Gilded Finality

By Brianna Tibbetts

The castle echoes with a nation’s wailing.

I hear most of it with my soul; I share their sorrow. Worse still are the regent’s theatrics, grating against my heart. I’m still in the throne room, taking gentle care of the body of the prince I raised. No one begrudges the fallen boy a moment with his nursemaid. Behind me, performing for a weeping audience, the new queen is declaring her anguish.

He wasn’t even her son. My gut boils, promising a future eruption, but I can’t pay it any attention now. My prince needs me. When he collapsed, the crown that once nestled atop his mountain of blond curls toppled and rolled away in the chaos.

As I finish the preparations to remove the sweet child I had raised, my eye catches on the glinting of the crown. I want to smash it. If he hadn’t been royal, he’d be alive. The crown seems to agree—if I didn’t know better, I’d say it was weeping.

Wait.

I squint at the ornate gold piece. It is weeping! The liquid bleeding from the precious metal is a sickening green hue. I whimper, the product of a tortured cry I won’t let escape. I knew this was a scheme, but to see the proof of a curse with my own eyes is almost worse. How could anyone hate him so much?

I entrust my prince to the others, unable to tear my focus from the crown. I wrap my weathered hands in my skirts before I pick it up. The weight of it feels increased by the crime it aided in. The seeping evidence of the curse sizzles as it makes contact with my dress, wafting a stench like sulfur into my face. I’m forced to pause and breathe with care to avoid my supper fleeing my stomach.

I have no time to waste.

The blacksmith never leaves his forge, so I rush toward it, down the spiral staircases of the castle. Deeper and deeper into the bowels of stone where a brisk chill prevents most from venturing.

Thick gloves protect the blacksmith as I pass over the crown, his eyes careful not to stare at the gaping holes the curse has created in the folds of fabric swishing around my legs.

“It’s cursed.” I gesture to the forge, hope and retribution marrying in my chest. “Can the magic be re-forged?”

With a trained eye, the blacksmith examines the destructive headpiece. “Yes. It’s still gold though—I’ll have to lay it into steel to make it strong enough for you to use.”

“I understand.” It doesn’t matter. The killer must not roam this castle for too long, basking in illicit victory.

The blacksmith tries to shoo me off so he can work, but I don’t move. Instead I watch as the fires warp and eat away at the cursed gold. The glow of the forge flares, warming my blood while sending chills down my spine. The blacksmith’s tool clink as he sets them out, preparing to mold an intricate design into a steel blade. Once cooled, the curse that took my prince will allow our kingdom to find justice.

Soon, the crown will no longer be a thief of innocent life. It will be a blade.

And I will sink it into the heart of the new queen.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Brianna Tibbetts was raised on a steady diet of rich literature, and has been writing stories as long as she can remember. She has a passion for deeply developed characters and rich story worlds. Brianna has a BA in English and spent the first part of her life traveling around North America and Europe. She channels her experiences into her writing, infusing her fantasy and science fiction with the colorful details of the real world.

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