The Princess and The Pirate

Lillian noted that the normally bustling road to Rocqueburne was unusually devoid of travelers as she looked out the window of her carriage.

As they got closer to the kingdom’s entrance, large black banners hung from the mighty stone archway. A once picturesque kingdom was now in mourning. A lone purple banner covered the usually gleaming golden Rocqueburne crest. This was obviously more important than the land’s lineage. It was a war flag with a fractured tiara in the center, gently waving in the calm breeze.

The city was quiet inside. Lit candles sat on windowsills in the middle of the day. It was a ceremonial act practiced by the entire empire. The candle’s flame was supposed to guide lost souls onward so they wouldn’t haunt the living.

To Lillian it was all needless superstition. Once she was queen, she’d do away with such antiquated dogma.

Long black satin banners were hung between lamp posts along the roads, carrying the hovering feeling of dread and depression. The locals did seem legitimately sad to lose their princess.

Groups were pasting up large posters, petitioning for Jacqueline’s sainthood.

Every other building had the same purple war banner hanging on its front. They

symbolized a rally, a cause to support, a tool to grieve. Lillian now recognized the crown in the banner’s center and found herself an idiot for not noticing sooner. It was Jacqueline’s, all distorted and destroyed.

The raven-haired cousin put her hands together quietly. Personally, she did hope for a war.

“It is a shame, really,” Lillian’s mother said idly watching the city’s dreary scenery pass by. “Death by rogues must be a horrible way to die.”

“Yes, but they will soon celebrate again,” her daughter replied with a soft smile, trying to keep her jubilant excitement to a mere simmer.

The carriage bumped and rolled across the cobble streets. The castle, the greatest building in all of Rocqueburne, was the most lavishly decorated funeral hall the relatives had ever seen. Large black sheets covered the mighty spiral tops of the towers. Green garlands lined the retaining walls and the melted wax from all the candles made the bricks look as if they were coated with white frosting.

The guards wore black sashes across their silver breastplates. Their weapons had black ribbons tied to the handles. On either side of the great doors to the castle were the large purple war banners.

Trumpets sounded their arrival. Lillian felt as if she had won something, as if they had symbolized her victory.

The King and Queen were at the palace entrance to welcome their guest. The courtyard was full of distant family, courtly members, and privileged mourners. In reality, it was a sea of finely dressed sharks. People were here, lurking, to see whatever powerful advantages they could get.

With Jacqueline gone, many members of the court who had petitioned for her endorsement were likely to be gone as well, meaning their positions and privileges were up for grabs.

But, most importantly of all, the whispers of a new princess brought in the rest of the vultures, hoping maybe to get in early with the reforming monarchy.

The Queen was dressed in a grand black gown with a long lacy veil covering her hair. The King was less dramatic, clad in deep red and donning a lone black sash.

Their carriage stopped and the two women inside were escorted out.

“Sister Diane! It is a dark time that brings us together again,” the Queen shouted as she came down the stairs into the yard.

“Oh, my love!” Diane said, grabbing her royal sibling in a deep hug, “I am sorry for your loss. It was much too soon.”

“What world is this, that our children are not safe in their own bedrooms?” The Queen moaned into her sister’s shoulder. Looking over to her niece, she held out her hand. “Lillian, my darling, come here.”

She obliged with a graceful glide. Lillian curtsied deeply to the Queen then took her hand.

“I’m grief-stricken by the news of my cousin,” she said softly, trying to call tears to her eyes. “Her loss is a black spot upon Rocqueburne’s illustrious history.”

Lillian was so well-mannered, so eloquently spoken, and so proper - she was absolutely everything the Queen could ever want. Such a sight made her giddy.

“You are too sweet,” her aunt replied, taking the child in for a hug. “She’s in God’s house now and much better off than any of us.”

Lillian highly doubted that as she embraced the Queen. Jacqueline’s view from Hell couldn’t be better than her own.

“We must talk about the arrangements and what is to come for our new princess,” said the King kindly, with a subtle bow to Lillian.

It was at this moment that she began to cry. Her blue eyes became misty, not because of the death of a family member, but because she was achieving her dreams.

Kings were bowing to her!

The group turned and headed inside to the castle. The lobby was covered in melting candles. Their soft light bounced and reflected off the polished stone walls and many golden picture frames. The windows were drawn closed with heavy curtains, mirrors were covered - it was all a proper show for the witnesses.

Flowers, offerings, and written prayers were piled under Jacqueline’s official royal portrait. Her painted eyes held warmth; she looked radiant, queenly even. Lillian analyzed the space, but more importantly, the wall behind the picture. Maybe she’d put a window there.

“That bird, is it yours? I don't remember it,” Lillian’s mother pointed to Kyle’s falcon, furiously screeching and clawing away at the small cage it was in.

“Oh yes, it’s more of a pet than a hunting falcon, sadly. Quite disappointing,” The King replied with a smile while looking to the captured messenger. “Enough of that. Let’s get to the meat of the matter, shall we?”

“Let’s,” Lillian said, still planning the architecture of the castle’s newest window. Maybe she’d suggest a sharp cathedral style since they were so keen on sanctifying the dead girl.