Destiny by Fiona McIntosh

grateful for their reassuring nods, although she knew Gyl was confused as to what she was hoping to achieve this morning and she wished she had taken him into her confidence sooner than this.
    Alyssa had asked Lauryn and Gidyon to be in attendance and she noted them now at the back of the hall, almost hidden beneath a small archway. They had no idea what they were doing there and were strangers to virtually everyone in the Throne Room. She nodded at them.
    ‘Gentlemen, please, be seated.’
    After the noise of chairs scraping on flagstones and the coughs and clearing of throats had settled, Alyssa slowly swept her gaze around the room, deliberately resting on a few. They were the older nobles— harder nuts to crack but most of whom had eventually fallen under her spell. She needed their support now; required their total commitment to her cause.
    She spoke clearly, relieved that her voice was steady. ‘Thank you for coming at this early hour and under such circumstances. For those of you who wish to hear it from my lips, King Lorys of Tallinor died as a result of a freak lightning strike which claimed his life last night. Prime Herek was with him when it struck and assures me the King died instantly. No pain was suffered.’
    Alyssa paused whilst the murmuring of men, so often heard in this throne room, gradually died back. She continued now, felt her hands turn clammy and her chest tighten with the nervous anticipation of what she was about to announce to this gathering. Too late to turn back now. It must be done.
    ‘Tallinese law requires succession by an heir. I have no desire to claim any right of sovereignty as Queen to Lorys.’ She noticed relief crossing the faces of many of the older nobles. So, they had come expecting her to change laws. Indeed, she had a greater surprise than that.
    ‘As you all know, King Lorys and Queen Nyria produced no heir and,’ she sounded regretful now, ‘Lorys and I simply didn’t have time.’ She hoped it might lighten the grim mood but no one so much as twitched a smile.
    And so it was time. Alyssa looked to her right where Rolynd stood with a rolled parchment.
    ‘I am passing around to you a sample of the King’s hand. I would ask for three of our senior nobles to please acknowledge that this is indeed the handwriting of King Lorys of Tallinor.’
    She felt her shoulders trembling and steeled herself. She must not fail now. Fresh murmuring broke out as the gathered started to mutter amongst themselves.
    Over them she spoke. ‘Sir Deen, would you confirm please that this document bears the handwriting of our King Lorys.’
    A grey-haired man from the southwest pushed a monocle in front of his eye and scanned the parchment. He studied it, finally looked up and nodded.
    ‘I would bear testimony to that.’
    ‘Thank you, Sir Deen. Sir Gyles—please?’
    Another senior man, this time from the north, cast an experienced eye and nodded.
    ‘I have seen the writing of Lorys many times. This is his hand.’
    ‘My thanks, Sir Gyles. Lord Ayers—I would appreciate your confirmation.’
    A wealthy noble—by far the most influential—from the far west took the parchment and glanced at it.
    ‘I would gladly swear this is the writing of Lorys.’
    It was handed back to Rolynd who walked back to where the Queen stood on the dais. She lifted now from the sleeves of her formal robes, another parchment.
    ‘This parchment was written by King Lorys on the day of our wedding. It is signed by him and myself and witnessed by the King’s aide, Koryn, and by Cook.’
    Fresh, heated discussion erupted.
    Alyssa put her hand in the air to soothe the talk. ‘I realise the choice of Cook is unusual but she is known to all of you, loved by all of you and has been at this palace for longer than many of us can remember. As a trusted member of the staff, her signature is an important authority on the authenticity of this document which was read to her by the King. Cook can’t read you see, but she