The weight of the robe sits upon my neck like a hangman's noose. Every self-preserving thought screams at me to shrug of the mantle I have been bestowed and run until I have left the Kingdom. I stare at the floor, too frightened to look into the worthy nobles' eyes.
"Come with me, sire."
A hand is on my elbow nudging me forward. My feet are like oak roots and my knees like iron ingots. I can not move. "Who... what is going..."
"We must get you to safety, my King. Too many sharp edges and even sharper eyes in mill about. Trust me."
The man beside me stands well over two heads taller than my six feet of height. He wears the clock of the King's Guard. I recognize him as the Captain, but his name eludes me. I stare at him like a lost child in the Stagmar Swamps.
"I must insist we move or I will be forced to lift you upon my shoulder in an undignified manner." His voice is soft but urgent in my ear.
"I--- can't seem---" The thought of being hauled from this room like baggage has an appeal to me. I would be given a moment to let this all sink in. I am King. Ludicrous. Preposterous. The King has died and I have been named the new King. This must be a dream. No, a nightmare. The King was assassinated by an unknown person... or persons.
"I beg you! Come with me now!" The King's Guard Captain's grip tightens on my elbow and his voice is truly the tone of a desperate beggar. "Don't make your first moments as King be such a display of -"
He let the unspoken word hang. I struggle to fill in the blank. A display of panic? Of wishy washy worm-like worry? Of unworthy behavior? Of cowardice? I stare into the Captain's eyes. I need the strength and resolve dancing behind his stern gaze.
"Lead on... What's your name?"
The Captain shoves me forward and whispers, "Nigel. Sir Nigel Gray."
I stumble forward a few steps then slowly steady my gait as we cut through the onlookers. I see no faces. I hear only Sir Gray's breathing in my ear. A thought slams into my brain as we approach a chamber door. It stiffens my legs while turning them to jelly. I collapse to the floor. The room spins. I am lifted and dragged from the room. The thought blackens my vision and I drift away wondering if Sir Nigel Gray could be the assassin.
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