She belongs to none of the kingdoms, the only association held to them is a meeting with an old queen (and a raven, now made of electricity, flying overhead), and the dull ache of kings and queens thudding in her blood from generations past.
She has no desire to rule or be ruled, and has no loyalty to pledge.
The only thing she belongs to is Spyndle, a golden mare gone. To her, she is the most devout of subjects, pledged to her even now, even after all that’s transpired.
(Once, she belonged to Him, though it was not a willing ownership – in His kingdom of ash and bone, smoke and sulfur, where he took everything from her and gave nothing back.)
The stallion doesn’t know the vastness of the land – she’s met many here and most of them she’s never seen again. But then, she’s never sought them out.
He asks of her loyalty and she almost smiles, wishing it was so simple, that she could live soft in protected in some land.
“No,” she says, “kingdom life isn’t for me.”
(He’d been a king thrice over, before He was a god.)
Before she can ask the question in turn another comes, a golden mare who makes her heart ache for a moment (for after all, there was once a gold mare she loved so dearly, though her golden hue had been nowhere so rich as this stranger’s).
This mare speaks, praises Cordis like she is an idol, and to this Cordis does smile. The electricity around her fades further, lessening so she might speak over the buzz.
“Thank you,” she says, because it is polite. She hears the mare greet the painted stallion – Jedi – and glances to him.
“My name is Cordis,” she tells them, unsure of what else to say, unable to look upon the gold mare for too long lest the memories spark.
I’ll touch you all and make damn sure
Cordis
that no one touches me