The Wicked House of Caroline

The sharp, chilling sound of a bell penetrated her sleep and seemed to fill her dark room. As she gained consciousness and opened her eyes, she saw nothing but darkness. The drapes were still drawn around her bed, keeping in the heat.

On the other side of the drapes, she could hear the light footsteps of servants. Lamps were lit, bringing a glow against the drapes as she sat up.

“My lady.” The nervous voice of one of her maids called out to her. “My lady-”

“I’m awake.” She reached out and grabbed the edge of the drapes, pulling it to the side and allowing the warm yellow light of the oil lamps to pierce the inner darkness of her canopied bed. She pushed herself to the edge and slid her legs off the side.

“My lady.” A maid slipped embroidered slippers on her olive feet and another maid stood to the side, holding a matching embroidered robe at the ready.

“What happened? How is she?” Her voice was firm, expertly holding back any worry she felt, as she rose to her feet and held out her arms. The maid helped put the robes over her, sliding the sleeves over her arms and tugging it up to her chin.

The middle-aged woman who was her head maid had a forlorn look on her pale face as she lowered her eyes and shook her head once. “Her breathing has become very uneven with long pauses in between. The doctors and clerics are worried. Her Majesty has summoned you, Lady Rebecca.”

Rebecca of Caroline, foster daughter to the Queen, quelled the fear in her heart as she grasped the belt around her waist and tied it closed. She quickened her speed and headed out of her room. Her long, black hair with the streak of auburn woven into her tousled braid bounced behind her as she walked out.

Oil lamps hanging overhead illuminated the narrow stone halls cluttered with paintings, statues, and various decorations showing off the wealth of the royal family. Even with an oil lamp every few paces and the walls painted white, the light was limited, and shadows were cast against the walls of the old castle tower.

Her head maid followed behind her, dressed in the gray and white uniform she wore during the day, and two royal guards. They held open doors for her as they passed through the halls and staircases of the Old Tower to cut through a garden courtyard by a central portico to get to the Gilded Palace, the sprawling stone, brick, and glass palace with grand ballrooms, offices, and library built three generations ago to house the current monarch and their immediate family.

It had numerous interconnected wings, private courtyards, and multiple floors, with the Queen’s bedchambers deep within. Palace rules prohibited running, so her steps were quick; going as fast as she could without sprinting down the halls.

With each step, it was a struggle to keep her heart calm. Her hand reached up and touched the thumb-sized metal container hanging over her chest. If she did have another flare up she’d have her pills with her, at least. She forced herself to focus. Now was not the time to be concerned about herself.

“Lady Rebecca.” She was greeted respectfully by the stewards and staff rooted by the doors to the Queen’s suite.

“Where is Brother Laurence?” she asked as she reached them. Her gray eyes swept across the crowd and the head steward, Chamberlain Wilton, stepped forward. The tired shadows across his face were made worse by the lighting.

“His Highness is already inside. They are waiting for you, my lady.” He gave the guard by the door a nod and the guard grasped the metal handles of the door to the Queen’s suite and pulled it open to let her in.

Her maids and the guards with her remained outside as she stepped into the dimly lit room. The heavy smells of various medical concoctions and incense meant to both act as medicine and hide the stench of a sick body filled the room.

“Beks.” A dry, hoarse voice came from the massive canopy bed towards the center of the room. The drapes were hall drawn and tied to the posts, revealing the skinny figure half sunk in pillows and buried with layers of blankets.

Against the yellow light, she could see a pale, gaunt visage with few remnants of the power hungry woman who’d sent a convoy halfway across the kingdom to fetch her simply because some dying old woman in a temple told her that a child resembling her would bring the kingdom to glory.

Whatever conflicts she may have had regarding being ‘fostered’ and hardly seeing her birth family the last twenty years of her life, were pushed to the side. Her heart tightened as she rushed across the plush rug and reached for the skeletal hand still adorned with gold rings and glistening gemstones.

“Your Majesty,” she said in a choked voice.

The Queen’s blue eyes crinkled a bit and a glint of joy filled them as her cold hand wrapped around the smooth, warm hand of the young woman. “Beks.”

“She’s here, Mother.” A man in his late twenties sat on the edge of the Queen’s bed. He was wearing the same clothes she’d seen him earlier that evening, when he made her leave to rest as it was late.

He’d told her that he would also retire for the night, but it seemed that he’d stayed with his mother, meaning the situation had gradually turned worse as the night went on.

“Rebecca, my Beks.” Despite the croaking voice, the Queen’s tone was filled with affection. Under normal circumstances, she only called her Rebecca. It was rare that the Queen called her by her nickname.

