The Queen's Poise, the Woman's Grief
Each one in turn obeyed.
Eyes closed.
Bowed heads.
Hearts covered by palms.
The King.
The Queen.
The Dukes.
The Court.
Even Leon. He sat up straight, back ramrod stiff, fists on his knees. His lids came down in stillness.
At his side, Duke Edric closed his eyes, as did Nova, her breathing slow, her eyes serene.
On the thrones, Queen Sona placed a hand on her chest. King Aurelian didn't move. Lady Natasha stood at his shoulder.
Sona's breath caught—silently.
Then her lashes fell closed, like a door on a memory.
Now, only the breeze moved.
Only the light.
The courtyard was empty-breathed, but in every chest the heart of the kingdom pulsed as one.
And then—Lira closed her eyes.
The last.
Moonlight streamed down across her flesh in uninterrupted stillness.
She stood at the center of that silver light, as if she were in the arms of something big and holy.
It was like a lover's caress down her shoulders—cold, but not icy.
