun, an engulfing wall of water, dark stone, and brick reached into the sky, as the faint winds carried the scattered clouds and their shadows over the barriers of men with ease. The towers and the archers that manned them could do naught against the tide that brought them forth. Though their eyes were not turned to the vast space above, but rather to the mob that snaked their way through the city, all for the chance of a view of a motionless body that held royal blood.

In Székesfehérvár they gathered, their bodies pressed against each other, from the rich to the laziest of beggars, as they crossed below the gatehouse and into the shadow of great cathedral.

Its tall two towers tried to scratch the sky, as their ornate design left the jaws of those to see them fall to the ground. Though, while most gazed up at it with the wonder of a child, those of wisdom and invitation kept their eyes focused on the closed doors as they waited.

With a sudden sound that shook the sky and forced the birds that clung to the city to take flight, the bells rang loudly. Their rings echoed one after another, summoning all to heed the event and forcing the mob to grow vibrant and restless.

"LOOK!" a soul in the mob shouted.

A procession of substance and wealth, those of nobility, affluence, and connections rode their way through the city streets, past the eyes of the world beside them and into the cathedral. There they embraced the scene of some who mourned in its sheltered embrace, while for the majority, they cast aside such commotion and settled into the politics that dominated even a widow.

Queen Elizabeth stood draped in black, her position fixed and her eyes on the altar and those who contended with the ceremony. She watched, as those who had been granted entry made their way to her late husband and offered the illusion of respect, before they quickly vanished to their task of securing their purses and coffers under the rhetoric of a once again great Kingdom. They gathered in their groups, buzzing to one another like busy bees. Though, while they caught the Queen's eyes, her gaze was suddenly pulled as her own daughters made an appearance at the altar.

They stood side by side, under the watchful eyes of the world, one with fair hair falling to her shoulders, the other with dark hair nestled tightly beneath a hairpiece and accompanied by Helene's husband Johann. Though, even such things as being left to mourn could not go undisturbed.

"How are you my queen?" Count Ulrich Cillei said with a bow. Silver trimmed his hair, as the otherwise brown head and dark eyes gave him an air of elegance and grace. Only the stubble of a beard permeated on his face, though a large gut pressed out his belly.

A weary smile formed on Elizabeth's lips as she reached for his hand and took it in hers and ushered him to rise. "I am well, all things considered. Tired, but I seem to have my health."

"And your daughters?" Ulrich asked, gesturing to them. "They seem to be taking it well. It seems they have inherited your resolve."

"I fear it is because they did not know their father that well," Elizabeth confessed. "All day with the nanny or tutors. Interactions with their father were limited to a simple passing embrace, where masks and customs must be worn and enforced. It is a hard thing to feel sorrow for a stranger and they are too young to know any better. I think they will one day understand. I know I eventually did."

"The cost of power some would say," Ulrich said with nod. "I'm sure they will one day understand. As we will as well."

A faint smile grew over Elizabeth as she gave the man a subtle nod. "Even though my husband, the King, still lays above the ground, there seems to be no shortage of men who wish to fill the void left by him."