The Cursed Crown

by Matthew S. Cox

  She couldn’t.

  Absentmindedly, she traced a finger around the embroidery on her gown. The advisors had dispersed among the room, speaking to anyone with concerns.

  She glanced to her left at Oona, who somehow managed to sleep while sitting upright and not appearing to be asleep, rather having a moment of intense contemplation. That made her think of the troubling vision she’d mentioned of a walking dead man roaming some vast underground library. None of the advisors offered much help, as Oona’s description of the figure or the location failed to resonate with them. They didn’t question she had seen it, though suggested the vision may have been of the distant future.

  So, for now, Kitlyn and Oona had set it aside… though she did send scouts to investigate all known underground locations within Lucernia.

  High Priest Balais had accepted appointment as an advisor as well as a man by the name of Naldun, a commoner from a farming village near the city of Imric. A few years into his fifties, the man had a liberal amount of grey in his otherwise black hair and a weathered but strong look to his features. According to Beredwyn, he had a reputation for being both humble and wise. Most of the nobles had been alarmed by his appointment as an advisor citing his low station and near total lack of wealth.

  At Oona’s suggestion, they had added another new advisor, Lady Alonna, whose primary role entailed representing the other three temples and bringing their concerns and opinions to the royal court. In her father’s reign, only the Temple of Lucen had any true sway in matters of state. With their high priest serving as an advisor, they still held quite a bit of influence, though she wished to grant followers of the other three gods the same courtesy.

  She’d expected the wealthy to view her selecting Naldun, an ordinary citizen, as a signal she intended to be hostile to the titled gentry. Many whispered and fretted ‘in secret’ about her ‘common’ upbringing creating a lasting resentment toward those with high station. Of course, the only secret involved in the fretting related to exactly who or how many complained.

  In the same speech where she announced a decree that no future king or queen may simultaneously hold a rank within the temple of any god, she’d also stated that any resentment she may yet harbor toward anyone for her ‘common’ life was directed only at those who believed their station served as an excuse to treat others with less status or wealth as inferior beings. She claimed that if her father had not been deaf to the concerns of the least wealthy citizens, he may well have had a change of heart many years earlier and ended the war himself. Some of the courtiers bristled at her associating their snobbishness with the war lasting for such a long time, but the tactic proved effective at forestalling complaints.

  Previous kings or queens had all been named High Priest of Lucen by virtue of their holding the crown. That she’d tasked the temple’s elders to choose their high priest, and by extension declaring such a choice should come from Lucen himself, had won her much favor with the temple. She wondered if Lucen would have granted magic to anyone named high priest simply for bearing the title. The Talomir line had all supposedly been quite strong in magic, perhaps the reason they’d taken the throne in the first place. She stared down at her hands, wondering what—if any—form her magic might have taken had not Queen Solara, her mother, drank from the Eldritch Heart while pregnant with her. The stonecallers said I was unusually strong. Perhaps the magic I would have had combined with what the Heart gave me? Or maybe the Heart knew I would need to be strong to return it home.

  Kitlyn replayed the speech in her head, trying to remember the mixture of expressions on the people listening. She had caught a few quiet grumbles from people still unhappy with her choice of wife instead of taking a man to be king, though she couldn’t quite tell if they clung to old prejudices about two girls in love or merely thought a woman didn’t belong ruling a kingdom. Beredwyn had his spies out and about, listening for dissent. Thus far, the people had been overjoyed at an end to the war. Except for a few elders who had the most trouble changing their thoughts, the citizenry appeared pleased with her and Oona.

  Also, according to Beredwyn’s spies, Ruby had relocated to Pirolen, a village in the far north beyond Orien’s Glade… about as far from Cimril City as one could get without leaving Lucernia. It seemed she’d made her choice, abandoning her daughters for want of money. Kitlyn suspected Oona still held a little bit of hope the woman might someday change her heart and reconcile, since she had never known a mother’s love.

