The morning of his coronation came upon him. Yet nothing changed. He woke up alone, changed into the stale uniform that hung in his closet awaiting this day. It felt restrictive and stuffy, both too large and too small. The same uniform that all of the previous kings had worn on their coronation day.
Slicking his hair back he glanced into the mirror. He looked better than he felt. Clean shaved, pressed and trimmed, in the early morning sun his dark circles were hardly noticeable.
He wondered how this moment would have felt if his mom was still with him. Would she still love him after everything he had done? Would she have stood next to him as he looked in the mirror, wrapping her arms around him and encouraging him. Saying all the things he needed to hear. Would she have thought he'd make a good king?
These were all things he wanted to ask her, but he couldn't. Just like how he couldn't ask Gunter all the things he wanted to. More So than everyone else, Zeven had wanted Gunter to be there at his coronation. Because he swore to make him proud. Even now that was all he wanted. He wanted the people close to him to share in this moment with him. To be excited and happy for him.
But he was alone. There was no one to share this moment with, Gunter was dead, his mother was dead, Aurilie was dead, Mammy was probably somewhere in the expectant crowd that was starting to form outside the palace, Brennan was in the cottage several hours away making sure that Chris was safe, and Chris… she was hopefully resting peacefully. Blissfully unaware of the betrayal and his father's treachery.
Maybe one day he'd see her again, but it wouldn't be the same anymore. She was no longer his prisoner. She won the game and he let her go. They had no connection now. Chris would return to her kingdom and do great things and he would be here.
He was already on edge and thinking about her threatened to push him over the edge.
He looked back in the mirror, his formal uniform doned, his hair combed back. His breath caught in his chest, leaving him drawing several shaky breaths. All he could see was his father. His eyes, his face, his everything was right where Zeven should have been, but he was completely eclipsed by his father. He turned around to see if his father had actually walked in, but just like before, there was no one in the room.
Zeven looked back at the mirror, but the face he saw was still not his own. He watched as disgust bloomed on the face, the flaring of his nostril, the hard set jaw. He watched all the way until the glass was shattered. His fist smashing through it, the gloves on his hands keeping the glass from piercing his skin.
Despite everything he had tried, he still ended up just like his father. That thought was perhaps the most frightening thing about being stuck in this palace.