The fourth week, she pulled the jeweled band from her hair and met her unadorned reflection in cold assessment. A blank pause where no titles or chains of power were visible, only the smooth flow of her hair around her shoulders and down her back. She methodically combed through the uneven curve left by the turquoise ornament she had worn since childhood. With water, then oil, and persistence it vanished. She reached for the diamond tiara, fashioned from the same rare, unbreakable crystal as her father's ring.
It was high noon when she seated herself upon the throne in the shadow of the golden elephant, carved two centuries past as the symbol of Agrabah's seat of power. She turned her gaze upon the court and watched the subtle cuts of realization across their eyes. Upon her pronouncement, they bent the knee as one, ministers, nobles, scribes, guards, many and nameless faces now schooled to submission. The familiar motion of deference did not stop where it always had, continuing forward to completion as foreheads touched the floor and stayed still.
She heard her new title murmured on a hundred voices, soft in an undecipherable mix of hesitation and reluctance. She addressed them in return, subjects and servants to obey her alone. Then she rose and approached the balcony, where the kingdom waited.
There are three things that have never been seen. A decade without war, a living settlement in the cursed Eighth Desert, and a woman ruling in her own right.
No one will step forth to crown you.
Do it quickly, before it is too late.
She raised her arms and welcomed the vast silence before the tearing of the third seal.