The hall was empty. Your shoes echoed on marble. The gown was folded on the throne where someone had left it. You picked it up because no one was watching. The silk was heavier than it had to be. You held it up. The mirror by the column did not show your face anymore.
You put it on because the room asked you to. The fabric drew in across your ribs and stayed there. The sleeves slid up your arms without you guiding them. Your hair lengthened in the corner of the mirror and went red. The crown was already on the throne and the throne knew where you would sit. Your back straightened. Your chin lifted on its own. The marble was cold under your feet.
Cold climbed your heels, and then your legs. The gown’s hem pooled around your ankles and went still. You walked the eight steps to the throne because your legs already knew the count. You did not remember sitting down. You were sitting down. Your palms found the lion arms and stayed there. The crown was already on your head.
Your body stopped fighting. Your eyes stayed open. A new weight pressed down behind your jaw where the gold collar lay. The fur trim brushed the tops of your shoulders and you did not shrug it off. Your voice came to your throat in a different register and you didn’t try to lower it. You watched the empty hall from the throne and the hall was waiting.
Footsteps started at the far end of the corridor. There were many. They were slow. You did not turn your head to look. The doors were already opening on their own.
***
Footsteps stopped at the foot of the throne. A man in dark robes climbed the three steps and stood between your knees as if he had done it before. He lifted the hem of the gown and the gown lifted with him. He did not ask. You did not say no. His hands were warm where they touched your thighs.
He pressed two fingers into you and the gown moved with him. He slid them out and pressed himself against you. You felt the velvet give. He pushed in. Your hands closed on the lion arms. The crown stayed level on your head. You felt full and you did not pull back.
He took hold of your hips and moved against you. The silk and the velvet slid against each other under him. The throne held you steady. A thought arrived in your head fully formed and it wasn’t yours and then it was: this is the audience the throne was set up for. The old part of you went quiet without saying goodbye. You did not call after her. You were not afraid that she was not coming back.
He was still and so were you. You heard yourself say “Are you satisfied?” in the voice that came with the throne. He said yes. You said “Then go.” He did. You did not have to think about which words to choose. The body knew the script. The throne had chosen them for you.
The door shut behind him. The corridor was empty again. The crown was cold. You did not adjust it. You watched the line where the marble ended and the carpet began and you did not stand up. You waited for the next set of footsteps. There would be another.