  Kitlyn secretly traced her foot back and forth across the carpeting in front of the throne. No one could detect the motion under her huge dress, nor could they notice she’d gone barefoot. The sensation of fabric upon her toes became a screaming rebellion against the burdensome pageantry and ridiculous focus on station and propriety that plagued Lucernia.

  The advisors continued mingling with the courtiers. She glanced over at Beredwyn, arguing with four merchants. As soon as she looked at them, their conversation clarified out from the chaos… something about their demanding a repeal of an ‘unfair’ tax King Talomir had levied on them. Beredwyn’s cool and calm deflection of their insistent requests made her think the merchants expected a young female monarch would be easy to manipulate.

  In truth, Kitlyn did worry about Oona for that exact reason. Her hope to be accepted—not necessarily liked—for loving a woman constantly made her second guess saying no to people. She didn’t want to give them another reason to suggest she may be unfit for the crown. It seemed doubtful any of them would protest the monarch being too young if she’d been a boy. Of course, she’d come in at the bare minimum age to personally take power. Fifteen or younger, a regent—most likely Beredwyn—would have technically ruled the kingdom until she’d come of age.

  On the left side of the room fairly close to the throne dais, Lady Alonna chatted with three priests, one each from the temples of Navissa, Tenebrea, and Orien. They all appeared in good spirits, which made Kitlyn smile. The other new advisor, Naldun, had gathered a group of middle-class citizens in the far right corner nearest the doors out. He looked a bit like a philosopher lecturing a class of students. Though she couldn’t hear them at all given the distance and the noise in the room, she figured they spoke of the damage the war caused their farms and families.

  Oona suggested offering a modest reduction in tax to families who adopted war orphans. However, she insisted on personally meeting all prospective parents to ensure that none would mistreat the child and only wanted to take one in for financial reasons.

  For the next several years, Kitlyn stared vacantly at the swirling dust, counted stitches in her gown, or daydreamed of the time she shared with Oona in the pond… or at least, it felt like years. She fixated on a disoriented moth or butterfly fluttering in endless circles at the top of a tall window on the left while trying to fly through the stained glass. Time all but sat still. She stared at her fingers until she felt certain she could perceive her nails growing longer.

  A distant clonk finally broke the monotony as the outer doors opened. The noise woke Oona, who turned her head to stifle a yawn.

  A twentyish blond man in brown leather armor strolled down the aisle, headed for the throne. Beredwyn emerged from the crowd and arrived at the dais simultaneously with him.

  “Your highness…” The scout dropped to a knee.

  “What news?” asked Kitlyn.

  The man stood and gave a curt bow of greeting to Beredwyn before handing over an envelope. “Highness, there are reports that a man by the name of Fauhurst is attempting to stir discontent among the citizens.”

  “Oh?” Beredwyn raised an eyebrow.

  Advisor Lanon hurried over as well. The ever-nervous thirty-something man hadn’t enjoyed a restful sleep since Advisor Yelem had been revealed as an Evermoor spy. With the end of the war, he at least managed to cease trembling all the time.

  Kitlyn grumbled in her head. As tempting as it had been to exact some sort of revenge on Fauhurst for all the misery he had caused her, t
he man had not broken any laws. Whatever she did to him would have felt petty.

  “Yes, my lord.” The scout nodded to Beredwyn, then glanced at Kitlyn for a moment, seeming unsure who to address. “We have word that he is attempting to foment discord mostly among the lesser nobility as well as officers within the military. He is recruiting those who, despite the clear blessing of Lucen and his daughter, cannot accept umm… certain personal matters of the queen.”

  “It is all right…?” Kitlyn twirled her hand about.

  “Breen, highness.” The scout bowed again.

  “Very well, Scout Breen. It is all right for you to speak the plain truth. These men object that I love another woman.”

  Breen looked down. “Yes, highness. They disregard the signs given us by Lucen and his daughter.”

  “Scout,” said Oona, “can you not say Tenebrea?”

  At the mention of the name, members of the court close enough to the dais to hear it all hushed and looked over. The priestess of Tenebrea next to Alonna smiled.

