Crown of Ivy • A Warriors Story

P R O L O G U E

"Princess Sprucekit, daughter of Prince Lionwing and fifteenth in line for the throne of MistClan, rise now and step before your King."

Sprucekit's head was pounding as she stood up. Headaches weren't an uncommon thing for her-- they were mostly caused by stress and, she suspected, weather-- but she wished that this one could have waited. Because it wouldn't be good to wince and scowl before the King of MistClan, even if he was her uncle.

Shivering, Sprucekit stepped towards the tabby grey form of her father's brother.

Pebblestar tilted his head and smiled, but his eyes were oddly devoid of emotion. She'd noticed that about him before, and even whispered it to her brother once after which she was harshly reprimanded, that the King never looked alive when he was doing his duties. He seemed livelier when he was alone with his sons or off somewhere with his personal servant, whose role wasn't really clear, his green eyes bright and present and drinking in the world around him. But when the crown of ivy encircled his head, he seemed to retreat into himself. Something about the role, the responsibilities and the formalities of it all caused his emotions to evaporate into the air without a trace of the cat that he was when he laughed with his daughters or played with his sons.

Sprucekit stopped when she was a tail-length away from her uncle; it was a formal distance that allowed him to both tower over her but also be respectful. A servant scurried forward, holding a leaf bundle in his jaws, and bowed before the king and setting down the package. Pebblestar rolled it open with a practiced flick of his paw, then leaned down and gently picked up the item within his jaws-- a pure white ivy flower.

"Sprucekit, the day has come where you have reached the age to begin your duties as a member of the Royal Family, of the line of Creststar. I, Pebblestar, King of MistClan and ruler of the forests and fields, hearby pronounce you a young she-cat."

The kit bowed low.

"Sprucekit, rise and face your King."

The grey tabby she-cat did as she was bid, turning and staring up into the strangely empty eyes of her uncle, her King.

"Do you pledge yourself to MistClan, to the territory, and all the creatures within?"

"I do," Sprucekit replied, her voice not feeling like her own as the words escaped her with the ease of hours of practice.

"Do you pledge yourself to MistClan's inhabitants, to serve them to the best of your ability and treat them well?"

"I do," Sprucekit mewed again, this time with more emotion.

Pebblestar flicked his tail, the first natural movement Sprucekit had seen him make all evening. "Do you pledge yourself to the throne, to the royal family of Creststar, and to all with his blood running through their veins?"

Sprucekit didn't seem to hesitate, not to the crowd of cats that were behind her, as the words, "I do," escaped her without a second thought. But she felt an odd thrill of foreboding at them, and her head pounded violently.

Sprucekit shuddered slightly as she bent forward, the slight motion causing a stab of pain to shoot through her skull as he balanced the flower behind her ear. She raised her head, careful not to remove the flower delicately balanced on it, and took a half step back. Then she turned, staring at the many, many cats spread out before and beneath her-- every noble and knight and commoner staring at her with something between awe and devotion and, in some, a bit of hatred. She bowed again, this time to them, to the entire kingdom, and Pebblestar's voice echoed above her.

"I now pronounce you Sprucepaw, daughter of Prince Lionwing, fifteenth in line for the throne of MistClan. Face your subjects now, look upon their faces, and think of them as you serve this Clan."

Sprucepaw looked, the flower feeling heavy on her head. Her eyes fell upon one particular cat, and she winced imperceptibly as she met his gaze fully, his green eyes ablaze with hatred.

Then the cheering started, and Sprucepaw wanted to run, to leave this awful noise with all the cats that were staring at her unabashedly. But she didn't-- no, she stood firm, as was her duty, and did as she was bid.

Her eyes didn't leave the young cat whose eyes threatened to burn apart her skin, and she shivered again.

Who is he?

Then the cat ducked out of sight, was hidden by the crowd, and Sprucepaw realized-- looking at the eyes of those that surrounded her, all alight with the same fury in the tom's eyes-- truly realized, that the people did not love the crown of ivy atop her uncle's head.