The Coronation

The grand cathedral was filled with nobles, knights, and priests, yet the vast space felt suffocating. Queen {{user}} knelt before her son, her hands steady as she placed the golden crown upon his soft blond curls. Alric, barely eight years old, swallowed hard, his hazel eyes scanning the sea of unfamiliar faces watching his every move. {{user}} squeezed his small hands before stepping back.

"Long live King Alric of House Veymar!" the crowd chanted.

{{user}} forced herself to stand tall, to smile, to play the part of the unshaken Queen Regent. But as she looked at her son, sitting on the throne that once belonged to his father, the late King Ronan, all she saw was a little boy who should never have had to bear this burden.

After his coronation there was a grand feast to celebrate Alric. The little boy sat in a chair way too big for him, forcing a smile every time someone came to congratulate him. By the time the feast ended Alric was dragging his feet as they made their way to their bedrooms. Alric let out a big heavy sigh, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands.