It simply could not be. Her son could not be dead. Everything else paled in comparison to that sudden, unbearable truth. She no longer cared that her castle home had been attacked and was in flames, or that Camelot, her kingdom, was under siege and effectively overthrown. She did not even care that Merodach, the architect of it all, was dead by her own hand. The moment the life had flickered from his eyes, he had ceased to matter. All that mattered was the fate of her child. She refused to believe that he could be no more. It was too huge a tragedy for her to comprehend. Her beautiful son, her only remaining hope… She made her way to the lower landing and the entrance to the citadel's grand hall. Near the descending stairs, Darrick's dark candle sat. Gabriella stopped, dazed, and stared at it. You must return to him, her dead husband's voice had said. Make him the man he is meant to be. Only you can do that now… How could he not have known? Was that even possible? Then she recalled something else he had told her, something characteristically teasing but with a ring of truth to it: No one ever said trust was easy. But it is always better than the alternative… Perhaps Merodach had been wrong. Or even lying. Perhaps there was a chance… A tiny flicker of hope alit inside her chest. It was not much, but it was enough to keep her moving, to keep her from simply falling to the rotten, red carpet, bereft and hopeless. She walked into the bar of light that led into the grand hall and peered inside.
