Someone Else's Kingdom, BOOK II - Scene XXV

The crown felt heavy as it was placed on Seaspell's wren-like head. It wasn't physically heavy, just a simple circlet of gold; his deep dark hair, and the glare of the assembled crowd, giving it a silvery-white look in appearance. The weightiness came more as a consequence of the situation and the overall burden now invested in him. As he looked out across the watching faces he felt something of an imposter. It was true he was the son of Prince Aralak, and therefore the grandson of King Mizmeam - who watched on gently. It was a fact, once unspoken, but universally known. Now that truth was being proclaimed openly it still felt mistaken. Here he was, Prince Seaspell. A name, like the crown, that felt unnatural to him.

His mother, Madame Drua Maleeva, stood a good distance from him, as if to emphasise his divine royalty in contrast to her lesser born status. The stretch of purple carpet separating them like a wide river to Seapsell's precocious, but still young eyes. When the loud, almost intimidating music began to play, he felt a great sense of relief that the long ceremony was finally coming to an end. His grandfather, seated next to him, in all his pomp and glory, looked down with a smiling nod, clearly pleased with how things had went. The choreographed occasion an exemplar in its stately grandeur. Everything about it - from the beautiful setting, to the over-the-top music and dress, to the deliberate slow pace - averring power. Seaspell's clear intelligence adding a solemnity and gravity, in deep contrast to the casual disconnect with which his now-slain father had been crowned prince many moons ago.

The world was realigning, and this was a true reflection of the temporal mood. Coulema Galina, who stood amidst the assemblage, on the side opposite to Maleeva, looked on. A reminder of the old Tunidan order, in this, the coming of a new one. Still chained by the ankles, but neatly enough that it didn't mar the occasion. The dark crimson of his tunic, shrouded amidst the darkened audience. The illumination in the Grand Temple of Keneeshka focused on the majestic king and his starry grandchild. Not for the first time Seaspell made eye contact with the tall Tunidan guard as he glanced out across the gathering. Each time it brought a deeper discomfort. Yet there was also a note of mutual recognition. Both equally misplaced in a situation beyond their control.

As the formal ceremony came to a slow and formal end the holy choral music made transit through the walls, keeling out into the city. The deep hum of strings a supernatural spectre on the wider landscape. Only the stormy seas beyond dense enough to extinguish the aural candle.

Into this eerily glowing city stepped a woman with a message for the king. She arrived at the city gates with a letter of free passage from King Brijsk. The reluctant sentry allowed her to enter..