A Kingdom in Mourning

The silence was the loudest sound I’d ever heard. It pressed down on us, heavy and suffocating, swallowing the cheers that had once filled these halls. King David was gone. The words themselves felt like a cruel joke, a venomous whisper meant to shatter us. Gone. My father. The fearless king, they called him. And now, he was… gone.

I stood by the great hall’s polished oak doors, my knuckles white where I gripped the cold wood. Around me, the kingdom’s finest warriors, men who had faced down dragons and stormed enemy castles, wept openly. Their tears mingled with the gentle, heartbroken sobs of the ladies of the court, their silks rustling like fallen leaves. Even the stoutest knights, their faces etched with the grim lines of a hundred battles, bowed their heads, their armor glinting dully in the torchlight.

Mother. Queen Rose. She was a statue of grief. Her face, usually so full of warmth and a gentle, knowing smile, was pale, her eyes wide and hollow, staring at a point beyond us all. She clutched a simple, unadorned silver locket, her fingers tracing its smooth surface as if it held the last ember of her husband’s fire. I saw her lips move, a silent, desperate prayer or perhaps a whispered farewell. I wanted to rush to her, to hold her, to offer some comfort, but my legs felt rooted to the spot, heavy as lead. The shock was a physical thing, a thick fog that clung to my mind, making it impossible to move, to think, to feel anything but this crushing emptiness.