  The scout opened his mouth, shut it, pondered a moment, then took a deep breath. “Yes, highness. I was merely attempting to be respectful. They disregard the signs given us by Lucen and Tenebrea.”

  “Speaking her name no more invites her to escort you to the netherworld than speaking mine would make you suddenly desire the company of men.” Oona smoothed a hand over her gown.

  A few nervous chuckles came from the court.

  “Of course, highness.” Breen bowed again. “I am pleased to report that his numbers are quite small.”

  “Perhaps”—Lanon pivoted toward her, his eyebrows up—“since Tenebrea appeared with her blessing and the other gods said nothing, they are afraid?”

  Kitlyn emitted a silent sigh. “I do not require everyone to approve of us, only mind their own business. If they feel our love is unnatural, they are certainly free not to love as we do.”

  “That man…” Oona scowled. “He must hate us so to commit treason.”

  “He doesn’t hate us, my love. He hates me. The man likely still cannot think of me as anything more than a lowborn orphan. No doubt, he does not consider our reign legitimate. His supposed distaste for our union is merely a fancy dress upon his inability to accept I was never a commoner.”

  “You mean your reign?” asked Oona.

  Kitlyn took her hand. “I know what I said.”

  Oona smiled, though appeared embarrassed.

  Beredwyn beamed with pride. Advisor Lanon looked away, uneasy. He had once confided in private that he found their love ‘unsettling,’ though he didn’t mean any hostility by it.

  “What exactly is Fauhurst doing?” Kitlyn reached toward Breen.

  The scout handed over the envelope.

  Kitlyn opened it and read accounts of dates and times where Fauhurst or his agents had met with landowners, merchants, and soldiers of officer rank.

  “Our belief is that he attempts to gather the support of enough nobles to challenge the crown. Though at this time, he does not quite have enough with him to displace one groundskeeper,” said Breen.

  Beredwyn chuckled, as did Lanon.

  “Sedition is a delicate matter.” Oona frowned.

  “Treason is not delicate.” Kitlyn waved the papers at her.

  “His reason is not political, it is personal.” Oona clenched her hands into fists. “Had you wed Lanwick instead of me, he would not be attempting to overthrow you. Acting against him might be exactly what he wants you to do. He could take that to the old traditionalists and attempt to twist it into us ‘forcing our abnormal ways’ on the nation.”

  “It is well known that he had a particular vendetta against her from the first moment he began as an advisor.” Beredwyn flared his eyebrows. “That you have an exceptional love is a convenient excuse for him. I dare say most citizens would be more apt to believe he is unable to move past the public mockery your true lineage made of him. Had she wed Lanwick or some other man, he no doubt would have devised some codswallop about her not truly being Aodh’s heir.”

  Kitlyn nodded. “Regardless of his motivation, he is attempting to stir insurrection. No ruler would sit idly by and fail to react, for to do so would invite more challenge.”

  Oona bit her lip. “He knows this.”

  “I shall not make him the prison martyr he likely hopes to become. The man tormented me for years purely because he thought my status too low to be near the princess. Since he is so obsessed with status…” She glanced at Breen who stood with an overly conspicuous expression. “Is there something more?”

  “No, highness.”

  Kitlyn smiled. “Very well. Thank you for your message. May Lucen guide you.”

  “And you as well, highness.” Breen bowed, turned on his heel, and hurried back down the long strip carpet to the doors, seeming eager to be out of there.

  “As I was saying.” Kitlyn tapped her fingers on the armrest of the throne. “I shall not yet order him to the dungeons. As of this moment, Fauhurst will forfeit his land and holdings, including all wealth and possessions less clothing, any holy texts he may own, and six gold radians. Given his relatively young age, that should provide modest meals for the remainder of his life. Since the man is so obsessed with status, the most appropriate punishment is for him to have none.”

  Beredwyn nodded, seeming neither pleased nor opposed to the decree.

  Oona squeezed her hand.

  “And”—Kitlyn held up one finger—“his estate is to become a sanctuary for war widows, orphans, and any soldier too injured to live alone until there are none left who need it. The Temple of Lucen is overburdened.”

