It was my last day with her. We’d hold an official funeral and bury her tomorrow.
So many people showed up to pay their respects. The halls of the cathedral had been crowded with fae wishing to say goodbye to their queen. The line extended outward past the doors of the cathedral. People had to stand in line for hours to get a short moment with the queen’s remains, but still they stayed, standing out in the pouring rain just for a chance to kneel before her glass casket.
Piles of white roses had been brought and laid at the coffer’s feet by the masses. They’d all heard the legendary stories by now, and came to revere the Worldweaver that had saved them from the wrath of Droga and his evil bride.
As they left, people whispered and bowed to me, giving their condolences. I hardly acknowledged them. On my shoulder, Tygrys buzzed, his head hung low. He’d barely left me since we’d lost her, and the faekin seemed entirely distraught. Without Emma, he was entirely confused on what to do. He had no purpose anymore.
I felt much the same.
I hadn’t left the cathedral since she’d been brought in. I remained in the pews like a ghost, haunted by what I’d done. My greatest crime was upon me, and my sentence was that I’d have to deal with the guilt of carrying it forever.
I’d murdered my love. A thousand hells could not compare to that reality. If only Droga had finished me off. It would have been a mercy. But it wasn’t like the dark god to bestow kindness, and I was certain that this was my true punishment for everything I’d done wrong. I’d killed my father, and others. So many lives were wasted at my hand.
I’d felt her heart give way under my blade as I’d shoved it through, and had ceased to feel anything since but harsh remorse and utter sorrow. I thought I’d been sad before, but those unhappy times had been illusions. I didn’t know what the word sadnessmeant, until now.Everything I’d felt before paled in comparison to this endless, all-encompassing grief. I was lost. Without her, I didn’t know where to go.
What had it all been for? Nothing mattered anymore. There was no balm or comfort that would help ease this pain.
Through the quiet of the cathedral, I heard the strings of a lute. Sorceresses sang out in low voices, a tribute to their fae queen.
Into the world borne a rose-maiden fair
Eyes of green and red of hair
A maiden beholden to her fate
Destined to be cleaven from her mate
He was called the White Wolf, a chosen king
And this is the tragedy of which we sing
For he took the maiden for his bride
Believing her fate he could abide
So the maiden was made queen
But there were things still yet unseen
The dryca warned her she would die
Yet the maiden believed she lied
Revolution tore the country apart
And it broke the maiden’s heart
She tried to stop what destiny would make
This would be her greatest mistake
Blood red from her body ran
Her death did echo through the land
In his arms the king held her tight
While her soul fled safely through the night.
