Broken

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Octavion stood near his sister’s grave. Word of Lydia's death spread through the kingdom quickly in hopes the news would reach the far parts of the region by night fall. Proof that Xantara already mourned her loss lay in the many colorful petals scattered over the hillside that led to the Royal cemetery.

Though her grave lay empty, Octavion's eyes burned as he stared at the fresh turned earth. Within hours of returning to their home world, anonymous threats had been made on her life. King Belesgar would take no chances with his daughter’s safety. With Lydia hidden away in her father's royal chambers, not even the loyal staff was privy to the deceit. No one but close family would be trusted. And to be sure a rumor didn't fester within the kingdom, King Belesgar forbade anyone to speak Lydia's name-the penalty possible death.

“It is time, my son.” King Belesgar stood at Octavion’s shoulder, dressed like his son, in the white robes of mourning. No color shone on their garments, no adornment accented their simple tunics and britches. Even their feet were bare to the cool grass that lay beneath them. Unfettered by distractions, the symbols of simplicity and purity gave no restraint for the dead, releasing them to return to the mighty gods who ruled the afterlife, the spiritual paradise of Lor.

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