SGE-4

How Not to Throw a Coronation W33
responsibility finally hitting him.
“Oh, oh, your father asked the same thing, lad! Fear is a
very good sign,” the old chaplain said, hacking a laugh. “And
luckily, no one can hear us from way up here.”
The chaplain turned to a skinny, red-haired altar boy, who
carefully handed him a jeweled box. The chaplain opened it.
Sunlight ricocheted through five spires like a web of gold, eliciting
gasps from the mob. Tedros gazed down at King Arthur’s
crown, the five-pointed fleur-de-lis, each with a diamond in
the center.
Once, when he was six, he’d stolen it from his father’s bed
table and worn it to his lessons with Merlin, insisting the wizard
bow and call him King. He assumed Merlin would put an
end to his mischief—but instead the wizard obeyed his command,
bowing eminently and addressing him as Your Majesty,
all the way through math and astronomy and vocabulary and
history. Perhaps the old wizard would have let him be king
forever . . . but soon the young prince removed his crown and
sheepishly returned it to his father’s table. For it was too heavy
for his soft little head.
Now, ten years later, the chaplain held out the very same
crown. “Repeat after me, young prince. The words might
sound a bit funny, given it’s an oath that harkens back two
thousand years. But words aren’t what make a king. That fear
you feel is all you need. Fear means you know this crown has
a history and future far bigger than you. Fear means you are
ready, dear Tedros: ready to quest for glory.”
Legs quivering, Tedros repeated the chaplain’s oath.