Prelude

Thunder clashed overhead, but it paled in comparison to brass horns sounding out their sorrowful melody and drums pounding out a slow but steady march. Soon it was altogether muted by the cries of rifles and pistols.

Rain fell upon the crowds of citizens of Bowerstone that stood: outside their homes, in the streets, outside factories and their businesses. All bowing their heads; all showing their respect. Even within the castle walls, all were out in the rain. Servants, nobles, and guards alike stood silent in respect to the passing casket.

In that moment all of Albion was entirely unified. For Albion had lost their leader, their queen, their hero. Sparrow had passed leaving the world in darkness. All of Albion was in mourning.

But none mourned more so then the small child whose tiny trembling hand clenched that of her elder brother's. Her ice-green eyes were bloodshot and puffy. Continuously she rubbed them, trying to wipe away the tears as soon as they formed. She cared not that she cried out loudly; that she seemed unruly in that moment. She had just suffered a loss far greater than any she had before.

Gaining what little strength she had left, she gazed up. She watched as the coffin passed. Walter, the long time friend of her mother's, along with several others, were carrying the casket to the tomb where her father laid encased. Jasper, their kind old butler, was following behind; he carried something that was of great importance to her mother, though neither she nor her elder brother, Logan, knew of what it was. Across from her she peered, with watery eyes, at the nobles. Some were dabbing their eyes, others quietly blowing their noses. Her gaze swept over them slowly. She would have normally found their white or pink powdered wigs humorous, but right now she found herself angry at them; they were too bright for such a moment. The sky and world found it within their power to darken the clouds and silence the birds; why couldn't they take those monstrosities off? At least they had the common sense to wear dark clothing.

She watched them noticing that all of them, every single one, had their eyes closed. All, except one. A man. One that she was warned, along with her brother, to never tolerate or take seriously.

Reaver.

Her eyes looked him over from bottom to top. He wore white, it figures he'd be the one to do so to a funeral. She grimaced. Reaver was leaning against his cane, a pose of superiority and indifference. She began to scowl. Slowly she peered up at his face, half expecting him to be smirking. To her surprise, he wasn't. His eyes were open and he watched the casket pass, his lips were straight. The expression on his face almost serious. He held his hat over his heart; he was the only one, of those she could see, that allowed the rain to fall freely upon his head. His dark brunette hair was drenched and plastered to his forehead.

She found herself in admiration for the cruel narcissist. He was the only one, who stood motionless before her, that held any real respect for her mother.

Lightning flashed, drawing her from her thoughts. She noticed that tears had been flowing freely from her eyes and had stained her cheeks. Quickly she looked down and wiped them away while tightening her grip around Logan's hand.

He looked down at her, his raven hair matted against his pale face. In that moment he and his sister shared a common emotion for the first time.

Sorrow.

It burned deeply within him, but unlike his sister he dared not reveal it. For he was king now. He was meant to be the beacon of light in the darkest of times, much like his mother. He knew that his people would look to him for guidance, and that he would have to do anything and everything to ensure Albion's safety.

They both watched as Jasper slowly descended down the stairs. The funeral march continued, still battling it out against the thunder.

She shivered, the rain soaking her to the bone. Slowly, he knelt down beside her and looked her straight in the eyes. He had never understood his sister, mostly due to the large age difference, and usually when she would cry he would scold her, but this time was different. This time he would allow her to cry as much as she needed.

Her body began to tremble, due to the cold and her emotions. He watched for a moment before wrapping his arms around her and lifting her up.

This signaled the end of the funeral procession. Everyone began to disband and separate. They all remained silent as they did so, and many were still wiping their eyes and blowing their noses. She watched them all through blurry eyes, her auburn hair matted against her face as well. Through rain and tears she saw him again.

Reaver.

The tall sharpshooter was walking with several others. He made no attempt to speak to them or they to him, the look on his face revealing he wouldn't bother with them anyway. She eyed him as he walked away until, that is, something caught his gaze.

Her.

He returned her stare, curiosity quite evident in his eyes. Cocking his head to the side, he grinned and removed his top hat. In one swift movement he bowed to her and replaced the hat then pointed his cane to her, before tipping his hat with it. All while keeping that smug smirk.

"My condolences. It's regrettable that I was never able to shoot her for all the trouble she caused me." His eyes gave a slight hint of sympathy.

She rubbed her eyes in disbelief and looked back at him. His eyes showed nothing more than they had before: amusement and ego.

He tipped his hat once more and sauntered off.

She scowled and wanted to scream, but held it in. Instead she sighed and laid her head down on Logan's shoulder allowing her tears to flow. Part of her hoped that she would never see him again. That part of her also never wanted her brother to put her down.

The other half...knew better.