A gray sky greeted the court with superstition and hatred. Overhead, the Prince waited, watching from a chair he was confined to. For a moment, all was still. No birds flew overhead, no screams, no words, just the smallest of murmuring from the crowd below. Then, Sir Thomas, bound in chains and walking forward with a grim determination. There was a loud cry from one of his many lovers--the night knew their names, the sky knew their sorrow, and Adeline, next to her Prince, knew him. No one tore their eyes away as he was lowered, his head resting against the block. No one turned when the ax dropped. No one blinked when his head rolled down the steps, blood trailing behind.

"The traitor is dead, my Lord."

Prince Johnathan nodded, standing to address the crowd. Thunder crackled and rain started to fall, each drop finding home in the dirt. Lemaria, the city and the kingdom, stood watching him. His hand raised, silencing the crowd before they could rise in their chattering.

"My mother is dead. The rumors you have heard are true--war is coming to Lemaria. Our dearest had betrayed us, and now his body lies before you. For those who believe that we will shrink back before our enemies, you are wrong. For those who believe we will be overtaken, you are wrong. Lemaria's strength lies in the Virtuous, the Brave, the Loyal, the Just, the Kind, the Cautious, the Hopeful, the Gallant, the Merciful, the Generous, the Noble, and the Selfless. Lemaria's strength lies within us all."

Sir Adeline rose, hand on the sword resting at her side. "Sir," she whispered, glancing to the towers. "They've arrived."

A smile stretched over Johnathan's face.

"Long may we stand," he shouted, and as the crowd shouted back, he turned. They watched as he moved on, walking to greet their newest visitors. It looked like their neighbors had brought down an ambassador to visit. The arguments, messages, painful conversations, however they might be written down as, had lasted for months. Over a year had passed, leaving behind the trails of the coming storms. For Johnathan, the death of his mother had only been the beginning.

And, as the head of Sir Thomas lay still against the concrete, war edged closer on the horizon.