In the capital of Dreadnaught, tragedy had fallen over the royal family, and in the highest room in the highest tower, Vivienne sat on the stool and wept.
Surely she could not be dead.
And yet there she was, her mother, the queen, still beautiful even in death, lying cold and paler than ever before upon her satin sheets, eyes staring glassily into the canopy above her, shining like precious jewels from her delicate face.
It had been little over an hour since Vivienne had last laid eyes on her mother, alive and well laughing in the council chamber. They had spoken and her mother had scolder her for sneaking into chamber meetings and had then allowed her to sit in the corner and listen, then she had sent her off to wash herself up for dinner. Yet here she lay, the Queen of Dreadnaught, finally fallen. All her beauty could not save her now.
Vivienne drew her eyes away from her mother, unable to bear another second of that cold, lifeless body which had once brought nothing but love. Although the woman had never shown it, she knew her mother had loved her, although she showed it through her lessons on affairs of state rather than warmth and hugs. The queen had loved her daughter, but she had loved her country more.
Tears stung in the girl's eyes, pressing for release, but she withheld them. She was now to be Queen herself and her subjects must not see her cry. No, tears would be left for night time, when she laid in her bed, unaccompanied, unsupervised.
The circumstances of the queens death were curious. The court physician indicated it had been a sickness of the brain, kept secret by the queen, diagnosed by the blood around the ears and in the throat, but servants had begun whispering, as they do, and the gossip in the kitchens said that the Queen had been poisoned. Those who didn't know Vivienne had the audacity to suggest that she was the culprit. Whispers spread fast and evolved even faster. By the time the gossip reached the village, it was being said that their beloved queen had been thrown from the highest tower by her noblemen. The gossip, as it often is, was wildly inaccurate and well received, as the discussions regarding the Queen's death continued throughout the night. From the taverns in the city to the huts in the hills, accounts of the monarch's untimely death were spreading faster than wildfire, each story more wild than the last.
In the tower wherein laid the body, Vivienne was still seated alongside her mother, her eyes averted and face composed. To her right sat the crown stool, red and gold, topped with the softest velvet in the land. Upon which sat the thorny metal of the royal crown, which shone like fire as the sun reflected through the rubies, drenching the chamber in a bloody glow.
When Vivienne had been a child she had been in awe of her mothers crown, always going into the forest with her friend Paddoc and creating crowns of her own of sticks and leaves. Now she gazed upon it in fear as she imagined a kingdom without her sole parent. A kingdom without it's strong, brave, beautiful Queen.
Vivienne had spent her whole life trying to emulate her mother, she would sit with her in the evenings and mirror her as she prepared herself for bed as a child, but even then, her mane of dark hair never flowed as beautifully or shone like gold as her mother's did. Her skin never glowed, she never moved as gracefully. Her mother would laugh at her and wrap her in her slender arms, kissing her nose and telling her she was just like her father. This always made Vivienne burst into tears as she'd cry "I don't have a father!" And her mother would continue to laugh and hold her small daughter close.
As the girl had grown into a young woman she had stopped trying to look like her mother and rather began to try to be like her, watching her every move in court, sneaking into meetings and watching royal address' from the corner of the throne room. The Queen would discuss politics with foreign advisors and Vivienne would listen avidly, hoping that one day she would make the kingdom even greater than her mother had. Vivienne had never thought that the day the kingdom became hers would come so soon.
She knew than in a few short weeks, once the period for mourning was over, she would be coronated Queen herself and her last years of childhood would be cut short. Sitting on the throne, in only her seventeenth year.
A royal coronation was always an illustrious affair, although vivienne had never attended one, she had seen the paintings and heard the songs sung about her mother's. They said it had been a party like no other, 7 days and seven nights of festivities, where the kingdom filled with all the richest and most noble people in the lands, and on the seventh night, the coronation.
Vivienne knew that when those days of celebration came she must become the strong willed, independent and wise Queen she had been raised to become, although the child in her wished to run through the forest barefoot with her friend Paddoc just like they had the day before, to feel the grass beneath her feet and wade through the bubbling streams, singing and laughing. With sorrow she realised that those days were behind her now, and play would be exchanged for council meetings and affairs of state.
From far down the staircase, outside the bolted door, the princess was alerted to the hurried sound of footsteps approaching. Although the tower was high and the stairs steep, the runner was approaching at speed. At the door the runner halted and knocked three hard, sharp knocks.
With relief Vivenne unlatched the door, glad to be given reason to leave the body's side. With a load creak the door swung open. A young man in shining armour and the royal crest stood proudly in the doorways and nodded unapologetically in Vivienne's direction, avoiding her eyes.
"On behalf of the head of royal business, the Grand Bishop Avoic," said the young man, "I am here to retrieve the royal crown." And with that short announcement, he crossed the room, bundled the royal jewels in his cloak and retreated once more, allowing the door to swing shut behind him.
Vivienne stared after the man in wonder as the heavy wood slammed shut. Never had she been treated with such disrespect, as staff usually greeted her with a bow and she was almost always addressed as "princess" or "your highness", not to mention the callous disregard with which the man had treated the crown, as though it were a mere peasants jewel and not the headpiece of the ruler of his kingdom.
At that moment, Vivienne realised just how much her world was going to change now that she was to be queen.
YOU ARE READING
The Chronicles of the Runaway Queen: Escape to Danger
Fantasy*This version of this book has been abandoned in favor of a re-write - currently in progress*
