A lightning just struck in the dark morning sky when the temple bell was tolled. Once. Twice. Three times. The crowd at the town market ignored the familiar death knell and went on with their business. But when the fourth toll was heard, they stopped talking and looked up to the sky. Some even asked one another if their counting was right.

Five. Six. The wind sent chills down their spine as they kept counting. And the bell was tolled the seventh time. And only silence came after. 

A woman dropped her basket of oranges to the wet ground. Another one just closed her gaping mouth with her hand. And the crowd took a sharp gasp, murmuring, "The King is dead."

In an instant, the bustling market turned into a ghost town. The sellers closed their tents, put their items back into the carriage and went home. The citizens ceased all activities. Men and women of faith headed to the Temple of Hope to pray for their fallen ruler and their unknown future. The people of Ranundala had just tasted their first three years of peace after a decade of civil war and another decade of small scale rebellions. With the death of the King, no one really knew for sure what's coming for them.

Riders carrying the royal announcement were dispatched from the capital city of Smajawangsa to the nine regions of the kingdom. Hawks were sent to their vassal kingdoms all over the Sanuratna subregion of Jinli continent. And soon, more temples tolled their bells seven times in a row. The entire kingdom mourned in silence and solemnity.

Far from the mourning civilians, up on the Jade Hill, the Royal Palace of Ranundala was in uproar. Hundreds of servants and caretakers scurried to prepare not one, but two burials at the same time. Because not only the King, the Queen was found dead too. What made it even more heartbreaking was the fact that they died on a voyage to undertake a pilgrimage in Holy Isles. There was no war, no palace intrigue, no plague, nothing. They just had happened to cross the ferocious Holy Sea during a storm.

And when the rain poured in the afternoon, following the royal burial, the palace wasn't getting any quieter. The thunder outside could barely be heard against the shouts that came from The Plenary Hall where the ministers of all the councils were in the middle of a heated discussion about the future of the throne. 

There was only one high ranking official who did not attend the discussion: Pram Ustama, the Minister of Transportation. He was detained by the constables for questioning after the ship that was under his supervision appeared to be too weak to carry the King on his holy passage. Although all things considered, no one could really predict the fury of the sea on this particular rain season. 

Among the arguing men and women in the room, sat down a handsome middle-aged man with a black mustache who hadn't said a single word. He was wearing a standing-collared jacket called jaskap in the royal family's color of black and gold. A piece of diamond adorned his black head gear. His fingers were decorated with expensive rings. Pearls were studding his sandals. Yet behind all the glitters, he was suffocating. It's like the council members forgot that they might lose the King, but he lost his own flesh and blood.

The man was Prince Grahuri, King Prajanggaru II's younger brother and Minister of Foreign Affairs. And the council didn't let him have enough time to mourn. Alas, maybe he could never have enough time.

He came to his senses when Pram Agrawi, Prime Minister of the High Council, mentioned the name Prince Tapriyasta. He was the crown prince, chosen by the law and by the King himself. However, he just turned seventeen last month. And the law could not allow him to assume the throne as of yet.

"In that case, we must appoint a regent," stated Pram Agrawi. The seventy-something man with an all-white mustache held on to his gold plated cane to stand firm.

"It's safe to say that there's only one person suitable for such position," said Pram Bhanuspa, the Minister of Law.

"I agree," said Pram Dirmaja, the Minister of Treasure. "Prince Grahuri should be the prince regent." 

"I respectfully decline," answered Prince Grahuri almost immediately. If anything, he even sounded a bit panicked. This was one of the things that muddled his thoughts. He had already planned to decline the idea should anyone mention it. Meanwhile, some of the ministers could be seen letting out a long sigh of relief.

Prince Grahuri instinctively was the best choice in this circumstance. He was the direct relative to the King. Also, there was no opportunity for him to seize the throne and become the king, because he had no living offspring. 

Moreover, his position as the Minister of Foreign Affairs could easily be replaced by someone else. In fact, not everyone agreed to that placement when his brother had appointed him eight years ago, remembering the prince's tendency to break the rules. Surely, it's also the reason why some of them were against the idea of him becoming the regent.

"Would you care to elaborate your decision?" asked Pram Agrawi.

"Let's just be honest, how many of you actually stand me?" replied the Prince. "One? Two? If I become the regent, in a matter of two months, you'll all plot to kill me."

"That is a very dangerous accusation!" yelled Pram Dirmaja.

Prince Grahuri just gracefully gestured, "See?"

"My lords and ladies, I believe we need to take His Highness' reason into consideration," appeased Il Dyang Wisangka, the Minister of Defense. He knew better than anyone that the appointment of the rebellious prince would incite riot if not straight up murder as the Prince himself claimed.

"Then I raise Princess Sinamur," said Hil Nyama Dwiduli, the Minister of Medicine.

"I respectfully disagree," said Pram Bhanuspa and Pram Histanu at the same time.

"My apologies, Your Highness," Pram Histanu, the Minister of Home Affairs, addressed Prince Grahuri. "It's not that we do not wish for your sister to become the head of the state. We just wished for someone who commanded more... respect."

Renggi Nanta Dipaswirih grunted and rolled her eyes so hard that made Prince Grahuri who saw it nearly smiled. His youngest sister was probably the most ignored member of the royal family. She had been his father's favorite daughter that even her wish to stay unmarried had been granted. And that was why they never regarded her existence. 