“I am here, Your Majesty,” Beks said as she took a seat that Chamberlain Wilton bought for her and placed beside the bed. “It’s late. We still have work in the morning. Brother Laurence will get confused if you’re not there to guide him.” She forced a bright smile and the thin lips of the frail woman on the bed pulled up into a pained smile of her own.

“I have been sick...for so long...he should know by now.” The Queen wheezed and if she were healthier, she might’ve said it with a laugh. Her eyes swept to her eldest son sitting on the edge of the bed. “Leave us.”

Laurence, tall with thick, short brown hair and gentle blue eyes, said to be a spitting image of his late father, the Queen’s first consort, didn’t hesitate. It was as if he’d expected to be told to leave so his mother could speak to Beks alone.

“If her condition worsens, pull the chord,” Laurence told her in an encouraging voice as he pointed out the gold rope and tassel hanging by the side of the bed. Beks nodded and he ordered the remaining clerics, doctors, and Chamberlain Wilton out of the room.

The heavy door closed behind Laurence, and Beks felt the Queen squeeze her hand with her feeble strength. The Queen wasn’t what she considered elderly. Her hair was still quite dark with just a bit of peppering.

Before her illness, she’d been very active and ate well. She was a bit plump with a rosy complexion and an intimidating stature. It was a far cry from the frail woman that seemed to have wasted away in the last few months. It surprised them how quickly the Queen had deteriorated.

“Beks.”

“I’m here.”

“Beks....” The Queen’s eyes moistened. “It has been difficult for you, hasn’t it?”

Beks had an urge to jerk her head back with surprise, but years of strict education kept her back straight and her body poised as she remained in her seat in front of the Queen. She didn’t show any emotion other than restrained concern. The Fourth Prince always commented that she often looked like it pained her to try to show strong emotion.

“What do you mean, Your Majesty?"

“I took you...from your family.”

Beks tilted her head to the side, her eyes a bit squinted. “Yes, you fostered me.”

Taking a aristocratic child to be raised by another family was quite common in order to strengthen inter-house bonds, though even as she tried to validate being plucked out of her family’s duchy when she was a mere three years old, Beks acknowledged that fostering by high nobles and the royal family was incredibly rare.

Rare to the point that it was seen as either an act to ensure loyalty from the lower ranked house or the acquisition of a valuable, promising asset.

The Queen's fostering of her was the latter.

Regardless, her time with the royal family gave her the best, though somewhat strictest, of everything the Kadmus Kingdom had to offer. The best academic tutors, the best etiquette instructors, and access to the best doctors, cleric healers, and medicine available.

There was a great possibility that she would not be alive at that moment if the Queen did not foster her, and for that alone, Beks was grateful.

The Queen stared up at her face that carried little emotion. Beks was like that because of her and they both knew it. The Queen's lips tightened into a wry smile.

“You are a good girl. A smart girl.” She paused for a moment. The Queen closed her eyes and seemed to focus on breathing so she could speak. She released Beks’ hand from her cold, wrinkled one and pointed to her writing desk across the room. “Under the writing mat, take the key to open the lower left drawer.”

“All right.” Obediently, Beks gave the Queen a nod and rose from her plush, embroidered seat. She crossed the room to the ornate writing desk with the gilded leaf accents. The main surface of the writing desk had a fitted, hard leather mat and writing board on top. The Queen’s initials and seal were embossed with gold leaf into the dark leather.

Beks felt around the edges of the table, where the desk and leather met, and lifted a corner. The key was tucked to one back corner; small and somewhat flat for what it was. There were a few old books on top of it and she wouldn’t have noticed a key was underneath.

A small click sounded as she unlocked the lower left drawer. It didn’t have a handle on the outer panel, so she used the key to pull the drawer forward enough to slip her fingers through the top.

Inside was a neat bundle of letters that fit in her palm. No envelopes, just folded sheets. They were bundled together by a pale silk ribbon.

Thinking that the Queen wanted her to bring the letters to her, Beks gathered the bundle in her hand and closed the drawer. She locked it and slipped the key into her pocket so she could return the letters afterwards.

As she sat back on her seat, the Queen spoke up once more.

“Those are for you,” she said. Her eyes were red as she looked at the bundle of letters on Beks’ lap. “I wrote them.”

Beks tilted her head to the side and her brows furrowed a bit as she looked from the Queen to the letters and back. “You wrote them to me?”

“I don’t have long.” The Queen closed her eyes and seemed to sink further into the plush bed. “I have much to tell you.”

Beks lowered her eyes. “Is there anything I should give to His Highness the Fourth Prince? Or to the Second or Third?” The Queen had four sons and the three youngest had yet to return despite Laurence’s urgent summons that their mother was dying.