  “I love it.” Oona beamed. “The temple is so crowded.”

  “A wise option.” Lanon waved over one of the court scribes, and had the man draft the writ of proclamation to send to the magistrates.

  Kitlyn closed her eyes. I am where the people need me to be. Forgive me for loathing this tedium.

  15

  Unrest

  Oona

  Once again, the continuous murmur of the courtiers threatened to drag Oona to sleep. It probably would have if not for worrying about Fauhurst. While the man had been petty and cruel, she wouldn’t consider him unintelligent… or at least not of subpar intelligence. The man surely couldn’t have expected to circulate among the gentry in search of others willing to unseat the queen without being noticed. She worried that any form of retribution would be exactly playing into his hands. And, with her recent thoughts on the potential truth of there being a curse on the Talomir family line, Fauhurst’s insurrection may well bring about Kitlyn’s death.

  Though not reacting to sedition sent an equally unwelcome message, perhaps a more dangerous one. Fauhurst most assuredly would try to claim Kitlyn attacked him to silence anyone for daring to object to their marriage. Her father had imprisoned several people who had claimed he didn’t speak for Lucen. He’d also imprisoned a few prominent nobles for attempting to speak out against the temple. Kitlyn’s first official act as queen had been releasing those prisoners. It had shocked Oona to find four Lucen priests among them. She wept openly upon seeing them and realizing King Talomir had done such a thing. Much to her surprise, none of the priests had been bitter. All claimed Lucen had given them visions of their release at this moment.

  As peaceful as the kingdom appeared, she couldn’t help but worry that too much lurked beneath the surface to allow things to remain quiet for long:

  Lucernia had a queen who questioned the validity of monarchy.

  The citizenry spent centuries shunning people who loved those of their own gender.

  With the cause of the twenty-year-plus war now known, the citizens might want a new family to hold the crown.

  Some nobles, despite Aodh Talomir starting the war, thought reparations undeserved.

  Many soldiers had become bitter at being lied to about why they fought.

  Many citizens questioned how Lucen could permit such deception for so long.

&nbs
p; And on top of everything else, Fauhurst wanted to start a rebellion.

  She doesn’t really even want to be queen. I’m sure she would be happier in a tiny village. She looked over at the throne. Kitlyn, still fuming, noticed her staring and glanced back, anger gone to a smile in an instant. Oona grinned. She is happy being with me.

  “I fear I may be threatening the very stability of our nation,” whispered Kitlyn.

  Oona blinked. “What?”

  Kitlyn pointed down. When Oona looked, she lifted her gown enough to reveal a bare foot, then dropped it. Oona’s jaw hung open at the impropriety of it. She may as well have perched upon the throne nude. To the courtiers, it would’ve caused the same amount of shock and hand waving. A gasp started to come out of her, but at the devilish glee in Kitlyn’s eyes, it turned into a giggle.

  Oona caught herself before she laughed openly on the throne dais by clamping a hand over mouth, but still wound up making a noise similar to someone drop-kicking a pigeon—loud enough that it echoed over the chamber, bringing silence to the court.

  Everyone stared at her. Increased scrutiny only made Kitlyn’s immodesty funnier. That no one could even tell what she’d done further increased the awkwardness. The more she tried not to let herself laugh, the more she had to. She couldn’t remove her hand from her mouth or she’d cause a scandal that would destroy their short reign.

  “It’s all right,” said Kitlyn. “She likely saw a large flying insect or something.”

  Oona bowed her head, hiding her face in her hands while trying to laugh in silence.

  “Are you all right, highness?” asked Advisor Lanon.

  “She is merely overcome with joy at our nation enjoying peace.” Kitlyn paused. “We have been at war for so long we may lack the underpinnings of how to function without it. It is times like this where people will truly bare their soles.”

  Lanon bowed. “You are wise beyond your years, highness.”

  Oona gasped again and had to bite her arm not to erupt in giggles while firing a ‘stop it!’ glare at Kitlyn. None of this would’ve been at all funny if not for the complete wrongness of a sitting monarch (or her consort) laughing on the throne.