Page 10 of The Moon Blessed King
Elician
The trumpets play his song. A quick tattoo of notes that has long been an announcement thathehas returned. At long last. And his people rush to see him. Disbelieving, not understanding. Hundreds line the streets and their guards struggle to keep them from drawing too near, but it doesn’t stop them from seeing him. Nor does it stop their voices from reaching his ear. His name is called out again and again. He tries to give each person some semblance of his attention, but there are simply too many to keep track of.
Elician is no stranger to their excitement. He grew up riding through these streets on parade, watching the city come alive with love and enthusiasm. Even so, it is different now. He is different now. He’s home.He’s home. ‘Look,’ he calls to Cat, shouting to be heard over the cacophony. ‘Look, that’s Margot’s Bake House. They have the loveliest pastries in the city.’ Cat has been to Himmelsheim before. Elician knows this. And yet, ‘There, that’s the Pit and Iron – one of the finest blacksmiths you’ll ever find.’ Memories fall from his lips. ‘I bought books from that shop. I drank wine over there. Lio and I once raced chariots through the streets and that’s where I nearly broke a wheel!’ He keeps the tour going through every spiral. On and on they travel, winding about the city as the streets becomeeven more crowded than they were before. There, the best seamstress. There, the Temple of Life. On and on they go.
The shouts and yells from the people, though, are so loud Elician wonders if Cat can even hear him. When they reach the palace grounds, the gate guards are replaced with the proper King’s Guard. Rank and file soldiers hurry out to secure the perimeter and the civilians are barred access as Elician and his party are led to the courtyard.
His mother, Queen Calissia, is there too, wearing black mourning garb for her husband and brother-in-law with Zinnitzia at her side. Calissia hurries down from the palace steps, hiking up the hem of her dress so as not to trip as she runs. Elician’s jaw clenches as he sees her. He forces his eyes away, swallowing back a sudden well of rage he had not anticipated as he swiftly dismounts and helps Cat descend as well. Cat is as pale as a sheet, a cold sweat dripping down his cheeks. ‘Are you all right?’ Elician asks.
‘Just loud,’ Cat replies. ‘It’s too loud.’
And it is. It is far too loud to even think, and before Elician can find the words to comfort him, his mother has reached them. Cat throws himself backwards as Calissia’s arms wrap around Elician’s neck. He escapes so Elician cannot even reach him, and Elician is forced to bring his hands to his mother instead, holding her until she removes herself from him entirely. It’s strange. She has always made such a point to ensure they never touched when he was young. And yet, now, she hugs him. She says, ‘You’re here,’ with tears in her eyes.
He asks, ‘Despite your best efforts, hm?’ and knows it is vicious. Vindictive. He cannot keep the words from leaving his mouth.
She flinches. Badly, but it’s enough to make her leave him. To step away and give him space to breathe. He turns towards the carriage carrying Adalei and Fenlia. Lio opens their door and offers his beloved his hand. She delicately takes it and emerges with all her natural-born elegance. Calissia calls her name, and while Adalei doesdip into a perfect curtsey towards Elician’s mother, her attention stays on Elician.
‘You should say something,’ she advises, gesturing to the gates.
His cheek twitches in an attempt to form a smile that never manifests. He knows he should say something. Has spent long nights waiting for inspiration to come to him, wondering whathewould want to hear if he were in their shoes. If his monarch had returned home and promised to usher in a new future during a time where everything was chaotic and wrong. But his answer had not come. Instead, his thoughts had strayed to Cat, sleeping at his side most nights on the journey to the capital, and a future that he had never anticipated.
He finds his betrothed only three steps away. Cat asks, without prompting: ‘How can I help you?’
Elician’s father would have scoffed. Would have mocked. Would have insisted that it is a king’s duty to stand on his own before his people. That is what a ruler does. That is what amandoes. But here and now, Elician only knows one thing. He is so tired of being alone. He asks, ‘Can you stand beside me?’
It will make no sense to his people. They will not recognize Cat. They will not know the significance. Not really. But Cat wears his colours. He wears his circlet. They will see what they want to see, and Elician hopes they will see the only thing that matters: that Cat is willing to support Elician. And it is for that reason, Elician will always be willing to support Cat in turn.
Cat nods without hesitation. He steps into the empty space at Elician’s side. Whispers only, ‘I don’t know what to say.’
But Elician confesses, ‘Neither do I,’ and they walk to face the crowd at each other’s side. ‘Thank you,’ he offers just before they reach the precipice of their audience.
‘When you promised to stand with me so I would not face Alelune alone, the same was intended for you,’ Cat replies. ‘Everything that follows, we do together. And you will not be alone.’