The Queen kept her eyes closed, but her chest rose and fell unsteadily. “No. Those are for you,” she repeated. “When I am gone, read them.”

Beks frowned. “It will be a while, then. I should return them-”

“Rebecca.” The Queen called to her. “I don’t regret taking you. Though I had my reasons as queen, I do love you as if I birthed you myself.” She smiled a bit and turned her head in Bek’s direction. “No child of mine has lived up to what I believed they could do like you have.”

Beks swallowed hard and lowered her eyes, feeling guilty, but unsure if it was because of some of her lingering resentment or because the Crown Prince should’ve been the one who the Queen praised at that moment.

“I am only doing what I was taught to do.”

“And you have learned well. The kingdom is in good hands with you,” the Queen said. She smiled once more to herself. “As a ruler, to solidify your power, you must placate your people. Make them stable and they will flourish.”

Beks knew this. If the populace was at least somewhat satisfied, then the chances of revolt would be less. In addition, stability allowed culture to grow and technology to advance. They could prepare for emergencies, strengthen their military, and increase their influence with other countries.

She had the same teachers as the Crown Prince on politics, governance, and finance. She’d been assisting with the kingdom’s yearly budget the last four years, and for the last two, the Queen and Crown Prince allowed her to prepare it herself and then reviewed it.

This trust didn’t just come with her competence and education, but because everyone knew that one day, she would marry the Fourth Prince. Luther, and become an official member of the royal family. She’d take a position to aid her brother-in-law, the Crown Prince, and thus fulfill the prophecy of her birth.

“I will continue to work hard to ensure the stability and improvement of our kingdom,” Beks told the Queen. It was an automatic response and one she’d often repeat to the Queen as if in confirmation.

The Queen took a deep breath. “Rebecca...if my sons are unable...you must ensure the stability of the kingdom.” Her cold hand touched Beks’ once more. Her pale face and sunken eyes were turned towards Beks, boring into her with an intensity that made her shift uncomfortably. “Do what you must to protect the people. They are the source of our wealth. The source of our power. Without them, we are nothing.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“By any means necessary, Rebecca. No matter what personal cost. The kingdom must come first.” Her chest heaved and her hand shook. “Swear to me.”

Beks crinkled her eyes and nodded. “Yes-”

“Swear to me!” Her grip on Beks’ hand tightened and Beks almost had to grit her teeth to keep from crying out loud at the unexpected strength. The Queen’s intense eyes locked on her, as if looking into her soul.

“I swear.” Those were the only words she could muster.

It took another few breaths for the Queen to accept her promise. Her grip on Beks’ hand lightened and she relaxed. “Good...good....” A haunted smile filled her pale face. “A daughter with dawn in her hair...born where the earth split....” Beks closed her eyes and the hand on the bundle of letters tightened. She’d heard those words thousands of times in her lifetime. “Will bring an age of prosperity and stability to make a kingdom an empire.”

On the eve of her birth, the last Great Oracle’s dying words at the Great Temple prophesied a fated daughter to be born.

The problem was that at the time, the Queen only had three sons: the first, Crown Prince Laurence, from her first husband and consort, King Alexios, former Prince of Paraxes, a kingdom in the southeast. Monarchs of Kadmus were allowed two spouses, usually a ‘spouse of convenience’ for political or economic reasons, and then a ‘spouse of choice’ married because of emotional attachment.

The Queen was betrothed to Prince Alexios of the warrior kingdom as a child. Neither had any issue with the engagement and Paraxes sided with Kadmus against enemy kingdoms. The Queen could have married a spouse of choice, but she wanted further stability for Kadmus. During her childhood, its eastern borders were ravaged by three neighboring kingdoms and had taken a good deal of territory gained in her grandfather’s time due to her own father’s incompetence.

The Queen wanted another political marriage for her second. It was important that her spouses were not antagonistic towards each other, so she married Prince Alexios’ closest friend and brother in arms, Timur, the youngest Prince of Langshe, a mountain kingdom with sizable natural resources.

Her two husbands dutifully protected Kadmus’ border, and even regained all the lost territory. From what late Uncle Timur told Beks when she was little, the three of them got along quite well and were friends, as well as marriage partners. Uncle Timur had given the Queen twin sons, Lazarus and Lucian.

They’d left when she was little, but she remembered them to look like Uncle Timur. Pale skin with long, straight dark hair, though they had the Queen’s blue eyes. Beks remembered playing with their long hair. They were ‘pretty’, she had called them, and during her childhood, they were closest to her. Second Prince Lazarus went to a military school and Third Prince Lucian went to study at the Great Temple to become a priest after Uncle Timur died.

