His Divine Queen

The Funeral

The crowd was sombre tonight. Moods were low, dulled as all in attendance focused upon the burning pyre in the centre of the courtyard. The night was to be one of mourning, of praying for the deceased and their journeys into the afterlife to be with the Moon Goddess. As a cherished sacred service, it allowed both family and friend to mourn together as one. However, this evening was especially sad as it was not just one life they were mourning. Countless lives had been lost during the Epineio civil war, and each that stood in attendance before the crackling fire had lost at least one person close to them.

Arabella herself was mourning several lost lives. She grieved for one of her best friends, Killian – the mighty hero that had sacrificed his own life to save Arabella and Kylia; and she mourned her mother. The proud and brave Duchess who had died so needlessly by an officer’s sword, during a battle that should have never come to fruition. Those were the two people that she mourned most frequently – every day since their passing – and yet she also grieved for all the others, both known and unknown, that she had been responsible for. The Rogue members, the civilians, the innocent children. She could only hope that they were safe and happy with the Moon Goddess now.

As the fire burned, its embers floating upwards into the dark sky above them, Arabella could only wish that she would never have to experience this pain and grief again. She did not think her fragile heart could put up with much more.

The night was beautiful, so peaceful and quiet. The only noises that penetrated the darkness were the soft crackling of burning wood and the low mumbling of the crowd as they whispered their farewells. They should have had this ceremony months ago, yet with all the trials and recent attacks it had been impossible to organise a funeral that was fit for the occasion. These people deserved everything that the world had not been able to give them in their time, so instead Arabella and her advisors had tried to give them a farewell that would make them proud.

When she closed her eyes, the darkness of her lids lightened by the orange firelight flickering before her, she could imagine her mother smiling down at her. Her face was not as clear in Arabella’s mind as it once had been, the months since her passing having made the memories fade a little. Yet her eyes, her wonderfully expressive blue eyes, were as prevalent as Arabella could remember. They were so palpable that Arabella could almost imagine them glistening with happiness as she gazed down at her. She could imagine a singular tear drop, trailing slowly from those twinkling sapphires, running down her mother’s cheeks as she whispered, “I’m proud of you.”

But, when Arabella opened her eyes again, she knew that it was not real. Her mother was gone, reunited with the Moon to enjoy eternity as she danced freely across the Heavens. Yet, caught in that one moment, Arabella could have sworn she felt her mother’s hand resting on her shoulder. Its pressure tangible and true. Still, the feeling disappeared quickly and soon Arabella was left alone to nothing but her grieving thoughts.

But, when she turned her head to look upon a stony-faced Kylia, an absent-minded Camila and a thoughtful Lorcan, a thought came to her. She realised that she was not alone. With her friends by her side, she could never be alone. Whatever life may throw at her next, she knew in her heart that they would all stick together, and that together they could overcome anything.

A Moon Priest, one different from the male who had conducted her wedding ceremony to Alaric, moved to take his place in front of the burning pyre. The elderly man had prepared a speech, giving it to Arabella to peruse before the ceremony, but she had declined – she did not think that words were needed tonight. The dead did not have ears to hear them, and the living would only want to mourn in peace. So, they had decided together that this evening was merely for the memories, for the lost pasts and absent futures, and to memorialise those deceased so that nothing like this could happen again. Nevertheless, the priest would still whisper a few words of prayer; thanking the Moon Goddess that no further lives had been lost, and for their survival and triumph over their tormenters.

The flames grew higher, burning through the dense night air with a vividness that Arabella had never seen before. She did not know if it was the idea behind the flames, or the flames themselves that made the moment so intense. But her eyes could not be moved away from the blazing element in front of her. She could only watch as the burning wood fell into the smoking ash below, casting glowing embers into the dark sky.

Maybe her fascination with the flames were why she did not see the figure move, its dark form sneaking away from the crowd and blending into the shadows that danced across the stone walls of the Palace courtyard. Maybe that was why she did not see as another person broke off from the gathering at the far side of the fire, moving conspicuously as it followed the first figure. Yet maybe if she had noticed, if only she had looked away from those flames for a mere second, perhaps she could have prevented what happened next.

But, she did not look away, could not look away. Her eyes remained transfixed upon the dying flames, imagining the sapphire eyes of her mother and Killian’s brown gaze. Her mind was elsewhere, far from the funeral in the Palace courtyard, wishing that she could see their faces one last time and hoping that they were happy wherever they were. They both deserved it.

She also took this time to wish for the health and happiness of those that were still living. The dead could be mourned, but the living had to be cared for too. The living were in greater need of it, she mused, thinking about the two people standing next to her. She knew that Lorcan had his troubles, for which he could only get through alone and in his own time. The new General also had her own struggles, as the loss of her twin brother had been a hard hit that she still had yet to bounce back from. Arabella would always be there for them, would always be a shoulder to cry on, but nevertheless she was not without her own trials. She had the weight of an entire Kingdom on her shoulders, and each day was only getting harder.   

She knew that these attacks were only the beginning of something. Of what, she did not know yet, but she could feel the darkness stirring around them, spreading into the walls of her city like a deadly disease. A rotten plague that would consume them all, and she knew that it would take all their strength and power to fight whatever it was. She also knew that she would not get any rest until it was over.

If only she knew how true her words would come to be in only a few short minutes.

She did not know it yet, but the disease had already begun to grow within her city. It had already planted its seed, had already festered and developed into an unstoppable force. And soon, it would come crashing down on them all.

- - -

The ceremony was over, and most of the attendees had filtered through the opened gates of the Palace and back into the streets beyond. The evening was drawing to a close, the Sun long since set beneath the horizon as Arabella, Lorcan, and Kylia slowly made their way back into the glossy Palace corridors. No words were uttered between them, each lost in their thoughts and sorrows after the closure the funeral had given them. During their distractedness, they also did not notice that one of their party had disappeared.

They continued walking down the corridor, echoing footsteps bouncing off the walls. Just as they were about to split at the intersection to the gardens or Palace apartments, they paused. Something lay on the floor just ahead of them, noticeable in the shadows that the high walls provided.

Arabella strained her eyes to see what it was, but her vision was soon blocked by Lorcan’s large body as he stepped in front of her. She grimaced, raising her hand to clutch at his thick shoulder as she moved to his side. His shoulder tensed beneath her grip, and she moved her frowning gaze from his startled features to the dark corner. She felt the power of her wolf flow through her, igniting her senses as her eyesight sharpened, finally allowing her to see what was hiding there.  

With a sharp gasp, sorrow overwhelmed her already fragile heart as her hands rose to her mouth in shock. It was Eric. His body lay discarded upon the dark stone floor, neck twisted at an odd angle that was a sure sign of his demise. His eyes were wide open, shock and pain evident in his blank stare that stayed fixed on the ceiling above him. His torn shirt was haphazardly thrown beside him, soaked in the blood that oozed around his body from the large wound on his chest.

Yet, that was not the cause of Arabella’s fright. However sad, however frightening, nothing could have compared to the message that was written on the wall behind him. Stained crimson, written nearly unintelligible as if it had been composed in a hurry, were the words that Arabella knew would follow her into her dreams that night. Only four simple words, but their power was mighty enough to embed itself into her memory, chill every bone in her body as if the person that had done this was right beside her.

We’re coming for you.