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Muriel took the hallway at a run.
The night watchmen had already completed their first rounds in that wing, and as the candelabras burned with electricity in the dead of night, she ran. Her nightdress flowed around her, robe tightened at the waist and barely hanging on as she followed the lights to the room she needed.
It had been a quiet night at first, except for the fact she couldn’t sleep. She tossed and turned, the worn cloth with Callan’s words clutched tightly in her hand. No word had come back, no messages stating if the pardon had been received and Callan was on his way home. Even the messenger who brought the cloth with the blood-dried words requesting the pardon—and who also slipped her this second cloth proving Callan was alive—had gone missing. It was as if both messenger and message had never come, and if it wasn’t for the worn cloth in her hand now, she would have thought it all to be a dream.
Pulled by duty, Muriel decided to stop fighting it and went to check on the king. She hid the cloth inside her pillowcase, threw on her heavier robe and slipped out of her room, making her way to his chambers. Normally she would have put herself more together, but it was too late in the night that she didn't bother. Her black hair, normally thick and curly, was still wrapped in light blue silk that ran down her back and matched the color of her nightdress. And while the deep blue robe covered more of her dark olive skin than most of her court dresses, it was still a look that wasn't deemed proper for wearing outside her chambers. If it was under any other circumstance, she'd be gossiped about, ridiculed. But due to the king's state, she knew she'd only be looked on as an anxious daughter-in-law who was checking on his well-being. At least, that's what her defense would be.
Callan's absence had generated so many stories, and it had sucked her into the court's gossip ring as well. At first, they had all sympathized, wondering when her prince would return, but now they had grown tired of waiting. Some still looked at her with pity, any flicker of raw emotion shrugged off as part of the tragedy that she wasn't yet a widow but was also still husband-less. Others would make up tales: how her eyes lingered too long on a servant, how she dressed, how she stayed too quiet or spoke up too much. In the beginning, her ladies-in-waiting had kept her up on the gossip so she could combat it; now, neither party bothered to bring it up. Some of it was too ridiculous; some too believable. Luckily, the royal family hadn't seemed to believe any of it, all of them carrying their own tall tales, but there was always that fear that something would get under their skin and she'd be sent away, even stripped of her necessities. It could easily be done since Callan had been missing for so long, and it was almost a guarantee if he never returned and his brother, Davien, took the throne, whose point had been made the last time she saw him.
Luckily, it was late at night now, and all those members of court were tucked away in their beds, the critics silenced for a few hours. Sure, a servant could tattle on her, but she had her defense, which was a good one because it could be proven.
Approaching the king's chambers, she found guards posted as usual. Since she was technically family, they didn’t stop her from entering.
The queen, Charisse Ronen, was already there, hardly ever leaving King Lyson's side now. He had fallen asleep two days ago and had yet to wake up. Even now, the queen remained diligent beside him, waiting with his hand against her light brown cheek as she gently rocked herself, trying to evade the sleep that was trying to come for her. She too was in a robe, green and gold, while her hair remained free, giving her the look of being the worried wife.
Hearing her approach, Charisse opened her tired eyes and looked at Muriel. Seeing who it was, she closed her eyes again, resuming her rocking.
“No change yet?” Muriel asked gently, coming to stand at the foot of the bed. King Lyson Ronen laid before her, a man of such stature that she had been intimidated by him her whole life, until now as she saw how sullen—how human—he was. While his age already showed in his black and peppered-grey hair, his dark skin had become more ashen, stripping him of his once vigorous glow that he had carried throughout his life.
“Anytime now,” Charisse whispered.
Muriel wrapped her arms around herself, feeling a chill press through her clothes. “If you want, I can stay with him for a little while. You need your rest.”
Muriel had never been close to her stepmother-in-law, but deep down she understood how she felt, waiting for a man who may not return. She also wanted to be alone with King Lyson, to have her moment with the only person in the kingdom who resembled Callan in so many ways. She wanted that little bit of remembrance; needed it, even.
“That’s alright,” Charisse assured her. “Davien said he’ll relieve me once he’s returned.”
Muriel looked from king to queen. “Returned?”
Charisse hummed but didn’t elaborate, lulled by her own rocking.
“Where did he go?” she asked softly, trying not to sound suspicious, despite the fact the prince was out in the middle of the night somewhere while his father lay dying in bed.
“He’s with the council.”
Muriel's heart quickened, her mind wrapping around the words and then recoiling, as if it had thorns. “Council,” she repeated. There was only one reason the council would be summoned so late at night...
“Mmm hmm,” Charisse hummed. “I told him it would be pointless. He’ll wake up soon.”
“What would be pointless?” Muriel kept her tone soft despite her voice cracking a little, trying to stay calm. The adrenaline was slipping into her veins, telling her she needed to go, to stop what was happening.
“He’s holding an emergency meeting to become regent.”
No! Muriel’s mind screamed as her eyes shifted back to the king. No, you can’t allow this to happen!
She would have fallen to her knees, begged him to wake up, to hold on a little longer. Callan was on his way home, she was sure of it; they just needed more time.
