The Throne Chose Her
For centuries, kings had fought for it. Bloodlines ended over it. Armies crossed kingdoms for it. Prophets argued over who would one day be worthy enough to sit upon the empty throne. Meek Meek had mostly been trying to figure out where she was. She had made it halfway up the ancient staircase when the palace suddenly came alive. Golden light raced beneath her feet. Roses bloomed across stone that hadn't seen spring in centuries. Ancient symbols burned awake one by one, and somewhere behind her came the unmistakable sound of something very large—and very magical—deciding it had found what it was waiting for. Meek Meek slowly turned. The throne was glowing. Then the crown began to appear. Her eyes widened. Surely not. There were warriors here. Actual heirs. People with swords and prophecies and dramatic family histories. She had brought a purse. Yet the golden light curled around her anyway, the flowers opened at her feet, and the ancient throne shone brighter. Meek Meek stared at it in stunned silence. Apparently, destiny had made its decision. Her purse remained abandoned on the stairs. It had not been consulted.

