In the Castle of the ElvinStar, nestled deep within the mountains of the south, excitement reigned. Banners and festive buntings hung from the castle walls, students at the Castle's Hall for Mage Training rushed to complete last-minute tasks, and visiting dignitaries from across the Seven Kingdoms of the Elvinstar and beyond filled the courtyards. The very birds seemed to have caught the celebratory spirit, their bright melodies a cheerful accompaniment to the hustle and bustle of the Castle. Even Laeleena, the eldest and usually most serious of the Queens, had been spotted humming softly to herself as she oversaw the students arranging the banquet hall. Everything and everyone glowed with excitement for the birthday of one of the Castle's Seven Queens. And in the Throne Room, the object of all their attention was enjoying a few rare moments of carefree companionship.
Kaatina laughed as if she were a young girl again, and not a queen, green eyes sparkling. Beside her, Prince Sordack of Liirrick smiled at her jest. Bowing low before her, he jumped atop the table in the center of the Throne Room. Kaatiina gasped in surprise, then giggled.
"M'lady," he declared, "if you would ascend your throne, you may receive your surprise." Obliging, she skipped to her chair. With a sweep of her skirts and a ladylike flounce, she settled into her seat and looked up expectantly, fluttering her eyelashes like a coquette.
Abruptly she stiffened, her blithe air disappearing, the glimmer gone from her eyes. "It feels so strange to sit here like this, in the Throne Room," she whispered, suddenly quiet. "I've never been in the Throne Room alone before. It feels almost...wrong..."
A strange light sprang into the Prince's eyes. He smiled, a coaxing smile, absently fingering the gleaming silver dagger at his waist. "Ah, your Majesty mustn't fear...thy great-mother shall not chastise thee...or are you afraid of her?"
There was a challenge in his words. Stiffening at the reminder of the stigma that Kaatina’s age as youngest of the Seven gave, Kaatina became suddenly a Queen. "I am not afeared," she declared, a look of defiance in her eyes. "Show me this surprise you have been babbling about since Midsummer’s Eve. I command it."
"Of course, Your Majesty...for I cannot deny a royal command." Sordack snapped his fingers, and two goblets and a small bottle of wine appeared on the table below his feet. Picking them up, he cried, "But first, a toast! To Her Majesty Kaatiina Asintania Raasiinaa, on her 21st birthday, may she have a thousand more." With a bow and a flourish, he handed one goblet to Kaatiina, and watched, as was respectful, as she took a single sip to taste it.
Her mouth slackened and her head fell forward, eyes filled with terror and shock. "How...?" she whispered, her speech already slurred.
"An anaesthetic only, Queen," there was mocking in his tone "you shall not die from it, and so your powers did not detect it. But it shall give me time for this."
Prince Sordack drew the dagger from his belt, its rubies flashing as he fingered the runes across its hilt. It was a gift, of all things, from Kaatiina’s mother, Celia, on his appointment as Captain of the Liirick Select Guards. One of the Great Treasures, it alone could kill a Queen of the Elvin Star. Tipping back Kaatiina's chin, he gazed into the now dulled green eyes. His own grey ones were alight with a feverish gleam that spoke of madness and sent shuddering fear through the Seventh Queen’s heart. Touching the edge of the dagger to her neck, he stopped, and smiled... and slit her throat. The blade sliced through flesh and blood and bone, sending the song of the Death singing among the stones of the Throne Room, mixing with Kaatina’s scream.
Laughing, the Prince held his goblet below her gaping wound, her blood falling to mix with his wine. Raising it to his lips, he drank greedily, laughing. Kaatiina watched in horror and disgust, loathing him even as she drew her last breath. Seeing her eyes staring at him, Sordack poured the last of the blood into her mouth. "Drink your death," he sneered. She spit into his face, and died, her hand still clutching his velvet-sheathed arm.
The Star was broken.