It is too much to bear. Too earnest and sweet. The crowd screams and drowns out any chance to think. It booms to a level that leaves Elician’s ears ringing. Sweat forms at the base of his neck. His face flushes with the heat of the day. His heart gallops in his chest. It has been a long time since he’s heard anything quite this explosive. The chaos of fighting on the battlefield seems almost foreign and forgotten as he stands before the uproarious astonishment of his own citizens. Now, before their gaze, he would almost prefer to be wielding his sword. With as much grace as he can muster, mimicking the actions he saw his father perform a thousand times before, he faces his people. He raises his hand, and the crowd falls silent.
A breeze tickles the sweat at the back of Elician’s neck. His breath seizes in his lungs as he tries to rationalize that this is what they’re supposed to do. They’resupposedto hush when he lifts his hand. Yet the response is so quick and so all-encompassing that it leaves him dizzy and off-kilter.
Cat shifts at his side, and for the life of him, Elician cannot manage to form a few words.
His throat is choked, muscles clenched tight. His lips quiver soundlessly. His fingers tremble. Panic rises.They are all watching me fail.
‘Thank you,’ Cat says. It is the loudest Elician has ever heard him speak. Cat does not step closer to the crowd, nor really move at all, but Elician imagines him as being the focal point that draws the masses’ attention. ‘Thank you for your support…and for welcoming the – the rightful heir home.’ He fumbles, nervous and unsettled, but brave all the same. He is buying Elician time, and Elician forces the air up from his lungs. He is king of both this nation and his own body and it will do as he says, and he says:Speak.
‘I am so happy to be back.’ The words are not loud enough. Only the first rows notice. He licks his lips and says them again. Straightens his spine. Chin up, eyes alert. ‘Thank you, for welcoming mehome.’ His voice cracks on the last word, but scattered applause and cheers hide the blemish. He keeps speaking. Now, before he loses his wits. ‘I have been a prisoner in Alelune for…sixteen months. It was through the efforts of my friends and allies that I was able to escape. No sacrifice to my cause was greater than that of Stello Alest of Alelune.’ Elician places his hand on Cat’s shoulder. ‘A Reaper who assisted my sister, Fenlia, in finding proof of my capture and informing my father and uncle of my incarceration.’ Murmurs break out amongst the crowd, but Elician presses onwards. ‘Following my father’s death, my uncle, King Anslian, used the circumstances to arrange for a meeting with Queen Alenée of Alelune at the Kingsclave. His spy then secured my release from the Reaper cells where I had been imprisoned. I was unable to reach the Kingsclave in time before he took vengeance on their queen. He killed her…and while Stello Alest is agreeable to coming to terms between our countries, there will be difficult times ahead. I pray you will stand with me as I do my utmost to lead you all to a better future and correct the mistakes of the past.’
That sounded good. That sounded officious. There is a scattering of uncertain applause, and Elician’s mind hitches as he tries to find the next words for his impromptu speech. He doesn’t know what else to say, what else is important for him to convey. All he can think to do is bow to his people. He curls one fist over his chest as he calls out his final refrain, imploring to them all: ‘I am sorry it took so long to return. I am sorry that through the lie of my death you were forced to mourn. That you spoke my name into remembrance, where it did not yet belong. But thank you.Thank you, for welcoming me home. And know…I will do everything I can to make this right.’
The silence that greets him is painful. His cheeks burn the longer he stays bent. He thinks,Maybe I shouldn’t have done this, but it is the one clear thought he has had since he saw them all hurrying to greet him. The one clear image that has burned so hot and fierce in his mind. These people, despite all the horrors that have transpired inrecent days and months, still show their love for him. Bowing, showing his respect for them, is literally the least he could do.
Elician peeks at the crowd, wincing in anticipation for the condemnation his father insisted would greet him should he ever appear as anything less than the perfect king. And yet…it is not disdain that meets him. It is confirmation. Confirmation, as row upon row of citizens slowly bend forward with their hands on their hearts, in total silence, and bow back.
He has never seen this before. He did not anticipate it either. He told Adalei his people loved him. Believed that, truly. But his imaginings only picturedhimbowing, never anticipating their response. All his people, as far as the eye can see, are bent at the waist, their heads tilted downwards – as silent, sombre reflection pools over them all. And for all he believed it, now he sees its truth.
Slowly, he rises. He sees more now. More heads down, more backs bent, all the way to the first bend in the spiral that leads to the rest of the city. He imagines, hysterically, that the trend catches on even when the people cannot see him. That every head is lowered and every body is bent at the waist, bowing to him in a deference he hardly thinks he has earned yet. His head spins as he tries to understand the fealty.
It is far too much to comprehend. ‘Thank you, again,’ he says. ‘I will serve you better than my forefathers.’ Then he turns. He offers Cat his hand, and Cat takes it. They walk, gait steady and balanced all the way inside the palace. Then, and only then, does Elician allow himself to collapse onto a bench by the door. His head sinks into his hands and he presses the heels of his palms to his eyelids. Phantom images form immediately, echoing the outline of his people, bent and loyal, giving him their faith without question.
‘Elician?’ Cat asks, kneeling in front of him. His gloved hands rest lightly over Elician’s knees, his breath ghosting across his skin.
