ETAN
As soon as they broke through the crowds and into the courtyard of the Palace, Etan slumped.
The staff and guards had gathered, but in the tradition of mourning the King, they stood in silent lines, holding gifts and ribbons. Some of them wept openly. Others held themselves so stiffly Etan was afraid they were doing themselves harm.
They were all there—his guard, the Cavalry, the servants from the Royal Quarters—right down to the scullery maids and stablehands. Everyone who could be spared had been gathered in the courtyard, some of them standing on the small islands at the center of the water features at each edge of the large, round space that had been used so many times in his life for the more informal celebrations, or family gatherings.
These were his people. The court, the friends, the servants who had been at his family's side since he was a boy.
And now they looked to him as King.