With no daughters, the Queen had sent her people across her kingdom to find the ‘daughter with dawn in her hair, born where the earth split’.

They found Beks when she was six months old.

The Caroline Duchy’s Sacred Valley sat where the earth split in half by a continental break. On one side of what appeared to be a narrow river was Greshran and the ground moved southwest. On the other side was Greshgan and it moved northeast. The valley has been noted as splitting since ancient times and the Caroline ancestors believed it to be a sacred because of this, thus the capital of the duchy was called the Sacred Valley.

The location criteria was met, but what about the daughter?

There were three children born the day the Great Oracle died and said her prophetic words.

Two were daughters.

But only one had dark hair with a streak of orange - the dawn breaking through the night.

Rebecca Anastasia of Caroline, first daughter and second child of Duke Robert Lodewijk of Caroline and Duchess Sybil Patricia of Blythouse and Caroline. The younger sister of Lord Amadeo Patrick of Caroline, and later the older sister of Young Lord Thaddeus Renault and Young Lady Dorothy Philomena.

The latter two, she had not yet even met, as since she arrived to be ‘fostered’ in the capital, Kadmium, she’d never been allowed out further than the city gates.

Part of it was the obvious: she was a destined child and could not be allowed to leave or meet any danger. The other reason was that she was sick and the Queen spared no expense in her health.

Still, even foster children eventually returned to their birth families. How would Beks fulfill the prophecy from a backwater duchy where mines, wool, and metal work were the main sources of income?

Tie her to the royal family by engaging her to one of the Queen’s sons.

Crown Prince Laurence was already engaged. The twins were three, almost four years older than Beks, and would’ve been the most suitable. Unfortunately, by the time Beks arrived in Kadmium, the Queen had her fourth son.

A few months before Beks was born and the Great Oracle made her prophecy, King Consort Alexios died. The Second Consort, Uncle Timur, said that the Queen became focused on finding the prophesied daughter because she was coping with Alexios’ death.

After Beks was identified, the Queen married her third husband, as due to the death of King Alexios, she could remarry another spouse. Perhaps it was because she was sentimental at the loss of her first husband and partner that the Queen had married a spouse of choice this last and final time.

Third Consort Petus, the Queen’s second cousin and childhood love. She had soon become pregnant with Fourth Prince Luther and it was Prince Luther who was engaged to Beks.

The prophesied daughter was tied to the royal family and Beks became a highly trained bird in a very gilded cage.

But she knew her role and she knew how beneficial it would be if she played it well. Her family received a lot of prestige. The people got a competent individual to assist in running the kingdom; she was very popular with the city’s citizens. She didn’t have to worry too much about her illness, as a medical staff was always nearby and when she did have a ‘flare up’, she had medical support at once.

This was the life she knew and it was one she knew others would kill to have.

“Beks.” The Queen drew her out of her thoughts once more and Beks blinked. She looked back at the Queen. “Put the letters in your pocket.”

A strange request, but Beks did as she was told. The Queen held her hand once more and closed her eyes, appearing calm. “Your Majesty...how are you feeling?”

“Are you angry at me, Beks?”

“No, Your Majesty.” It was the truth. A bit of frustration and resentment, but not anger or hate. The corner of Beks’ lips tugged up a bit. In fact, she had some affection for the woman. “You fed me and wiped my sweat when I was sick. Spent every night by my side when I arrived. Sponsored by debut....”

“It is all right to be angry at me,” the Queen said in a resigned, broken voice. “I know what I did.” Beks continued to stroke the back of the Queen’s hand with her free one. “But...thank you. The kingdom is in good hands.”

“Brother Laurence will prove an excellent king and I will support him whole-heartedly,” Beks told her.

“The kingdom above all, Beks. Remember.”

“I will.”

“The people should not suffer.” The Queen’s cold hand began to loosen. Beks felt her chest tighten.

“I know.” Her eyes flickered to the gold cord and tassel just an arm’s length away. Her hand itched to pull it.

“My daughter...love you....” The Queen’s breath wheezed and her chest stopped rising. Beks waited, her hand shaking as the Queen’s hand over it went limp. She waited for another choked breath to push the Queen’s chest up, but after a few counts, there was nothing.

“Brother Laurence!” She screamed just before she shot up, grabbed the gold tassel, and pulled it with unrestrained strength. She vaguely heard the bell ringing from somewhere, but she wasn’t sure where.

The doors burst open behind her and clerics, doctors, and the Crown Prince rushed in.

Beks whirled around with wide eyes and something hot and wet coming down her face. The Crown Prince pulled her aside to make away for the clerics and doctors, but kept a hand on her shoulder.

