The week that followed Elena's execution was a strange one, and the kings were nowhere to be seen— It bothered me— The questions I had about their whereabouts were also bothersome.
Her executioner wouldn't do it. But could Arthur have taken her somewhere far away from Anchorage only to attempt to revive her with his own blood? Was that why Fredrick went running after him?
I waited by the gate for the kings to show their faces that should follow their mental presence not too long after.
They came in what began to feel like a familiar manner, matching the image I had in my mind for them.
A white cloak, a black one, and a brown monk robe. They were the three musketeers… the cursed ones. But a new sense of belonging formed inside of me for them. Almost as if we were all together in this, cursed brothers… cursed sons.
