Coronation
A Sequel
The Tiggulars had their preferred spots in the kitchen for important conversations.
Elphaba, a creature who was born using reaction as survival and had not had a moment to rest for a significant portion of her life, preferred to lean up against the sink with her arms crossed. Eternally defensive, she recognized. Her husband, a man who often felt like he woke up with a fresh and empty brain every morning, would sit at the table and fiddle with the reading glasses he resented that he wore now. Elphaba had been used to hers, she started wearing them round the clock again shortly after they were married, but it struck Fiyero like it was a chink in his armor. He'd never gotten good at accepting help, and the glasses reminded him that he'd only need more from here.
Tonight, they assumed the positions. They didn't speak for quite a bit of time, after reading the contents of the letter. They knew it was a date fast arriving, they shouldn't have been surprised. It had hung over their marriage like the blade of a guillotine, precariously held up by his father's failing health. Elphaba had paced the halls of her home about this, the worry overriding her and sending her into panicked frenzies.
What would they do when the day came?
She didn't want to leave their home, the secluded and small estate where all of their furniture fit so well, the home that was already too big for two. Glinda's flowers had spread from a kitchen windowsill to encompass the stone porch that adjoined their humble galley. The cats all had their preferred nooks and crannies, and some were too old to be upheaved across the country. And beyond it all, she didnt want this. The princess title was garish enough for her, and she'd taken years to coax the elderly ladies of the countryside to leave that descriptor out of their greetings.
She didn't have to wonder how Yero felt, she knew he hated this more than her. He had a turbulent reputation when it came to his intelligence; she knew he could be capable of immense depth and clarity but the world was not so understanding of his mind. He was always judged harshly for who he was when he was young, when he was trying his best to prove that he wouldn't be cut for the job. His foolishness had always been a defense mechanism the same way she used her intelligence; as a sword and shield.
That's why they got along so well; every conversation was a duel, friendly or otherwise.
But tonight there was nothing to say, because it was only terrifying and nothing else. The Tiggulars were rarely stunned into silence, which made it worse. They could always count on each other for, at the very least, a sarcastic quip.
"Well…" Fiyero finally mustered up the courage after some time, but couldn't find anything within him to continue on speaking and he let the thought fade out.
Elphaba tried this time; "Well."
And she shrugged.
Her mind was off, chasing what ifs and what abouts, desperate for an idea that could lead to escape from this inevitability. She watched her husband stare at the letter that would upheave their lives. The letter that told him that his father had passed.
The letter that told him he was to become king.