“Breathe, Beks. Breathe,” he told her as he looked from her to the Queen laying unmoving on the bed. His own eyes were red.

Beks didn’t realize she wasn’t breathing. She stood in place, frozen. She wasn’t sure if she had exhaled and inhaled like he told her. She just watched as the men and women hovered around the Queen’s bed in a frenzy.

It wasn’t until she heard the head royal doctor, who also treated her, announce the time and then the words they’d dreaded to hear for the last few months that Beks was drawn out of her stupor.

“Queen Letizia dun Kadmus has left us.”

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It was something they had been preparing for, as it was obvious a few weeks earlier that the Queen would not recover from her illness. Despite all her attempts to brainwash herself, and the Queen, into believing that she would indeed recover, Beks knew that foster mother was dying.

Every day, the Queen wasted away little by little. First, she shortened her work hours and had Laurence oversee the court. Then she moved her work to her bed chambers, working from her gilded writing desk for as long as she could. When simply moving across the room became too much, she worked from her bed.

When she could no longer work at all, all the responsibility of governance was put on Laurence. He’d prepared his entire life to do so, but the weight of his dying mother was still a shadow over him, wearing him down. Even Laurence and Lady Eleanor’s wedding was postponed.

Beks took over the preparations for the inevitable death at the same time she dove into the work she’d been assigned, as well as took on more minor responsibilities from Laurence. Lady Eleanor assisted Beks with the preparations as Laurence’s fiancée, but was worried about both of them overworking themselves.

“You two work as if you know nothing else,” she had said as she brought dinner one evening to Beks, who was holed up in her office reviewing budget allocation requests. “Born of different parents, but exactly the same.”

“Not true,” Beks had replied in an effort to ease Lady Eleanor’s concern. “I’m much cuter. Her Majesty says so.”

No such jokes had left her after the Queen passed. Not that there was nowhere to say them; laughter could be a form of grieving, after all, but Beks simply did not want to speak much outside of what was necessary.

She didn’t feel much of anything if she stopped to think about it. Everything she did, she did with mindless efficiency.

Even during the daily prayers over the Queen’s body, Beks was numb going through the motions as her mind drifted elsewhere to what needed to be, and should’ve been, done.

She knelt on the pews, a sheer white lace shawl draped over her head and held into place by the twisted nectria metal pins she usually used to keep her hair in a bun. White was the usual color of death in Kadmus. In the castle’s newly renovated temple, the vaulted ceilings were draped with white with the lion head seal of Queen Letizia in Kadmus’ royal color of orange.

It had been a week that the Queen had been sealed after the customary lying in state for two days, but her younger three sons had yet to arrive.

Laurence had sent them each messenger when their mother was deathly ill about a month prior to the Queen’s death in order to summon them back. He had hoped that they would return before their mother passed, but it was not to be. Beks could see the barely concealed frustration in his eyes when one of the courtiers brought up the other princes.

Second Prince Lazarus was in the northeast leading his battalions on a patrol around the regained territory. He was constantly moving, so there was a chance of delay that the message would get to him. The kingdom’s means of instant communication were first-sized pearls. Urapearls were rare and fixed to a building; he’d need to be relayed a message from the nearest fort.

Third Prince Lucian was on a pilgrimage and was the furthest from the capital. They knew it would take some time to get to him and there was a chance he’d be forced to finish his pilgrimage first before returning, as simply getting to the sacred site would be a long and daunting journey. He was the most difficult to contact.

Fourth Prince Luther had gone with his father, the Third Consort, to the Great Temple to pray for the Queen’s health. It was two to three weeks to travel there, and by now, they should be on their way back. Yet, they haven't sent any message confirming their return. This is what frustrated Laurence the most.

Beks couldn’t say that she was surprised. The Third Consort was a proud man who felt he was above others because the Queen’s heart was his. It was no secret that the Fourth Prince was her favorite son. He was raised in a much more relaxed environment than his brothers. His education was strict, but not nearly as strict as Laurence’s or even hers.

Unlike the twins, he was not sent away to military school or the Temple.

The Fourth Prince lived the life of a wealthy young lord in the capital, dabbling in various businesses with his father and socializing.

That wasn’t to say that he was a terrible person. Beks got along well with him. They were in a sort of business arrangement and treated each other accordingly. Luther would often come to her with business inquiries and ask her to review the legality of contracts, so he had a certain degree of trust in her.

In addition, she didn’t know of any relations he had with women or men that were inappropriate. Either he didn’t have any or made a point to keep it so hidden, that even his mother and brother’s men were unable to find out.

