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I tense as the recruits clap me on the back, the crowd surging forward to where I still hold Otto pinned to the ground. But I don’t revel in their congratulations. I press my lips firmly together, my vacant eyes moving to the gathering crowd. “Enough for the morning! Go get some water. Be back here after lunch,” I yell.
I wipe away a bead of sweat from my brow as I enter the palace. I'm later than I expected, stopping to inspect some of the guard checkpoints around the market square. I got distracted, and time slipped away from me.
My stride remains fixed as I spot the throne room door.
As a child, Evander, Lena, and I would concoct ways to get through these doors. Elaborate ventures that would distract the guards while we tried to sneak through.
Of course we were always caught, promptly scolded, and sent on our way. The ever elusive throne room that we could never enter. Now, I’ve passed through these doors so many times any magic I once thought they held has almost completely vanished.
It’s rare for me to be summoned to the palace outside my weekly dinners with Lena. Once I started my training with the Guard, I opted to stay in the barrack dormitories. And once I was made Captain, I stayed to be closer to my men. But these walls are as familiar to me as my home.
Two guards stand on either side of the entrance in their red and gold, swords sheathed but hands at the ready, eyeing me as I pass. I nod to the two on the right. “Buchanan, Ashcroft.” I nod to the two on the left. “Aldren, Crane.”
“Captain,” they all say in turn.
I haven’t seen these men regularly for a couple of years, as they left the recruit barracks in favor of the king’s sister’s instruction. Lady Margaret, preferring the title ofLadyto that ofPrincess, prefers to keep and train her own set of Palace Guards, separate from the city barracks and the captain’s instruction. I never put up much of a fight in that regard. She keeps out of my way, and I keep out of hers.
Lady Margaret and I have never warmed to each other, but her curious background has always left a bit of question in my mind. When she came of age she began her Royal duties as Ambassador of the Crown of Felshan, often traveling and spending long stretches of time within two of the three countries that border the kingdom: Jadeya to the northeast and Venes to the south.
Lady Margaret now holds the title of Grand Emissary of National and Foreign Affairs, whatever that is. All I know is she has a royal ticket to question anything I do as Captain of the Royal Guard. I don’t even think her current position existed until she created it. But as the king’s favored sister, it seems she can do whatever she wants.
As predicted, Queen Amelia is not alone as I enter. I hear small bouts of laughter echoing from the small tea room— Princess Adalena, Lady Margaret, and another I don’t recognize.
I continue making my way down the hallway lined with a deep red carpet, marking the entry of a columned corridor leading into the throne room. High ceilings and tall windows create an air of grandeur, doing their job well. Each brick and each window reminding me how important every piece is in the grand scheme of the space. Much like the people making up our country.
The magic that left me at the doors returns for just a moment as I stop and take in the room and the intention the creators designed this space to hold.
The throne stands high on a dais, an honored and extraordinary piece in and of itself. A massive stone, rough and rudimentary around the edges, bridges into an immaculately polished yet simply carved out seat in its center. Flecks of light catch off the many cutlets made throughout the grand structure as if stars themselves reside deep inside. My eyes get lost for a moment as I stare at it, imagining the many promises this one object contains.
Red and gold accents show through in the large tapestries lining the walls, depicting Felshan’s history. Portraits of the current and previous royal families lay throughout the room as well. I spot Prince Evander in the portrait nearest the throne, and my stomach constricts. I try and swallow to dislodge the lump forming in my throat so I can breathe again, giving myself an extra few seconds before I turn and move directly into the presence of Queen Amelia and her guests.
Lady Margaret and Princess Adalena sit to the left of the queen. A mystery woman, around the same age as the queen and two others who appear to be this lady’s daughters, sit to her right.
As I get closer, it’s hard to miss the darkened shadows beneath the queen’s eyes. Are her cheeks a little more hollow than they were yesterday?
A swift bout of nausea roils through me. The only thing keeping me upright is my duty and responsibility to this family who has lost so much at my hands— the reckless boy who consistently convinced the prince to color outside the lines.
“Hello, Roan!” the queen says, trying to animate her somber voice.
I turn to face her as she waves me over with a slight flick of her hand. Her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
My shoes beat against the hard tile as I continue my way to her side, surveying the guests and scanning the space around me. “My Queen,” I say, giving a slight bow of my head.
“Roan, how good of you to join us today. I was just telling Princess Adalena, Lady Margaret, and Lady Davenport what a hard-working and loyal captain you’ve been these last few years,” says the queen.
“It’s because I have a king, queen, and princess worth being loyal to,” I tell her. Lena purses her lips, and I realize too late that I left Prince Evander out of that line-up.
The smile falters from the queen’s face. I inwardly kick myself for not using the all encompassingroyaltyormonarchyto name them all. It’s not that I’ve forgotten him. Obviously I will never forget.
I’ve far from made peace with his passing, but I’ve learned to acknowledge that he isn’t coming back. On occasion that acknowledgment allows me to see past my grief to the people who are right in front of me. But most of the time it feels like a punch to the stomach leaving me gasping for air.
The queen is still attempting a smile, but now it seems plastered, like that of a sculpture or painting. I know the only reason that smile is still in place is from years of training and habit, of the practicing and pretending to be happy, when inside she felt as if she were slowly dying. I mastered that smile many years ago.
“You look like it’s been quite the day, Captain,” Lady Margaret interjects.
“A morning of training our recruits and checking our checkpoints at the market, Lady Margaret,” I state, my gaze firmly meeting her own.
I try to recover the conversation as I look over at the other women. “Princess Adalena— you are looking radiant, as always.” The other mystery women, the presumable mother and daughters, shift in their chairs as they attempt to sit up a little straighter.
