Jack Frost: King of Thieves

CHAPTER XVIII: Long Live The King

The ship had been secured, the gangplank swung out and positioned so that Jack could disembark. One of the servants who had accompanied the king's equerry handed Jack the box that held Manny's crown. The equerry himself then stepped forward and draped over the box a cloth bearing the Plantagenet leopards. Jack stepped onto the plank, feeling hundreds of pairs of eyes upon him, and walked down to the dock.

For Jack, though, this was no longer an act. He could see Elinor clearly now. Her face was lined, but her eye remained clear and brilliant, like blue gems. They were fixed on him. While others in the crowd continued to search for Manny, she did not. She marked Jack's approach, saw what he carried, and already she grieved. For an instant, it seemed that her knees buckled. The color had drained from her cheeks and she briefly closed her eyes and appeared to whisper a prayer.

Then she was watching him again, composed somehow. Jack couldn't help but admire her strength.

He stopped just in front of her, holding the box before him. Elinor pulled the cloth from the box, opened it, and removed the crown, which gleamed in the sunlight. Her hands were steady, her expression impassive, save for the mournful look in her eyes.

She turned to Hans and said, "Kneel."

Shock registered on the young man's face as he finally seemed to understand what had happened and what it meant for him. He slowly lowered himself to one knee.

Elinor placed the crown on his head. "I wish you long life, my son," she said.

She then knelt in turn and every person on the dock followed her example, kneeling with rustles of silk and brocade that made the air around them hum as if charged.

"The king is dead!" Elinor announced, her voice as clear and loud as a church bell. "Long live the king!"

All around them the crowd repeated the words. "Long live the king!" They said it a second time, their voices growing louder. The third time, they shouted it, the sound building to a crescendo that threatened to topple the Far Tower itself.

Hans looked around him, still pale, but seeming already too warm to his new office. "Rise!" he commanded, his voice carrying over the dock.

The people stood once more, murmured conversations sweeping through the assembled masses. The Homme-Sur-La-Lune was dead; Hans was their king.

The young girl standing with Hans took his hand, her gaze drawn again and again to the golden crown he now wore.

The queen consort seemed to have reached the limits of her endurance. She leant on the knight beside her for support and looked deathly pale.

"You!" the King said. "Come closer."

It took Jack a moment to realise that Hans was speaking to him.

Jack stood and approached the king. Hans was eyeing him closely.

"I don't know you," Hans said.

"Jackson Overland, Sire, of Dorfeld." The lie came easily to Jack's lips. Speaking to Elinor of Dunbroch had nearly been more than he could manage, but Hans was another matter.

The king nodded. "Welcome, then. Forgive me. I don't know any of you; you've been at war so long."

"We have, sir."

"And how did my brother die?"

"By exposing himself to danger, sir," Jack said. "As was his way."