She and Luther had agreed when they were teenagers that as long as the other did not make an illicit relationship public, did not recognize any illegitimate children, and maintained the other’s status both in private and public, their political marriage would remain as such. This went for both of them, and their clear discussions and boundaries on the matter made them get along better, as if knowing where each other stood and what lines not to cross.

Luther was very good about celebrating her birthdays, holidays, and sending her gifts. She acted well on his behalf, represented him at events, and bolstered support for his family. He never had any problem with how close she was to Laurence, but did sometimes tease her saying that ‘Laurence loves his foster sister more than his blood related brother’.

It was because she was around Laurence more often and he personally guided her. He was the first of the princes to reach out to her when she arrived. He and Uncle Timur gave her what she’d considered a happy childhood with toys and activities. The twins were more rambunctious and seemed afraid of hurting her, who was half their size and sickly, though they pampered her. Unfortunately, as they were sent away after Uncle Timur died, there wasn’t much time spent playing with them before they left.

Luther’s childhood had been very sheltered, and unlike the other brothers, he stayed with the Third Consort, and was raised solely by him and the Queen, in as much a capacity as the Queen could with her position and responsibilities. Luther didn’t interact with his brothers as much as she did.

Beks theorized that this was because despite the Third Consort’s pride, it must’ve still wounded him to know that he was only the Queen’s third husband. He hadn’t even been chosen as a spouse of choice for her second, and likely harbored some resentment against Uncle Timur and the twins because of this.

The Third Consort being the Queen’s most loved husband should’ve made him present, yet he and his son were still away and hadn’t notified the castle of their return.

Is he doing this to insult Brother Laurence? Beks stared blankly ahead of her at the Queen’s elegant marble sarcophagus that was carved with reliefs from her glory days as a ruler. Three panels on each long side and one panel on each end depicted her glorious childhood, her political prowess, regaining lost territories, examples of her benevolent ruling, and how the gods blessed her.

And on the panel above her head, a relief carving of her holding a baby girl surrounded by a halo.

Beks knew it was her. The baby girl’s clothing had a pattern that was reserved for royal princesses and she was the only one who wore it. It was as if the Queen were proclaiming to have found a gift for the kingdom and was presenting it to them. What was more, it was the Queen who prepared her sarcophagus in advance, as was tradition.

To Beks’ relief, no one said anything about the carving, but the weight of expectations on her shoulders grew heavier.

She heard noises coming from outside the temple behind her and raised her head. They were the familiar steps of royal guards marching together. Royal guards not only guarded the castle and its grounds, but also escorted royal family members both within the castle and when they were outside.

Laurence wasn’t scheduled to arrive yet. He had afternoon meetings and then was supposed to join her and Lady Eleanor for prayer over the Queen before dinner.

“Leti!” A pained cry came from the entrance and Beks turned her head. A choked sob and frantic footsteps echoed in the stone brick and tile room. Through the hazy incense smoke, the figure of a middle-aged man appeared.

Average in height with long, wavy blond hair that was tied at his nape and went down to his waist, was the Third Consort dressed in loose, white mourning garb. As far as Beks knew, they did not have mourning garb with them when they left to pray for the Queen’s health. Did they stop to dress first?

The Third Consort threw himself over the Queen’s sarcophagus, tears on his red face as his eyes were shut tight. He called out the Queen’s nickname, which only he used, and stroked the pale, streaked marble as if he were caressing the Queen’s face.

Beks stared at him with cold eyes. Where was he when the Queen was dying? Praying at the temple? Was it necessary to pray? The doctors and healing clerics already told them to expect the worst in the Queen’s health. Why did the Third Consort insist to do such a showy action of making a ‘pilgrimage’ to the Great Temple to pray for his dying wife’s health?

She took a deep breath and pushed down any anger and resentment. Most of her anger was fueled by pain. After all, it wasn’t as if the Third Consort wanted the great love of his life to die. The gods knew how often the man tried to pretend their own family of three was all that existed. Even knowing that Beks was one day going to be his daughter-in-law, there were times when he’d forget she was there.

“Mother....” A strained voice came from the aisle that the Third Consort had just run down. Beks watched her fiancé taking slow, heavy steps towards the center prayer circle in the heart of the building. His face was pale and his brown eyes were glistening, staring at the stone sarcophagus inside the prayer circle and surrounded by orange and white flowers.

Beks bowed her head against the pew and stood up. Her white mourning robes draped over her pale, unembellished dress. Clothing for deaths should not be ostentatious, lest ornate designs celebrating life and vibrancy mock the dead. Her hair was down and even her shoes were plain leather boots.

“My deepest sympathies for your loss.” She placed her hand on Luther’s shoulder and he turned his head towards her. He looked wounded, rightly appearing as if he’d lost something of great value to him. His eyes crinkled up.