While Charisse continued on, rocking and humming to herself in prayer, Muriel slowly backed away. She backed all the way to the door before turning around, leaving the room as casually as possible. She walked in the direction of her chambers, but once the guards were out of sight, she hurried down another corridor in the direction of the Meeting Hall.
And now here she was, running, trying to get to the hall where the council gathered. While the kings always made the rules, the council was the tie-breaker, the voice of reason when a king couldn’t make a ruling or decide on an answer. While Callan could still come home and claim his birthright, the thought of Davien securing any type of foothold to the throne made her stomach ache.
Muriel knew she wouldn’t be able to stop or influence their decisions. In fact, she’d only make a fool out of herself, given they were all noble men, and that would probably help Davien’s case that he was fit to rule now. But she had to know; had to stay a step ahead of him. Just in case.
The meeting hall was like many of the public chambers: sunk down so anyone from the public could sit in the benched rows that rose up around the circular floor. It gave the speakers the ability to reach their audience, fanned the mirage that equality existed between the nobles and the rest.
Since there were no doors to the hall, she slipped inside easily, using the shadows to conceal herself. She immediately hunched down, crawling to the first row of benches and laying on the ground so they wouldn’t see her. She didn’t know how she was going to explain why her garments would be soiled, but then Davien’s voice broke out, silencing her inner critic.
“I apologize for pulling you from your beds at this hour, but given the circumstances, this meeting should not be taking place during waking hours. The public does not need to be informed on this matter just yet.”
Peeking up a bit, she found the council seated in a semicircle like they always were, Davien standing in front. A clerk sat at a small desk off to the right, keeping record of the meeting as it progressed. Despite the distance, Davien looked as pompous as ever, his mother’s features showing in his demeanor as he spoke. The candelabras surrounding them popped and hissed from the electricity, and in the shadows behind Davien were a couple of his knights, faithful goons who hoped their service to him would one day be prosperous.
“My father, our king, has not awoken in two days. His health is declining rapidly. While I don’t want this information known yet, I think it would be in our best interest if there was a regent instated in his place for the time being so daily matters can continue without interruption. That regent would be myself, since I am in line for the throne.”
“No offense, Your Highness,” one of the council members spoke up. “But His Majesty has had these spells before and Aselian didn’t fall apart. Why have a regent instated now?”
Exactly. Muriel wished she knew the council member so she could thank him in person once this was all over and Callan was home.
“This is the longest he’s been unconscious, and the physicians say there are no signs he’s going to wake up.” Davien seemed to sweep the council with his dark eyes, taking them in as one distinct obstacle. “We should start preparing for the inevitable, and due to my brother’s continued absence, having a regent will secure stability for our people and create a smooth transition between kings.”
It was so logical, yet knowing Davien it also meant there were ulterior motives, ones she couldn’t see but felt. Don’t do it, Muriel begged them. Don’t help him.
“I place this before you, as intellectual peers who only want the best for their kingdom. ‘Agree' will instate me as regent; ‘deny’ will keep things the way they are.” He started to back up then, his hands out in an expression of humility. “The decision is bestowed upon you.”
Davien clasped his hands in front of him, standing back with his knights.
The hall grew quiet, the council members each deliberating the question. Some whispered among themselves, some chose to keep their answer private. Once everything died down, all eyes fell on the councilman at the end of the circle on the left, the one who would start the proceedings.
Muriel watched as the man stood up, clearing his throat and waited in suspense like the others. There were twelve of them, and it had to be a majority rule. Only seven needed to deny his plea and this close call would be over.
“Deny.”
Muriel felt a gasp escape her, silenced by her hand as she covered her mouth, watching as the next councilman stood up to give his answer.
“Agree.”
Muriel kept her mouth covered, the word stinging her ears.
“Deny.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, needing to hear it again. Anticipating it.
“Agree.”
She breathed hard through her nose. No!
“Agree.”
Muriel shook her head. No, you can’t agree!
“Agree.”
This isn’t happening!
“Agree.”
Do any of you not know what kind of person he is? What he does to people?
“Agree.”
Do you not remember Callan? Do you not remember who the true king is?
“Agree.”
The tears began to come as she kept her hand over her mouth, muffling her cries. Callan, where are you? Please come home! her thoughts cried out.
“Agree.”
Comehomecomehomecomehome—
“Agree.”
Callan!!
“Agree.”
Davien couldn’t hide his smile, pretending to be relieved that they had done the right thing. “Majority rule is ‘agree.’ Thank you for your honesty and for your service to Our Majesty and his kingdom.”
As if he was afraid they’d change their minds, Davien and his knights trotted up the side stairwell and left. The council members stood up somberly, making their way to various exits, hoping to catch more sleep before they’d have to be up to resume their normal duties.
While the hall emptied, the candelabras fading into darkness, no one noticed the woman lying on the ground in between the benches, covering her sobs with her hands so they wouldn’t hear her cry out for the man she loved, the prince who was still missing.
