Rejected, Then Crowned Queen

Chapter six

The bells kept ringing.

Their solemn sound echoed around the ancient city, ringing through the empty streets, marble towers, and silent halls, then finally coming to a stop as the silver light flooded the city, washing over it in waves. One by one the windows in the city lit up, then the crystal lanterns that were hanging along the street, until the whole kingdom was coming to life before her eyes. It wasn't the magic that surprised her, but rather the feeling that she had caused the celebration. Lyra turned around, taking in the view of the grand and wondrous city. Emma turned in a slow circle, her eyes going wide as she took in the view as well.

"I've never seen anything like this before," said Emma.

Same with me, thought Lyra, unable to take her eyes off of the sight before her. The city stretched out for miles around her, bridges made of crystal arching gracefully over the crystalline rivers, and ivory towers and palaces with silver domes that reflected the red moon hanging over the castle. It was all beautiful, more beautiful than anything she had seen before, though something about this place felt oddly familiar.

"I feel like...I've been here before," said Lyra.

Fenrir was walking beside her, watching her closely. "You have," he said.

She turned and looked at him sharply. "When?"

"When you were an infant," replied Fenrir.

Lyra's heart skipped a beat. She didn't remember anything about being in this city before.

"You weren't supposed to," said Fenrir.

She studied his face. He seemed distant and sad all of a sudden. "My parents made sure that whatever memories of this place were in your mind were locked away before we fled the kingdom."

"They knew enemies would try to find us if they knew where we had gone," added Emma.

Fenrir nodded. "Yes, and there are some witches who possess the ability to strip a person's mind of certain memories."

A shiver went down Lyra's spine. Now she understood why there were so many blank spots in her memories of childhood, before the war. Perhaps things had truly happened that she simply forgot, not that she had made them up.

---As they walked back towards the city, more people came stumbling out of their homes, peering at them in awe. They weren't all wolves. Some of them even had cat-like features, their tails swishing behind them, their ears twitching constantly. A few wore long robes that were stitched with markings that looked like they were made of moonlight itself. An elderly woman came hobbling towards them with a staff of ivory in her hands; despite her age, her posture was straight and proud. When she got to where Lyra was standing, she gave a slow, deep bow.

"Welcome home, Your Majesty."

One by one the other people followed her example, until every person in the square was on one knee in front of Lyra. She instinctively took a step back, but the old woman stopped her with a wave of her hand. "Please, don't do that," said the old woman kindly. "We are not bowing to you because we have to." She looked up at Lyra, her dark eyes piercing. "We are bowing because we never stopped believing you would return. We never stopped believing you would come back to save us."

This was the first time since the ceremony that Lyra had cried, though these weren't tears of sadness. It was strange, but it felt like she had spent her whole life feeling unwanted, invisible, and insignificant. Even now it was a struggle to believe what these people were saying—that she had saved them, that they saw her as something worthy of praise and not a monster that should have been hunted down and killed. It almost hurt too much to hear their words.

---Fenrir led them inside the palace, which was fitting because it was the largest building in the whole city. Great doors of white stone stood before them, marked with veins of silver that practically glowed in the moonlight. At either side of the doors stood two enormous statues of a man and a woman—the figures of a king and queen. Lyra stopped in her tracks when she saw the queen's face. It was oddly familiar, like she had seen it before. She slowly walked forward and looked at the statue more closely. The same silver hair, the same gentle features, even the same eyes. It was all the same.

"My mother," whispered Lyra. "It's her."

Fenrir nodded. "Queen Selene, your mother."

Lyra took a few steps forward so she was directly in front of the statue. When she reached out to touch the queen's face, it started to glow, sending tendrils of silver light shooting down toward her hands. A new memory came to her—one of her four-year-old self sitting in the lap of her mother, Queen Selene.

"No matter what happens, never take this off," her mother told her, putting a small pendant around her neck. The pendant had the marking of the moon on it. "Why?" she asked.

"Because one day..." Her mother's smile faltered slightly. "It will lead you home."

The vision of her mother faded away. Lyra pulled her dress down so she could see the pendant around her neck. She had worn it every day of her life, but she somehow knew she hadn't been wearing it when she was little. Even now she wanted to take it off, to rid herself of its presence, but she couldn't.

---Inside the palace, the throne room looked almost exactly how it must have been when Queen Selene and King Alexander ruled this land. The walls were lined with stained glass windows that let streams of moonlight shine over the marble floor, illuminating the two great thrones at the end of the room. The thrones were identical, save for the fact that this one was slightly bigger. Lyra couldn't take her eyes off of them, her heart pounding in her chest. They were still there, still waiting for her to sit in them, to claim them as her own.

"I can't," she whispered, her voice shaking.

"Why not?" asked Fenrir.

"I'm not worthy of sitting there," she said.

"I'm not saying you are or aren't," replied Fenrir. "I'm saying you're afraid."

She turned away from him. "Yes, I'm afraid."

Fenrir actually smiled for once. "Good."

Lyra blinked at him. "What?"

"The rulers that seek power the most rarely gain it," said Fenrir. He gestured to the thrones. "The ones who are the most afraid of the responsibility often end up being the best ones to hold it."

Lyra let out a small laugh, shaking her head. "You are supposed to be on my side."

"I am," said Emma. "That's why I told you the truth."

---Suddenly there was a loud crash as the doors to the palace opened. A young guard stumbled inside, panting heavily. He fell to one knee before bowing to Fenrir.

"Guardian Fenrir," said the boy.

"What is it?" asked Fenrir.

"The western barrier has been breached," said the boy.

The color drained from Fenrir's face. "How?"

"We don't know," said the boy.

Lyra frowned. "I thought this place had been hidden for centuries."

"It was," said Fenrir, his golden eyes narrowing. "Only people with ancient blood could have gotten through the barrier without permission."

There was a heavy silence as everyone looked at him. Emma looked from Fenrir to Lyra and back again. "You mean..."

Fenrir slowly nodded. "We are not the only survivors left."

At that exact moment, deep inside the palace, someone opened a secret door. One lone figure came stumbling into the palace entrance, his face hidden by a black hood. However, the silver crest that ran along his cloak was impossible to mistake. He looked up at the door to the throne room and gave a toothy grin. "So the princess survived after all." He pulled a long, gleaming sword from his belt. "I've waited a thousand years to finish what my ancestors started."