“13:24,” the imperial physician announced the time of death, his voice heavy.
The emperor’s children and grandchildren honored his last wish, looking grief-stricken but not shedding a tear.
Afternoon sunlight shone on the unmelted snow in the courtyard. This moment was almost inappropriate for death.
People slowly rose from the emperor’s bedside. The elders and Marshal Selberg knelt before Annabel.
“Long live the Queen.”
Annabel took a deep breath, pursed her lips, and extended her hand. Everyone bowed. In the vast imperial bedroom, the former emperor lay on the bed, while the new monarch stood proudly, her beautiful head held high.
The young girl’s gaze fell on her just-deceased grandfather, her sadness replaced by soaring spirit. Finally, her era had arrived. How could she not be happy?
Queen Annabel’s first decree was to prepare for the national mourning. She notified all officials and nobles to prepare and asked her family to rest.
“There will be a media conference tonight at the Hall of Heroes, and we must all attend. I know this is difficult for you, but I need your help and support. Without grandfather’s protection, we must unite and support this empire,” she said movingly.
Her mother and sisters were excited, while her father Heinrich gazed sadly at his father’s body.
“Father, did you hear my words?” Annabel asked displeased. Heinrich finally turned, and Princess Marianna linked arms with him as they walked out.
When Heinrich reached the door, he choked and covered his face, crying, “Father…”
Princesses Catherine and Marianna embraced him, crying together as the door closed behind them.
Wilhelmina and Karns huddled together, silently watching. Annabel had shown her tough demeanor; she paused, wiped her eye corner, then led the way out.
The royal family left the Palace of Serenity.
News of the emperor’s death had spread beyond the palace, with dignitaries gathered in the corridor, silent and some softly sobbing.
Wilhelmina and Karns, hand in hand, followed the adults through the path cleared by the dignitaries. Annabel led the way, and everyone knelt, addressing her as “Your Majesty.” The young queen clenched her teeth, her expression unclear whether from grief or suppressed joy.
This was Wilhelmina’s second funeral in the royal gardens; the last time, she buried her father.
In the magnificent mausoleum, Alexander I’s coffin was placed in a tomb designed as a small palace, mirroring the Golden Sparrow Palace of his childhood. Pink roses surrounded the cemetery, with water lilies waiting for summer in the pools. The emperor’s statue stood at the entrance, hand on a cane, gazing into the distance.
Under remaining snow, black earth was exposed, and red-beaked birds pecked for food. The sky was clear, and the air still cold, with breath condensing into white mist.
The priests chanted a tedious hymn, while the guests were lost in thought. Wilhelmina gazed at the black coffin trimmed with gold, a scene that echoed two other funerals etched in her memory. At twelve, she had witnessed far too many funerals.
Everyone stood up and began to sing the requiem. Hans Borg stood behind Wilhelmina, helping her wrap her shawl tighter.
A sharp gaze was cast upon him. The secretary, with a military background, looked back keenly.
Annabel sang along with a low voice, her gaze binding Hans Borg tightly.
Hans Borg nodded slightly, shifted his gaze back to Wilhelmina, and revealed a gentle smile.
Wilhelmina looked up at him, smiled softly, and held his hand tightly.
After the funeral, guests and royal family members returned to the Hall of Heroes for a memorial service with refreshments.
Princess Catherine drank strong coffee, her makeup unable to hide her swollen eyes.
“I always dream of my childhood, Marie. Mother hadn’t passed away, and father hadn’t become old-fashioned. We vacationed on the East Coast, and you were only ten, always holding a doll. That trip was so enjoyable. Adam and I even caught a lobster. Now, mother is gone, Adam died young, and today, it’s father’s turn.”
Princess Marianna sighed, “People have to die. Dying as a king is better than for others.”
Catherine looked around, “Why don’t I see Schneider?”
“The leader of the Liberal Party?” Princess Marianna sneered. “He’s only qualified to submit a condolence letter.”
Princess Catherine lowered her voice and glanced towards Annabel, “I thought with his closeness to Annabel, he would qualify to be present.”
“If he were a handsome young man in his twenties, maybe. Unfortunately, he’s over fifty and balding,” Princess Marianna mocked. “You should pay attention to Selleberg. Annabel is getting close to his son.”
“This is well-known. Barbara is eager to arrange this marriage for her daughter. But I heard the man is not very enthusiastic.”
“Being the queen’s husband means giving up political power, and Annabel is not easily controlled. Any man with political ambitions would carefully consider this. He is the only son of the Selleberg family in this generation.”
“With the support of the Selleberg family, her throne would be more secure. I think both mother and daughter won’t let go of this opportunity.”
Marianna asked, “Do you think this marriage will happen?”
“No one can force the Selleberg family,” Catherine said. “If Marshal Selleberg himself doesn’t agree, it won’t happen. But no one wants to strain the relationship, so this matter will likely be dragged out. The children are still young, aren’t they?”
Wilhelmina sat by the window, quietly lost in thought. A shadow fell over her, and she looked up to see a young man standing in front of her.
Albert was not wearing a uniform today; his low-key black-gray suit perfectly highlighted his broad shoulders.
“Are you okay?” Albert asked, concerned.
“I’m fine, thank you,” Wilhelmina responded politely. “Did you come with your father?”
“Yes. He’s talking to Her Majesty.”
The “Her Majesty” Albert referred to was Annabel.
“Oh,” Wilhelmina said indifferently. “Thank you for coming.”
“This is what I should do,” he replied. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
Wilhelmina shook her head. “I’m fine.”
Albert bowed slightly. “Please accept my condolences. If you need anything, just call me.”
Wilhelmina had no intention of continuing the conversation. She stood, tugging at her dress. She had grown over the past two years, but her gaze still only reached his chest.
“Please allow me to leave for a moment,” she said, looking up, then turned and walked away.
Refusing Hans Borg’s accompaniment, Wilhelmina went to the bathroom through a side door. After washing her face and fixing her hair, she sighed deeply at her reflection.
Not rushing back to the reception room, she slowly walked along the corridor. The warm corridor contrasted with the winter scene in the gardens on both sides. In the early spring afternoon, the snow had not completely melted, and the roses were still sleeping.
Even the winter roses were sparse due to this year’s severe cold.
Wilhelmina stood for a moment, thoughtfully observing the fountain floating with ice blocks when she heard footsteps approaching.
“Your Highness,” a somewhat familiar middle-aged man bowed near her, “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
Wilhelmina looked at him, confused. She had been well-protected and kept isolated from politicians, but she recognized him. He was Meyloff Schneider, leader of the Liberal Party.
Schneider’s presence was clearly not a coincidence. Wilhelmina looked around warily.
“Don’t be nervous, my lady; there’s no one around,” he comforted her. “I’m just lost. But God favors me and let me meet you.”
This suggested his appearance was premeditated.
Wilhelmina calmed down and resumed a casual posture. “In that case, let me guide you. Where are you going?”
