Across the palace, in the north wing of Lincoln chambers, the sounds of movement alerted him to his wife's awakening. A soft groan escaped Lincoln, a frown creasing his otherwise handsome face as he threw back the covers. The events of the day pressed upon him â the strained breakfast with his father (a breakfast that would likely never happen), the endless meetings, the suffocating weight of expectation.
Lydia rose quietly and looked at him awaiting for him to open his eyes, which did meeting her dark orbs, offering Lincoln a sympathetic glance followed by a small kiss, his wife lingered in his arms before letting go.
Here, away from prying eyes, a flicker of raw grief passed between them. A silent understanding, a shared burden they bore together. She was so happy her husband had let her in, but his pain burdened her.
Lincoln gave a tight nod, a silent thanks, and together they made their way to the adjoining bathroom. The ritual of washing and dressing felt mechanical, a stark contrast to the turmoil churning beneath the surface.
In the other side over than ten minutes later, descending the grand staircase slowly, Alfred found their mother already seated at the breakfast table, a solitary figure cloaked in black. Her dress, usually a symbol of elegance in vibrant colours, now felt like a shroud.
Her face, a mask of composure for the world, held a hidden flicker of grief that Alfred, with his heightened senses and good context, could detect. It was a sorrow too deep for tears, a controlled agony that would surely seep out later in the privacy of her quarters.
A soft clink announced the arrival of Lincoln and Lydia. Lydia, ever ebullient, faltered at the sight of the somber scene. Her gaze flickered between the Queen's stoic face and Alfred's tightly pressed lips, concern clouding her youthful features.
Lincoln's wife, Lydia, who admired the Queen, she found it unsettling the moment they entered the wide living room that gave a clear view of the breakfast area. She grasped Lincoln's hand tightly, seeking his attention.
Lincoln lowered his gaze to his wife, his brow furrowed in concern. Her unusual cheerfulness throughout the morning had him on edge. But her behaviour was now worrying him.
"What's troubling you, love?"
"It's your mother," his wife confessed. "Something's wrong. She's never worn black like this before."
Lincoln glanced up, but everything seemed normal. His mother stood ten feet away, sipping her morning coffee. He shrugged at his wife, bewildered.
"Maybe someone died?"
His wife's eyes widened. "What?" As soon as Lincoln reached for his usual seat, he turned to his brother, Alfred, sensing something amiss.
Alfred, ever the diplomat, offered a small, reassuring smile. Standing to greet the entrance of his sister in law, that was a prerequisite for her status.
"Good morning, Lydia, Lincoln," he said, his voice a touch graver than usual. "Please, join us."
Lydia murmured a greeting, her bright eyes betraying the unease churning in her stomach. It was a role she was still learning, the delicate balance between royal protocol and genuine human connection.
Taking his place after ensuring his wife was well seated, Lincoln then looked back at his mother, a horrible suspicion creeping in. Could it be one of his sisters?
"Did something happen to one of the girls? Mother, tell me!"
The Queen shook her head, trying to calm him. Images of Arthur's bloodied body flashed in her mind.
"The girls are safe," she reassured him, taking another sip of coffee.
Lincoln's gaze darted between his mother and Raphaelli, who stood behind her, an unsettling presence like snow in their usually balmy climate. If it wasn't his sisters, then who? A glint of metal on his mother's wrist caught his eye â the royal deathband.
Dread coiled in his gut. He remembered the last time she'd worn it â at both his grandparents' funerals. His jaw clenched, his eyes locking onto his mother's. He understood, even without her words.
"This morning," the Queen confirmed, her voice strained. "Your... your father... was found dead in his chambers. He fell from the bathtub. A bottle of alcohol he was holding caused the accident. He... he landed on the shattered glass and... he didn't make it to the door or his call button in time."
Despite his father's flaws, Lincoln loved him. A surge of anger flushed his face red. He whipped around to Raphaelli, demanding answers.
"There are cameras in his room! Why didn't anyone help him?"
Raphaelli bowed his head. "They were deactivated, my lord. By your father's orders. No one could intervene. And the external security cameras were also disabled, as per his instructions."
Lincoln's anger simmered but his mother pointed gaze and arched right brow had him swallowed it in response.
"That explains why I requested our rooms to be linked to my security staff's monitoring room. If one of you goes off the radar for too long, security is obligated to check in. I remember telling your dad this last week, but he dismissed it with a laugh."
After lowering her cup of coffee she said calmly as he recalled what occurrence she was referring to. He was there that day, even tried himself with no success. He had thought his dad had done something about it.
Now he knew why he needed it that way though, Lincoln thought images of the previous day coming back in his mind with it the feelings attached to it.
The Queen exhaled, meeting her son's gaze. She held it for a long moment, then softened her eyes as they landed on Lydia. Lydia, with her gentle strength, possessed the wisdom Lincoln would need to be a just and compassionate leader.
"Always listen to your wife, my son," the Queen advised. "Her counsel will save you from much heartache. Promise me this."