“Beks!” He grabbed on to her and buried his face in her shoulder as he cried. She closed her eyes and raised her arms to wrap around his back, patting him gently.

Of all the princes, Luther was the one who saw the Queen as his mother first, and a ruler second. He’d spent the most time with her and received the most of any maternal love she had.

His shoulders heaved up and down as Beks stroked his back to try to calm him.

“Luther! Come and see your mother.” The Third Consort’s trembling voice called for him and she felt Luther tense against her. She stroked his back once more and stepped to the side. She took his arm and moved beside him to lead him forward in order to support him.

Luther looked at the pale stone that had a visage of his mother’s peaceful sleeping face carved on the lid. It wasn’t the gaunt face just before death, but the fleshy healthy one from years earlier. Luther’s eyes squinted and he reached out with one hand to touch the cold stone.

“Did she suffer?” he asked in a tight voice.

“Only as much as the illness caused her. We tried to make her as comfortable as possible during her last days,” Beks replied in a quiet voice. She tried to speak gently instead of her usual firm, authoritative voice that she’d been groomed to use. “I held her hand and she closed her eyes. She took one more breath and then rested eternally.”

Luther shut his eyes, his hand on hers tight as he nodded. “Thank you for being there for her.”

She shook her head once. “It was an honor to be by her side.”

His red, puffed eyes looked towards her. “Did she have any words before she passed?”

“Just that she loved you all.”

He shut his eyes and moved closer to her. “I should’ve been there.” She wanted to agree. She wanted to say that he should have been there, but it wasn’t her place.

“Did the doctors or clerics find out what caused her death?” the Third Consort asked.

“A terminal illness that eats away at a person’s body, weakening it severely and making the body unable to function correctly. It is rare, but there are no known cures, unfortunately,” Beks replied in a calm, respectful voice.

The Third Consort continued to stand beside the sarcophagus, his arms draped across as if holding the Queen against him. He closed his eyes and pressed his head against the stone.

“Why did you have to go before I returned?” he rasped as he pressed his cheek against the Queen’s carved stone face. “Why didn’t you wait for me?”

“Father....” Luther stepped forward to comfort his father and moved away from Beks despite his own shaking voice and broken expression.

The Third Consort’s fingers curled and pressed against the stone. His eyes opened and narrowed. “I want to see her.” His voice cracked as he spoke.

Beks tilted her head to the side. “Pardon, Your Highness?”

“I want to see her!” The Third Consort’s head shot up and he gave her a demanding look. “Open the sarcophagus!”

Beks’ eyes widened and the corners of her lips tugged down ever so slightly. The Queen had already been anointed, wrapped in the customary linens painted with holy sigils and prayers, and placed inside the sarcophagus with the usual dried flowers, perfumes, powders, and jewelry. Once sealed inside, the sarcophagus was not meant to be opened again.

“Your Highness, that is not possible. The Queen has already started her eternal rest-”

“I want to see her! Don’t you dare stop me, Rebecca of Caroline!” Anger filled his face as he glared at her. Luther moved his arm over his father to keep him from lunging forward and possibly hitting Beks.

“Father, mother is already sealed. We should not open the sarcophagus,” Luther said in a pained voice.

Beks looked towards the enclaves to the side and gave a nod to the two priests who watched over the body. They moved forward to try to calm the Third Consort. Widowed spouses becoming overly emotional and demanding absurd things during death practices was common.

She’d heard of people who threw themselves into graves, climbed on top of the bodies, and clawed at the tomb in the heat of heartbreak and grieving.

“Your Highness, it is not acceptable to open the sarcophagus now that Queen Letizia has been sealed,” one of the priests told the Third Consort in a placating voice. “You must let her rest. Unsealing the sarcophagus will disrupt her soul and anger her.”

“Don’t tell me what my Leti will be angry about! She was my wife! Mine! I knew her better than anyone!” The Third Consort pulled against Luther, who couldn’t hold him back. His father stumbled forward and leaned against the sarcophagus. A dull thud echoed through the vaulted room as the man tried to push the heavy stone lid to the side.

“Your Highness, please....” Beks internally cringed. If the Third Consort were someone else, she could signal for the royal guards on duty to pry him away and restrain him until he calmed, but he was the Third Consort and, no matter how much the Queen valued her, she was just a foster daughter.

“Don’t you dare stop me, Rebecca! She is my wife! You have no place to stop me from seeing her!” The frantic man pushed and shoved, but the heavy stone lid did not move. It was a futile attempt, but telling him so was in itself futile.

Luther, still consumed with his own grief, looked at a loss at his father’s temporary madness.

“She may have no place to stop you, but I do.” A deep, firm voice came from the entrance of the temple and at once, the royal guards saluted the newcomer.

