The dark shape on the ground is not very large at all. A fine mist of rose-gold curls hides most her face. Normally quite pale, in this light her skin is white as alabaster. Flashing through my head is the day she arrived. She was so lovely and gracious, the perfect picture of a queen. Now she lays here at my feet, her tortured breaths growing weaker as we watch. I should call for help but another part of me knows it's already too late. Thelbane is so high.

Larissa is yammering something incoherent as she kneels. I hear myself as from a distance saying, "Don't touch her," but I too am kneeling. Larissa is already sobbing. Gently she pushes a few of the curls back from the pale sad face. A single crystal drop has crept out from under fine golden lashes, the eyes shut against the truth. One final breath flutters from her chest and then is free.

a moment of stillness

Larissa begins to scream and scream and just will not stop. Women. I trump His Majesty and find him in the middle of some party. He's laughing with someone as he turns to take the contact. I'm sure he can hear Larissa, and maybe can see the news in my eyes. Suddenly full of concern he asks what's going on. Concern? Too little and far, far too late, Your Majesty. "Your queen is dead."