The throne room's doors closed with a loud groan and a shudder. All was silent again but just for a moment. Shuffling footsteps accompanied by the clinking of chains soon pervaded the chamber, drawing everyone's eyes to the solitary figure slowly making its way down the aisle and toward the raised dais upon which sat the ruler of Ethren.
Some eyes were filled with accusation and hatred, some with pity and fear. A few were filled with confusion and frustration beneath wrinkled brows.
The figure kept plodding onward, head bowed, manacled hands clutched to its chest. Shame and apprehension was evident in the sunken shoulders and waist-long dreadlocks shielded most of its face.
The figure stopped at the foot of the dais and fell to its knees, head still bowed, body tense.
"Keela N'jeri Taluith", a clear, cool voice rang out. "Rise up and face your king...and your sins".
The figure rose up swiftly, gracefully even. Shoulders squared as they were disciplined to, chin sharp but not arrogant. The curtain of hair parted to reveal a dark brown, heart-shaped face, smooth and impassive but for a wicked scar that cleaved the left side of it and top-lip. Darker brown eyes focused on the person on the throne - King Yllwyn, the person who had her fate in his hands.
She warily studied that familiar face to determine what that fate could be, but there were no hints in his inscrutable features. His left cheek was propped up in the palm of his hand and those brilliant, violet eyes scanned a sheaf of papers being held in his right. There were ballads written about his beauty; the porcelain sheen of his skin, the petal-like curls of his lips, down to the elegance of his fingers, but they could never fully do him justice. He was utterly exquisite and at first glance seemed as gorgeous but no stronger than a delicate confection - appealing to the eyes but easily melted away.
How untrue that was as his enemies could attest.
After the space of a few heartbeats, he lowered the papers in his lap and stared fixedly at the prisoner before him. No malice or kindness in his gaze.
"Why did you do it?"
Keela's eyes widened as her heart sank.
"My King...I would never..."
"If you would never then how was the relic found in your bedchamber?"
"I...I do not know"
"Were you drunk Keela? Celebrated too much that night?"
"No...I..."
"THEN WHAT!"
The last two words were punctuated by him slapping the arm of his throne. The first bit of emotion he finally showed contorted his features. Anger.
Keela swallowed and wet her lips. Of all the life threatening situations she had ever found herself in, this was the most dire. How could she answer him? Even she was unsure of how one of Ethren's most sacred relics ended up amongst her linens.
Sure she had indulged that night...she was celebrating! After over two decades of faithful service to Ethren, she was able to step down as a knight and pursue her dream of breeding and rearing war-dogs. This was mostly due to a surprisingly large gift from one of the Princes of Trente whose life she recently saved. The king had agreed to release her and her colleagues had thrown a tremendous party. She spent a night of laughter and merriment drinking and reminiscing with those who bled, wept and sweated shoulder to shoulder with her and went to her room a little woozy but with a song in her heart.
The next morning she woke up with a pounding skull and pounding at her door.
"There's been a theft,' was the brief explanation. Nothing to hide she stepped out of her room into the corridor while two soldiers swiftly entered. Most of her mates were gathered there as their own rooms were searched.
A questioning glance to the closest person got her an answer.
"It's the Circlet of Succession."
"The Circlet of Succession?" she parrotted, then blew out a long, low whistle.
"Damn."
The Circlet of Succession was one Ethren's holy relics. Apart from the skilful ruling of her kings, it was widely accepted that the kingdom's continued good fortune was due to the rites surrounding these relics. The Circlet of Succession was especially sensitive as it pointed toward the co-ruler of Ethren. The female whose hands touched the Circlet would become the next Queen. Because of this it was kept under the tightest of guards; if stolen it could spell potential disaster for the kingdom, depending on whose hands it ended up in.
Keela was in the midst of a good yawn and stretch when she heard an exclamation from her room. She paused and was about to rush in when one of the soldiers poked his head out and called for a priest. The soldier then turned to her, eyes full of disdain.
"What on earth...", she muttered and stepped forward again, only to be brushed aside by a bustling priest who swept into her room in a flurry of robes. Everyone's attention was now on her, before she could say anything else the soldiers who were searching her room walked out her door, expressions grim followed by the priest, head lowered, gaze fixed on the beautifully wrought item in his gloved hands. He raised his eyes to Keela whose stomach was quickly filling with dread and panic.
"How?..."
"Arrest her!" The priest's voice was heavy with authority.
Before she could respond, chains were clasped upon her wrists and ankles and surrounded by a half-dozen soldiers she was whisked away.
After a morning in the dungeons she was brought to the king's chamber to receive her judgement.
A million unanswered questions ricocheted through her frazzled mind.
Someone put the Circlet in her room, but who?
It was one of the most highly guarded items in the kingdom, then how?
Someone was out to frame her, but why?
And would her king believe her?
She swallowed audibly and stared at the livid regent whose scornful gaze was locked on her.
She inhaled deeply, settling herself, just like before a fight. Just this time, she would use words.
"My king", she began slowly, carefully, her husky voice ringing through the chamber. "I have served Ethren with my sword, shield and body longer than you have reigned on her throne. I have bled for her, almost died for her and am proud of being born, bred and tempered in her bosom. Never in my life would I ever place Ethren in danger, would I blaspheme her relics, would I spit upon her tradition. I would damn my soul before I harm Ethren or you in any way. Believe me, my King, I do not know who wishes me harm or has a grudge against me, but there is another hand in this that is not my own."
"Then whose hand is it?" the king questioned coolly, a perfectly arched eyebrow raised.
"I...I do not know my lord".
"And how were they able to steal the Circlet?"
"That I am unaware of my lord"
