Solon sat on his bed, with his head in his hands. The sun was beginning to come up over the horizon, as he stared out of his bedchamber window. He was a wizard.
Some wizard, he thought.
Nobody but he knew what he had done. Nobody but he knew of the terrible secret he kept. He had been in a deep depression for over a month. He never wanted to practice magic again. In fact, he wanted to die–it seemed only fitting. He had after all allowed the queen to die so horribly. But nobody knew that. Nobody could ever know that.
Solon shook the thoughts of dying from his mind. He knew that he had to stay alive. He knew that he had to help Celeste become every bit of the woman her mother had been. Queen Celeste. Her coronation had come the day after her mother's death. It was the way of the monarchy to name a new queen as quickly as possible; she could not stand to be without a ruler for long. Still, the ceremony had pained Celeste terribly, and she had cried bitter tears that night.
Now that she was queen, Solon owed it to her mother to see to it that Celeste became the best queen she could be.
Suddenly, there was a loud banging on the heavy wooden doors to Solon's bedchamber. He looked up and enquired whom it was.
“Master Solon,” came a voice from the other side, “the queen is awaiting your company in the dining hall.” It was one of the castle guards.
“Thank you, Timothy,” answered Solon. “Please tell the queen that I will join her presently.”
As he arose from the bed and went to retrieve his tunic and breeches from the armoire, Solon's mind began to wander again. He remembered the times he would bounce the young Celeste on his knee, and tell her stories about the queens of old. She was always enthralled at his stories, and his eyes moistened as he remembered Celeste's big brown eyes staring up at him in wonder.
The old queens had been beautiful, regal women. Benevolent, wise, and just, they had been just like Celeste's mother, Queen Tricia. They were just as Celeste was meant to be; as she would need to be.
After pulling on his boots, he threw on his robes, tying the cord with his large hands, the oversized ring on the little finger of his left hand glinting in the morning light. Regaining his composure, and running his fingers through his hair, he opened the doors of his chamber. His footsteps echoed in the empty hallway, as he made his way to the dining hall.
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