The priests knelt down, their hands touching the ground as the heavy footsteps of the soon-to-be king entered.

Luther bowed his head. Beks stepped back and bowed her head and kept it down.

Laurence had white mourning robes over his usual clothes. His eyes had slight shadows around them and were a bit swollen. Still, he kept an upright demeanor and a stern, authoritative look on his face.

The Third Consort’s reddened eyes narrowed and he clenched his jaw. “I must see her! You can’t keep her from me!”

“Third Consort, we are not keeping her from you. Mother has already been sealed. It is sacrilegious to force her sarcophagus open,” Laurence told them. It wasn’t as if this were an obscure custom. It was the case all through Kadmus. If the dead willed, their bodies could lay in state for up to two days, but afterwards, they needed to be sealed, or else it was believed that the gateway to the underworld would close before their soul could depart.

It was considered pulling their souls back from the underworld, tainting the soul, and ruining their chances for a rebirth if they were unsealed.

“I want to see Leti!”

Laurence stood firm. “Impossible-”

“Are you hiding something from me?” The Third Consort’s gaze was burning into the Crown Prince and Beks noticed the mood in the air shift. No longer solemn, but suspicious.

Laurence’s brows furrowed and he looked at the Third Consort as if he’d lost his mind. “What would I be hiding from you? Do you believe that it isn’t my mother in the sarcophagus?”

“Is it?” The Third Consort demanded. “Leti told me she’d wait for me to return! She wouldn't leave me so suddenly!”

“Third Consort, Mother was terminally ill. There was no guarantee of how long she would live.” There was a bitter tightness in Laurence’s voice. He’d watched his mother waste away himself. He knew how difficult it was for her. “She did whatever the doctors and clerics told her to try to keep her health. She did all she could to survive.”

“Mortals cannot avoid death when death comes for them, Your Highness,” one of the priests told them in a consoling voice.

The Third Consort grit his teeth, appearing more distraught. He clawed at the sarcophagus once more and shook his head. “I don’t believe she would abandon me like this. She loved me the most! She would not leave me!”

Luther’s face was covered with tears as he stepped forward. “Father-”

“This isn’t Leti!” Before Luther could touch his father’s arms, the Third Consort batted them away and Luther almost stumbled back. The Third Consort glared at them with anger and pain in his eyes. “I refuse to believe that Leti has died! She couldn’t have left without a word! You’re lying! You’re lying! She’s not dead! This isn’t her! This isn’t Leti!”

His voice echoed in the temple. No one seemed to know how to answer him.

She saw Laurence’s hand tighten at his sides. His jaw was clenched. “Whether you believe it or not, I cannot convince you. My mother has been sealed and we will not open the sarcophagus.” He looked towards the royal guards stationed around the temple. “Anyone who attempts to open the sarcophagus will be taken to the dungeon.”

The Third Consort’s eyes went wide and he almost choked. “You dare?”

“She is my mother,” Laurence said in a low, dangerous voice. “Anyone who seeks to disrupt her eternal rest deserves to be imprisoned.” His eyes flickered around at the guards once more. “Is that understood?”

“Yes, Your Majesty!” Several voices chorused in response, but the Third Consort sneered.

“You are not the king yet, Your Highness.” With his face red and still covered with wet streaks, he stormed out of the building.

Luther watched his father leave in dismay, and then looked back at Beks, as if asking what he should do.

“Pray for your mother,” she said. She didn’t know what the Third Consort would do in the throes of grief. It was best to keep Luther at her side to make sure he wasn’t hurt if the Third Consort threw anything or yelled.

Luther lowered his head and nodded. He looked towards his eldest brother.

“I am sorry we are so late, Brother Laurence. I wanted to see her before she left.” His voice began to choke up towards the end of his sentence. Beks raised her arm to stroke his back in an effort to calm him.

Laurence took a deep breath and placed his hand on his shoulder. “I wish you were able to see her, as well, Luther. Mother was very ill. I know she would’ve wanted to see you.”

Luther’s eyes were shut as he tried to hold back his cries. He turned his body back to Beks and she brought him against her, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and allowing him to cry against her.

Laurence let out a low sigh. He patted Luther’s back, just as helpless. “Come. Let’s sit and pray. Laz and Cian aren’t here yet and likely won’t return before the entombment.”

Luther nodded his head and Beks led him towards the pews to take a seat. As the two brothers sat beside each other, Beks took a seat in the row behind them.

In a week, the late Queen would be entombed in the royal burial chamber beneath the Kadmus Palace Temple. The late Queen would join her father, whom she had overthrown in her youth, and her two older brothers, whom she had killed.