The Royal Palace
The City of Rodham

Queen Adele Rodham stood before her throne in the grand hall of the palace. In a delicate dress of white silk stitched with silver thread, she wore her hair shoulder length and unadorned. She held the crown of Rodham in her left hand, her right pressed against her bosoms as she listened to the armoured man at the foot of the throne.

“Your majesty, you have done magnificently.”

“I remain unconvinced Grand Inquisitor, you asked me to sacrifice so much and with no guarantee of success.” She cocked her head, encouraging her would be ally to try harder.

The man bowed, his armour scraping as plates rubbed against chainmail. Hidden behind a bulwark of steel and a helmet shaped into a lion’s head there was little he could do beyond appear menacing. He pointed to the throne.

“No-one now opposes your coronation. King Sam is dead, Lord Regent has betrayed you, and Hammertongue is of no concern to us now he has been dealt with.”

“Such promises made without evidence, Inquisitor. My son has given no quarter to indicate he is truly the one helping the rebels, and until Gavel’s body is at my feet we cannot assume he is dead.” She had hoped, when the news broke, but after a decade of trying to eliminate Hammertongue and his silver laced words the Queen learnt to rely on evidence, not hearsay to guide her actions.

“We agreed on simple terms.” He rose to the king’s throne and rested a hand on the sculpted arm. One was a whorl of scythes and the other a weave of wheat bushels. “I aid you to become the ruler of this city and rid you of your enemies.” He turned and made to sit. He relished the queen’s expression, a realisation that her dreams realised would cost her dearly. “In exchange for a seat and the fall of your kingdom’s heretics.”

He sat and loosened the straps of his helmet. The Queen relented and joined him, nodding to give her consent for him to unveil himself as Rodham’s new king. He removed the helm and set it down on his lap, ruffling his greying hair lose to arrange it suitable to wear a crown. She set the golden band on his head and sighed.

“The king is dead,” he said with a gruff, unrestrained pride.

“Long live the king,” the queen continued. She crossed her legs and clapped, signalling for the grand doors into the hall to be opened, and the evening petitions to begin.