Lincoln lowered his clenched fists, understanding the truth in his mother's words. His father had been the architect of his own demise. A memory surfaced â the oracle's chilling prediction from the day before, now a grim reality.
"I promise, Mother," he said. "You have my word. The oracle never errs. I suppose there is a sliver of justice in the world after all. I did love him, you know. He was my father, after all. He died as he lived â wildly, alone, and by his own vice."
Taking a sip of his tea, Lincoln, acutely aware of his transformed role, met his mother's calm gaze.
"I will handle the arrangements for a king's burial. He may have lived a lie, but as you always said, his flaws, in a way, shaped who I am. People will be relieved by his passing, knowing I will take his place. Thank you, Mother, for molding me into the man I am today."
They had spoken the night before, after they returned from the women day event, unable to contain his grief any longer. The Queen had held him close, reminding him that even a king could cry. Even taught him to let his wife in. It was a healthy release, a sign not of weakness, but of his humanity.
A compassionate heart, she had emphasized, was as vital as wisdom and intelligence in a good ruler. A leader who possessed all three qualities would be truly exceptional. That was her legacy, her gift to him.
Lincoln absorbed his mother's proud gaze, understanding her unspoken message. He'd spent the night in his wife's arms after she had left, grieving the shattering of his innocent world gone with the destruction of the veil, a shade of reality.
More tears had poured out as he for once could acknowledge the suffering of his people in the hard way.
He vowed to be a better leader, a promise that resonated even stronger now that the weight of the crown rested upon him.
A heavy silence lingered for ten minutes before Pradesh entered the breakfast room, a file clutched in his hand. It was already 10 am and so. He bowed first to the Queen, then to Lincoln.
"Your Majesty, Your Grace," he addressed them formally, then turned toward the Queen. "I have the analysis you requested to be done earlier. King Arthur died from blood loss. The high level of alcohol in his system significantly impaired his coordination. While he may have attempted to call for help, he likely lacked the strength and lost consciousness. We offer our sincerest condolences for your loss."
Lincoln accepted the report and read it silently. A flicker of emotion crossed his face â a part of him, the hurt brother and human being aware of others suffering because of his father over powered the grieving son he was, making him wished his father had suffered longer.
But his burgeoning leadership instincts, fueled by his mother's wisdom whispered in his ear the night before, urged restraint.
"Never wish your father ill," her voice echoed in his mind.
"Do not hate him. Not for him, not for me, but for yourself. Believe in the good you will bring to this world. Hatred will only dim your light, my son. Remember the oracle's words. You are the one who will bring change to this land, but only if you choose good over evil. Love, not hate, is the path forward."
Lincoln closed his eyes, his mother's last words echoing in his mind: "A true king...should know that life is first spiritual."
He understood all his life has been around spirituality, most of it was his mother fighting his dad to not approach him and his brother near what she called his 'bad energy'. The Oracle presence and all she always said. All of that in kept circling in his mind, almost exhausting him.Though deeply grieving, he had to act impartially.
"Thank you, Commander Pradesh and Raphaelli," he said. "Raphaelli, please oversee the regent's burial with all due honors... The announcement should be made at noon. Mother, about the museum event..."
Queen Katiandra, her grief evident only for seeing her son so hurt, interjected, "Glenn is in charge today. Perhaps tomorrow I will go there.They'll understand."
"We will," Lincoln replied, instinctively "We will closed it."
Turning to Raphaelli after a nod from her, he looked at the man for a moment gathering his thought then knocked his pursed his lips, a habit that his shared with kayley that was impossible to erase, even though his mother's tried then nodded at some line of thought none of them could make up from his head.
"Commander Rapha, please you make sure all of this ran smoothly." He addressed him, using their former title from the elite forces.
Bowing at his commands, Raphaelli did not have to look at his boss to act on the orders knowing she will be on good hands with Pradesh daughters following her around. Showing the same respect to the Queen he left with Pradesh.
Both Pradesh and the Queen did not missed the side the soon to be king picked, the older commander knew the young man will instinctively go with his mother's defense assets. Which was good by him. It was time all the separation disappear.
Prince Lincoln using "Rapha" Rather than his entire name was too significant, it was a subtle reminder of their shared past and deep bond that was still there between them. Raphaelli never stopped to be his closest friend in the only sens prince Lincoln knew, because he those he call that could not fit the fingers of his hands, someone who had had his back many times without ever asking anything in return.
At noon, the news of King Arthur's death was made public. A simple enthronement ceremony followed, attended by invited dignitaries. The formalities of it all felt surreal, a whirlwind of events.
Lincoln and his wife were dressed in royal attire under the former Queen's guidance, the entire scene broadcasted internationally. It was a moment both momentous and disorienting, a king crowned in the wake of a sudden tragedy.
News of Lincoln's ascension sent shockwaves rippling across the globe. The American secret services watched in disbelief, unable to grasp this extraordinary turn of events. Such a dramatic shift in power had never been witnessed before.
Meanwhile, at the Philadelphia Lane mansion, the Fendrik sisters grappled with conflicting emotions. While saddened by their father's passing, they couldn't deny a surge of pride for their big brother, the newly crowned king. After all, their father's reign had been steeped in suffering for many.
02 PM on the dots, everything started. On television, the enthronement ceremony unfolded. The chief justice presented the crown to Lincoln mother's, whis delicately proceeded on placing it on his head after a brief exchange of words.
Queen Katiandra then surprised everyone by removing her own crown and placing it on her daughter-in-law, Lydia's, head. It was not that one that was to be given to the young woman but she decided.
After placing it on her head correctly, the poise woman everyone adored, certainly the one she just act on, moved away from two steps intending to bow, as she was moving downwards a collective gasp rippled through the audience as Lincoln and Lydia instinctively lunged forward, attempting to intervene.
This was all chaotic, they were not supposed to do that, they were on TV, but none of them care at the moment.
All they could do was hold her like one person on her elbows stopping her to finish her movement. Lincoln said something to his mother in a lower voice which was supported by his wife nod, adoration was in her eyes.
Queen katiandra was who she wanted to be one of these day ahead. Taking her in the older woman leaned toward her engulfing her in a good hug. Again, not royal like, but no one care. It was human, warm.
The gesture had everyone sighted. A good one. Relief washed over everyone as Queen Katiandra relented on formalities just to be her human self. That is what they had always loved in her, and will always do. Though stripped of her official title, her actions underscored her enduring regal spirit. Tears, a mix of grief and joy, streamed down many faces.
After letting go of her daughter in law she hug her son too, talked to them a little bit.
With a final kiss on their foreheads, a gesture of motherly blessing, Queen Katiandra gracefully exited the stage going to stand near prince Alfred, after that they went back on their royals seats.
As the momentum of formalities concluded, katiandra step aside, Lydia, now the Queen, shot her concerned glances. While Alfred, taking in his role seriously, offered a reassuring smile, masking his own grief. With a plastered true smile she blinked her eyes to the both reassuringly.
But the charade could not last. Excusing herself to Alfred , Katiandra stepped away, her ebony dress whispering against the polished marble floor. Her regal bearing remained unyielding, a stark contrast to the turmoil within.
Leaving the royal coronation room, she vanished into the throng of well-wishers to the new royal couple, avoiding like that condolences that would have been as fake as the ones giving them. Smiling she kept them all away , shield by her sons and bodyguards.This was a performance, a carefully crafted mask for the world.
Once out of sight, Katiandra slipped through a discreet doorway north of the palace, hidden behind the women's chambers. There, a pair of identical figures materialized from the shadows â the Pradesh daughters, her most trusted spies.
They had been her eyes and ears for years, their loyalty absolute, they came right after Raphaelli here in Porys. It was certainly him who appointed them to be following her around today.
Katiandra understood protocol since she had required for him to stay with his sons for the day. Openly acknowledging the Pradesh daughters was a lift in stature around their peers, so she indulged.
Yet, in the face of her husband's sudden death, the royal propriety seemed a flimsy shield. All eyes were on them from the outside gate, vultures and Porysians people want to have the first sight of everything.
She allowed them to clear the path, their movements swift and silent. A waiting car, discreet and unassuming, whisked her away from the palace before anyone could raise an eyebrow.
Inside the car, the duties of the kingdom, now in capable hands lifted a weight off Katiandra heart. She scribbled a message on a piece of royal parchment, the urgency of her thoughts fueling her rapid strokes.
Reaching the partition separating the driver from the passenger compartment, she rapped sharply. A hand emerged, and she passed the note through a small opening. The glass rolled up, leaving her alone with her thoughts.
The silence in the car was broken only by the hum of the engine. Katiandra impatiently tapped her foot against the plush carpet. Anxiously, she checked her phone, for notifications from the girls but the screen remained stubbornly blank.
"There has to be a reason..." She whisper sighed pushing a bit of her window down, her voice barely audible over the steady hum of the engine.
She rested her head against the cool leather seat, a wave of loneliness washing over her. Lorelei, despite their hours differences, was the only presence she needed. Now, only a chilling emptiness was in her heart wondering why she was not answering to her message.
But Katiandra, the leader and mother, wouldn't allow herself to succumb. Her children needed her, the kingdom still needed her. Closing her eyes for a moment, she inhaled deeply, the scent of distant pine needles filtering through the air, then looked out apprehensive.
She recognized the route â they were heading towards the hidden valley, the Oracle's domain. It was the only place she could find answers, the only place where shadows held secrets and whispers of magic lingered on the breeze.
The King's death, she knew, was no natural occurrence. He dabbled in forbidden things, wielding power granted by spirits from beyond the veil. The Oracle, or perhaps some other force of light, had finally intervened. But to what end? And what did it mean for her children, for the kingdom? For her?
These were the answers she sought, and she wouldn't rest until she found them.