The cathedral's bells still tolled their mournful hymn, a dirge that trembled through the stained glass windows and rolled across the gray heavens. Incense drifted in curling rivers, filling the vaulted chamber with the scent of myrrh and ash. Nobles whispered behind their lace veils, their jeweled hands clutching rosaries, while peasants outside the cathedral gates strained for glimpses of the grandeur within.
The coffin lay before the altar now, its silver crest catching candlelight, a reminder that even tarnished blood was still blood of kings. Around it, voices murmured in waves, not unlike the restless sea pity from some, disdain from many.
"Such shame… buried with heroes."
"Royal blood cannot be denied."
"He was a prince in name only."
And still, they whispered, balancing false sympathy with the thrill of scandal.
Then like a knife cutting through the fog came the thunder of hooves.
