Mal stood shivering in Leadbare's frigid rain, but the heat of grief kept her away from the warm confines of her den. Death surrounded her like a shroud billowing in the harsh winds that rolled over the crashing waves far below. She had feared the coming of a king, a tyrant, who would control her life, but Kinglet had done no such thing. He had been gold, like the crown that should have wreathed his head, true as the rain, sweet as the summer breeze. Now she longed for that king, her benevolent ruler, who sought only the best for his people, only the best for her, despite her rebellions and attempted coups he remained. Always remained, through the insubordination, the disrespect, the disdain, steady as stone and twice as strong. Kinglet held each virtue that befitted a true king. /If only he could have avoided the noble death./ Mal thought ruefully smiling despite herself, a crooked grin glinting in the light of the rising moon as the downpour began to subside. With the rain the memory of Kinglet was whisked into the receding gales of wind. Mal scrabbled at its edges refusing to let him go, in this place there would be very few true kings, few benevolent rulers, and worst of all their would only be one Kinglet, one Wrathspirit, and though he had never been crowned or seen the title of star he would be and would stay King. In this life and the next.