"What about the Queen Mother?" asked Pram Pendala. 

"Leave my mother out of this," hissed Prince Grahuri. "Let her live in the ways of gods. Don't pull her back into politics and palace intrigues. She's had enough of it." 

"And need I remind you about commanding respect?" added Pram Histanu.

The Queen Mother, the mother of the late King Prajanggaru II, was still alive, indeed. Her life focused on religious routines and philanthropic activities. It was Princess Sinamur who attended her every day needs. She had almost gone with the King and Queen on their pilgrimage, but due to her progressive decline, she was unable to go. And now she outlived them. 

"I'd say let Pri become the king," said Prince Grahuri. "He'll turn 18 in 11 months."

"With all due respect, Your Highness, we cannot forsake the rule that our ancestors wrote to guide us," clarified Pram Agrawi. "Besides, it only opens up an opportunity to defy other rules in the future. If we let the seventeen year old crown prince to become the king this time, we'll probably will let him have... what? Ten wives next. And soon we will have no rules that can bind the monarch from doing absolutely anything and everything. Isn't that right, Pram Bhanu?"

"Hear, hear," Pram Bhanuspa nodded.

There was a silence for a moment as they thought about another name.

"Might I suggest..." Pramin Maryaning said, "Princess Ritoja?"

And all hell broke loose. Everyone spoke at the same time, shouting and groaning, all to strongly reject the Minister of Arts' atrocious idea. Prince Grahuri sighed. He didn't think they could come up with a worse name than his youngest sister's. And yet, they exceeded his expectation.

"There's no way we'd let a Tenranese rule over Ranundala," shouted Pram Bhanuspa, drowning all the riotous clamors in the chamber. "Not on my watch. Not while we still would like to uphold the laws." 

Pramin Maryaning's idea wasn't completely bad. The appointment of the king's widow could strengthen the ties between Ranundala and Tenrana. She was also a much loved public figure as she was active in philanthropy and arts. Ever since she came, the orphanages were finally maintained well. The Smajawangsa city park flourished with four glorious statues that she had commissioned from the greatest sculptors of the kingdom. Theater troupes were at their most productive period as they competed in creating their best work to entertain her whenever she wished.

Too bad, after twenty four years, she was still seen as a foreigner.  

"If Princess Ritoja was the birth mother of the Crown Prince, then, yes, it makes sense," explained Il Saka Kirasmi, the Prime Minister of the Home Council. He spoke with a much calmer and softer voice. The fat but wrinkled friend of the late king commanded the chamber to listen without even raising his voice. He might have come into the court as a commoner, but his years of service granted him the highest respect from the noblemen and women around him. "Unfortunately, she's not. She's not even a queen. She's only the second wife of the king. Not to mention a princess of Tenrana. There will never be peace if we let her sit on the throne."

They all nodded. Despite her seemingly flawless reputation, some people would use it to disturb the peace. The images of protests and rebellions that could happen from that decision were so vivid in their mind. After all, some of them were already there when the older brother of King Prajanggaru I had claimed to be the rightful heir to the throne, against his own mother's wish. The civil war had lasted for years, resulting in the death of both of them.

"Alright, let's not delaying the inevitable," Prince Grahuri sat straight on his chair. "We all know there's only one person who's going to have to take this mantle. He'll be the first in your mind if I were dead on that ship too. Isn't that right, Renggi Nanta?" 

Everyone turned to Renggi Nanta Dipaswirih, a woman who sat behind the desk by the door. She might not be a part of the council. She was no minister. Her attire was not as extravagant as Pramin Maryaning's. Her jewelries were not as shiny as Hil Nyama's. At the age of 47, she was the youngest person in the room. However, she worked the closest with the king. As the Secretary of the Crown, Prince Grahuri hoped she would know what's inside King Prajanggaru II's mind should this circumstance arise. Besides, all of the other suggestions were not good enough.

"Well, truthfully, even if Prince Grahuri doesn't decline the position of regent, the person who is appropriate to wear the temporary crown is rather obvious," she spoke up. "The King's eldest son, Prince Basandaya."

Hil Nyama subtly shook her head. Seeing that, Renggi Nanta added, "He's young, but he's of age, the direct descendant of the King, the direct descendant of the Tenranese crown. He has proved himself as a competent governor of Smajawangsa, projected to assume the position of minister of foreign affairs after the departure of Prince Grahuri. He also has diplomatic ties to the kingdoms in Questravia and Jinli after his grand tour. He's by far the only perfect candidate, if not the second, to rule over Ranundala until the Crown Prince comes of age."

The other officials knew that she was right. Prince Basandaya might not be the son of the Queen, but other than that, he was capable and respectable enough to sit on the Ranundalan throne.

Pram Agrawi cleared his throat. He understood that it's time to cast the votes. "All in favor of appointing Prince Basandaya as the prince regent, please show me your dagger."

One by one, they took out their distinctive dagger and placed it on the table. The dagger with gold blade, the shape of firebird's head as the hilt and two Bragya diamonds for its eyes was the identification item for the high ranking officials. Only those who had the dagger were allowed to cast the vote. Renggi Nanta Dipaswirih, who did not own that special dagger, quietly smiled as the result was unanimous. A new day would dawn for Ranundala.