Whitney Writes…

Fadiya sat upon the throne, the crown – her father’s crown – heavy upon her head. She felt bewildered. Shocked. Lost. Her father’s coronation anniversary ball had been merely a few weeks ago. He had scarcely forgiven her for disappearing during it. He had initially been in such a rage, he had refused to listen to her recounting of her discovery of that horrid sculpture in the haunted wing. The one day, just three days ago, when he had been mildly receptive to listening to Fadiya, her father had completely lost his senses when she said she had gone into the abandoned wing of the palace.

Before her were her father’s – no, her – subjects, awaiting to swear fealty to their new queen. There was Mazar, the Khajiiti head chief from the kitchnes, Ralof, the Nordic leader of the oil press workers, Ugrash, the Orc head of the smithy, Dull-Scales, the Argonian leader of the furnace, Poguf, the Nordic leader of the workshop, Shura, the Orc head seamstress, and Balag, the head weaver. She stared at the diverse line stretching out before her. How had her father managed all this? All of these people were now depending on her. Her.

Her father’s widower, Murdan, stood at the back, near Melora, the daughter of the old king. The two were whispering together and it made Fadiya’s skin crawl. The pair of them were an odd sight together, Fadiya had not realized they knew one another well enough to be whispering at the back of a coronation. Her father’s husband had always been kind to Fadiya and her siblings, treating them as his own. He had never judged any of them, not even her father, for when they wished to remember her mother. And Melora had become a mentor to Fadiya, working side-by-side at the sewing table with Shura. Melora had had every right to hate Fadiya, Fadiya’s father had surpassed Melora’s elder brother in the moot for the new king to be crowned all those years ago. But she had always been kind to her.

Fadiya refocused her attention as Mazar, the last in her line of fealty-swearers, was leading a shout of “Long live the queen!” The word sounded strange, foreign. A king had sat upon this throne all her life, and for the past nine years, it had been her father.

“What shall be your first edict, my queen?” Mazar asked jovially.

She looked around, realizing too late that these decisions now lay with her. She cleared her throat awkwardly. “A feast, I think,” she said hesitantly, “to honor the memory of my father.” The group nodded collectively. “But… Mazar?” Fadiya ventured, “Didn’t you used to always tell my father you wished you could play the harp?”

“Uh, ha ha,” Mazar chuckled, somewhat uncomfortably, “why yes, this one did. The queen remembers such a trivial comment this one made, many years ago.”

“Why don’t you play something for me now?” Fadiya asked. “I am curious as to your abilities.”

Mazar inclined his head, his discomfort visible for all but his new queen as he stalked away to the stairway that led to the music balcony above the throne room. After a time, an eerie, exotic music wafted down from above as Mazar plucked at the harp’s strings. As Fadiya listened, she felt it beginning to pull at the strings of her own heart.

Her father was gone. Murdered by an assassin. One who was likely still in this very room.

Later that day, Fadiya sought out her little brother, Prince Galiel. It had been sometime since her crowning that the pair had been able to spend any quality time together. She had missed times with him like this. She hated that being Queen seemed to take her from those she loved.

Galiel was beaming up at Fadiya. His dark eyes wide as he stared at his elder sister, awaiting her to shower him with praise.

“What… what are these, Galiel?” Fadiya finally asked of her little brother.

“They’re a thing I invented so you can hopefully see any assassins coming for you long before they get you!” the ten-year-old said gleefully. It occurred to Fadiya then that in his little life, both their mother, and now their father, had been killed by an assassin. Presumably different ones, otherwise their father had banished the wrong man…

“Yes, alright,” Fadiya sighed, “but what do I call them, Galiel?”

“I call them… binoculars!” the little prince declared jovially.