Myuri: Prologue

“Daughter,” the queen said softly. “Pretty thing, oh do come and give your mother a final kiss.”

The Princess Myuri did not even bother to pick up her skirts; she ran and let them swish and drag about the floors, as she came to her mother’s bed, her mother’s deathbed and knelt.

“Why do you cry? Don’t cry, you’re going to be queen. Queens do not cry. Queens must be strong or they will be slaughtered,” the old woman laughed weakly.

“I am thankful for Your Majesty’s faith in me, but I would much rather have you here with me, forever,” the princess whimpered.

“My death has been long awaited. My death has been the greatest wish, of so many,” the Queen Myuri said.

“I wish you could be here, forever.”

“There’s no such thing as forever. Now go, and tell your father to come to me.”

“May God rest your soul, Your Majesty.” The princess stood and turned and left, and then her old father entered.

He came to the queen’s bed and lay beside her in it, squeezing her wrinkled old hand in his.

“I regret that I did not marry you, make you my king; I regret that I was so selfish and did not share with you my power, in spite of how much I loved you, love you, and yet you stood by me, still,” she said, her voice cracking.

“Because I love you. Always have, and always will. You could have bestowed upon me the highest of honors, but I would still treasure your love best.”

“Oh,” she breathed. They were quiet. “You must stay and watch our daughter. You must keep her strong as I was, as I have been.”

“I will be returning to the country.”

The two, who had been lovers for so very long, lay together at peace. The man touched his queen’s cold face, brought his dry lips gently to her half-lifeless cheek. “Will you never return to me? Never, my love?”

Queen Myuri I laughed. “Oh, I will return. But you will be long dead, by then. My kingdom will be a wreck, and someone, somehow, will call upon me.” She paused. “Or try to.”

*

Centuries Later

It was twilight in the city-state of Espiarus, and all was silent in the capital’s lonely palace: All, save for the princess and to-be queen, and her friend, confidante, and rival.

             “So,” said the princess’ friend, Aranea, “you did it.”

            “Oh, yes.” The princess, Kylani, smiled. She reached out and showed Aranea a mace dripping with blood. “Yes, Aranea. I killed my father.”

            “And what did you do, with the body?”

            Kylani shrugged. “I did not touch it; I just left it in his bed. Why should I touch it? When I am royalty? When I am queen? Why should a queen touch a dead body?”

            “They will all suspect…”

            “Oh, for all I care! I am queen!” the princess laughed.

            Aranea’s lips were a straight, worried line. “Well. The old king is dead, long live the queen.”

            “Yes,” Kylani said. “Yes. Forever live myself!”

            “And so, my queen, what will you be doing, first?”

            “I have some armies already on the march. What will I be doing first? Making Myuri mine. Making myself queen of, not just Espiarus, but Myuri. All of it. Everything.”

            “Ambitious.”

            “Yes.”

            “If he were alive, your father would have been proud.” Kylani and Aranea turned to the open doorway of the throne room: A boy, with brown curls and gray eyes and an ermine-trimmed robe.

            “Warren?” gasped Kylani. Aranea noted the way the princess blushed. “Come in, and close the door.”

            He smiled and did as he was bid and sat with them. “So. King Napoleon is no more.”

            “Yes,” Kylani said, “that is so. He was a fool who knew nothing of war, nothing of politics, nothing of true kingship. And so, he is done.” She looked intently into his face, and couldn’t help feeling envious, for his eyes did not wander from Aranea.

            Warren laughed. “Much, much like the story of the Queen Myuri I. She murdered her father, after discovering he had kept her hidden for eighteen years, and then she became queen and named her father’s kingdom after herself.”

            “Ambitious,” Kylani said. “But she’s nothing on myself, so do not compare me to someone who is long dead.”

            “Is she?” asked Aranea.

            Silence.

            “Well, I will be leaving,” Warren said, and stood and began towards the door.

            And then suddenly, Kylani stood, picking up the skirts of a revealing nightdress and blasted after him.

            “Kylani, what are you doing?” gasped Aranea.

            But the princess could not be stopped. She reached for Warren; her hand found his shoulder and she turned him to face her.

            “Tonight,” she said into his neck, “I wish for you.”

            He was quiet; he stared at Kylani, and then Aranea, and then Kylani, again, and then he knelt and said, “Your Majesty, I bid you good night.” Then he was gone.

                Love, Kylani thought, is this what I feel? And then she shook her head. No; this is heartbrokenness.