The day of the Royal Meet, boats clog the river in anticipation of getting a glimpse of the Queen as she passes by on the royal barge.
Ahead of her passage, a sleek craft cuts through the water to make way for the royal personage and her retinue. The craft is rowed by a dozen young sailors with a coxswain at the prow calling commands.
Disaster strikes when the lead craft rams into a submerged ditch, driving the prow deep below the surface. With the barge following so closely behind at speed, there is no time to avoid capsizing.
The queen and most of her handmaidens are lost, drowned.
Bedlam on the shore, mourning populace walking among the sodden victims arrayed on stretchers as evening falls.
Elsewhere, in a darkened office, I hear discussions as a royal successor is selected—one of my colleagues, Cecelia, has been chosen.
She is young, quiet, reserved, and kind.
A surprising choice but not unsuitable for the role soon to be thrust upon her.