The banners slowly swung in the wind as rays of sunlight streamed in through the high, tall windows. Black locks bounced in the rhythm of her movement. Dirty breastplate, mud covered boots, blood covered skirt.
Despite the overly crowded throne room, every stone seemed to echo her clicking heels. Holding her still bloody sword in her shaking hands, her bright eyes were firm on her goal. Everyone had gathered here: hungry relatives, cocky nobles, tired warriors, white advisors, curious maids, adventurous servants, and everything in between. Yet her bright eyes remained firmly on her goal as she tried to ignore the screams of death still ringing in her ear.
Head high, shoulders firm, back straight, chin lifted – she walked as if she knew what she was doing. Between the stone pillars, there was no room for doubt or questions, not anymore. For others, the high ceiling created space enough for all their doubts, questions, praises, and other opinions. From between beards and under moustache, the men shouted without thinking, and even clean shaved faces joined the party. Yet the princess walked on and sat down on the throne, next to the golden crown.
Shouting through each other, throwing fists in the air, stomping their feet, and gripping their swords the men gathered closer and closer to the throne. One defended her as another screamed against her. Taking firm hold of the bloody sword, she tried to calm her pounding heart and made up her mind
Rising to her feet, she looked at the crown and placed the golden symbol on her black locks, declaring: “Once I was a mere girl, now I am your Queen.”