The Broken Crown

Chapter 50

Adrianne

 It might not exactly have been the happiest day of her life, but the day that Adrianne returned to Lionhall and retook the throne of the Queen was definitely her most triumphant one. Music flared from every corner of the castle, and singing and dancing and laughing filled the silence wherever music did not. The city surrounding it had been a sad sight, but she was sure that this was the beginning of something good.

 The trumpets sounded a regal and victorious tune as she entered, her arm interlaced with her husband’s. His handsome face was alight; his battle-grown beard shaven so that he looked young and vigorous. The court was full and large and all clapping as they made their way from the doors to the throne.

 Today was the day they officially retook the throne. It was also the day that the flowers and birds of the spring had returned, signalling and symbolizing all at once the rebirth the entire kingdom was hoping for.

 Adrianne was wearing a gown made out of cloth-of-gold with blue brocades and her hair was braided and decorated. Behind them walked their three children; the Prince of the Crown, Christian, now six years old and growing taller and stronger every day; and behind him, the royal prince and princess, Raynor, whose hair had taken an auburn shade, and Evelyn, who took after her mother in every way. Well, almost every way, I hope, Adrianne thought as she recalled the one miscarriage she had had when her twins were two years of age.

 As she grazed her stomach, still flat and unnoticeable, she felt the anxiety build in the pit of her stomach. She wondered, as she had wondered before, if it was coincidental that the children she actually carried to life could all have been results of her nights spent in the Kingswood.

 She was forced out of her reverie when they reached the steps to the elevated flooring of the thrones. The music did not quiet down; it only grew louder and more triumphant, as if it were trying to blow loud enough to reach the ears of the cowardly rebels seeking refuge in the north and confidently enough that they would shake in fear rather than cold.

 Adrianne turned around to face her people, her court, in time to see her children being ushered off to the side. They stood beside their aunt. Princess Constance was now a beautiful young lady of eighteen years; still pale and easy to blush from her frequent sicknesses as a child, but beautiful and married and the mother of a son. Adrianne had to remind herself that her children bore the same rank and title as the girl who had always been superior to her in her youth.

 Slowly, the King and Queen sat lowered themselves to their thrones. A steward, dressed all in red, came in from the side, carrying the King’s crown. He kneeled before Raphael, who bowed his head and the crown was gently placed upon his head. He was handed his sceptre then.

 Contrary to the sceptre and crown of the queen, a king’s sceptre and crown were made specifically for him. Raphael’s were especially beautiful, she thought, and remembered a day now eight years in the past, when Lucretia had told her that they had been made during her pregnancy. It seemed she had decided everything in Raphael’s life, before he had been born. Even now, as a grown man past his twenty-fifth year, he still had little say towards her.

 Another steward entered, kneeled before his Queen and she nodded, letting him place the familiar weight of her crown on top of her head. Her eyes closed for a moment, and then she opened them, smiling at the steward and looking past him to the cheering court. Almost of their own accord, her hands lifted as the light sceptre was placed in her hands.

 The cheering escalated and Adrianne’s beam grew. All of her miscarriages, all of her tears, all of her blood and despair – she would gladly have traded twice as much for this moment. Her chest swelled until she thought it would explode, and she thought that if it did, it would be in a roar. A battle roar of a victorious soldier.