A Queen Doesn't Bow Her Head

Elena was not the first one to be chosen, but she was the last.

The day the crown met her head, tears were streaming down her face. Everyone in the crowd looked on with pity in their eyes, knowing the young woman had been robbed from her family—and for what? To appease a mad king bent on domination?

Her knees met the stone as the bishop pushed her down so that she would not fight what was coming to her.

They all knew what was coming to her.

As soon as the crown was placed on her head, her mouth opened in a plaintive scream. Her body shook in convulsions, yet no one made a move to help her.

It must be this way.

That was what they told themselves as they watched the young woman become maddened with a fit.

Then, finally, she was still.

When she next raised her head, her mouth was set in a smile that did not fit her face. Her eyes were darker than they had once been as if her irises had been dipped in ink.

She lifted her hands, and the crowd applauded.

Their queen—the true queen—had awakened.

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