My skin is warmed by the beaming sun, but my heart could be in no darker place.                                                       My father, the King, may now finally rest in peace, as I seem to now be the most despised person in all the realm. I cannot refute the well deserved anger of the people at what my father had done as our ruler--at times even I boiled over in ire at his choices for our kingdom--but am I now to shoulder those criticisms simply for being his daughter? I hardly think it fair.                                                                                                                                                   I go now from his entombment in a lengthy and painfully slow procession through the streets of our capital to take his place. My shoulder cut gown of blue silk gleams brightly, as do my costly ornaments; never before has my mother's sea sapphire felt so heavy about my neck. And I pray from the bottom of my soul to be done with this crown of thorns atop my head, regal as it is with sharp and shimmering gemstones available only to my father's house. My attire would ordinarily bequeath me some measure of satisfaction, but among the commoners they serve only to mark me as a vile and demeaning noble, utterly different from the people, born to power and never tasting of a day's work.                                                                                                                                                                       The city guards stand several paces apart from one another clutching polished spears and warding off the thronging masses who seem to wish for nothing more than to see my head atop one of those spears. The vulgar thing they say! It's all I can do to restrain myself from lashing a verbal retaliation upon them, until I remember that it would merely render me hoarse with no satisfying result to compensate. I simply proceed along our route, head down and eyes shut tight to keep the tears from escaping down my burning cheeks. I would rather wallow in the swamps and ruin this dress than be here in my own city right now.                                                                                      I would rather be dead with my father than be Queen.                                                                                                  Queen.                                                                                                                                                                                       One would think such a momentous occasion might heal my shattered heart, even if only for a short while, but it remains broken upon these flagstones I tread, every step I take sending an irreplaceable piece cascading out into the hostile crowd.                                                                                                                                                                           I am no Queen. I haven't the slightest idea what to do.                                                                                          Father...Help me...                                                                                                                                                                   My perception of the air changes suddenly to a small rushing sound growing nearer and nearer.                    SPLAT!                                                                                                                                                                                           I stop dead in my tracks as a small but powerful explosion materializes at my feet. It takes me a moment to understand what I'm looking at. A red mess upon the cobblestone rolls across my path, quickly followed by a rising stench of decay that makes me gasp.                                                                                                                           The shouting intensifies. The guards lay their spears flat against the crowd at the waist. All around me is naught but noise and confusion.                                                                                                                                                               I feel a sharp impact on my side accompanied by another audible SPLAT and knocks me off balance. The sting is replaced with a cool damp feeling and I look down to see an awful scattering of filthy red juices mixing with the silk of my gown and running down the fabric slowly.                                                                                                       My heart drops at the sight and smell and I lift my stricken gaze upon the crowd. The shouting is now a crazed mix of the most audacious and despicable jeers and taunts as I see something green materialize from amid the pressed bodies and hurl through the air towards me. I step back awkwardly and watch an apple explode into a torrent of molten green pieces and scatter across the space I was just standing.                                                                               The procession has stopped. The guards form ranks to push back the pulsing crowd from bearing down on us. More dead and rotted food is produced amidst the booing and thrown at me with all the strength the people can muster.                                                                                                                                                                                       My eyes cast themselves on the faces of the crowd, their features distorted with agony and hate. Implacable sadness takes hold of me and I am frozen to the earth.                                                                                                                      Am I that despised by my own people?                                                                                                                                   An all-encompassing shadow suddenly eclipses me and I am swallowed up by it. I look up to see naught but a silhouette blotting the sun looming large over my left shoulder. My eyes adjust to reveal...                                            Rays of sharp sunlight pierce my retinas as they ricochet angrily off the rough angles of the figure's armor. It gleams with a high mirror shine.                                                                                                                                           The figure heaves bodily an oblong and hefty shield over his head that covers us both in shade. I hear a wet and visceral smack against the metal which moves the man's arm but only an inch.                                                              His armor is indeed rough cut and angular, and although buffed and polished bears the undeniable marks of mighty sword strikes and arrow deflections. His cuirass juts forward menacingly but casting itself proudly against the bright metal  is a single rose, ruby and freshly picked.                                                                                                When I cast my eyes upon his face, I am greeted by an expressionless sheet of steel with an utterly flat crown and rolling forward into a knife-edge cut. Stretching across the width of the helm and flowing down to the chin was a thin slit of the deepest black girdled by rich gold.                                                                                                                   I make out another sickening splatter of fruit against his raised shield. The screaming again fills my ears to an almost unbearable level. I am quite certain the guards are begging our cavalcade to continue on, but right now my attention is solely devoted to this behemoth of polished armor and unknown face standing so close to me. My eyes are locked in place on the thin and blank void where his own eyes should be. The blank void stares back unmoving and, unexpectedly, I hear a voice from beneath the substantial helm. It bellows forth to compensate for the roar of the crowd but at the same time it sounds almost...soothing.                                                                                            "Stay with me, my lady," he says. "I will carry you."                                                                                                          My own voice catches in my throat and I am unable to utter a single syllable in reply. I meekly stare in abject awe at his feature-less face as he lowers his head to look behind him briefly. He sweeps up the opposite end of his cloak, billowing and red as blood, and raises it behind and over my crowned head to further shield me from the raging crowds.                                                                                                                                                                                           I can hold it back no longer. Yet, to my own surprise, only a single heavy tear ebbs down my cheek as I stare blankly at the ground. My heart slams in my bosom and I cannot calm it. My feet are equally uncontrollable and I start forward without any order from my mind given to that effect.                                                                               My world devolves into a muted buzz and foggy daze. My brain has sought refuge in some manner of slow-motion default which allows naught for any conscious decision making.                                                                                   Slowly I trudge along the path ahead, paying no heed to the malignant ooze spread across the cobblestones from the rioters' garbage hurled at me in such disgust. Chunks of blighted fruit and vegetables continue to smack against the pathway without letup, and echoing within my still muted experience of the world are the wet impacts of the refuse against the man's shield and body. I weakly look up in time to see a pitted tomato smash apart against his helm, jolting his head on his broad shoulders at the sudden impact.                                                                               But ever he walks on, undaunted and uncaring.                                                                                                           Uncaring for everything with the exception of...me.                                                                                                           My chin sinks low on my breast and my eyelids collapse, a cascade of tears streaking down my skin. I could not quell their escape, nor did I wish to anymore, ashamed as I was.                                                                               Ashamed and overwhelmed both at once.                                                                                                                                  I do not know his name. I do not know his face. I had not asked for his aid or begged for it. How much time had he spent preparing for this coronation? How much effort must he have undertaken towards his arms and armor, now polluted and stained by fruit thrown not at him, but me? What would possess anyone to step forward and catch the blows of an angry people intended for someone else?                                                                                                       Yet here he stands, tall and gallant and clearly in the face of the shrieking masses, uninvited and of his own volition, with no regard for himself, and catching those angry blows so that I might be spared their hatred...              I place my hand gently upon the leather beneath the steel of his raised arm and can feel his muscles strain to keep his shield held aloft.                                                                                                                                                                One foot in front of the other I walk.                                                                                                                                          I cannot bear to look him in the eye. I have no right to.