The court had become a stage for treachery and schemes, while the land mourned the passing of their king; some had taken it upon themselves to declare new decrees, challenge existing rules, and question legitimacy.
The throne room was silent, except for the little sobs of Consort Elias. He did not need to prove or act tough. He did not have to hide his pain or his tears anymore. His man was here and, without delay, the situation had taken a drastic turn.
Rowan was as shameless as ever. He swept Elias off his feet, carrying him to his throne; he made him sit. As he turned to leave, Elias held him back. His black ceremonial robe smelled of incense that had been burned overnight. Rowan stopped; his hand reached out as he took Elias. Slowly, he sat down before him, his grey eyes as assuring as ever.
"I am here; I am leaving," he whispered.
Elias opened his mouth, but no words came out.
