Six grains of purple sand remained in the glass.

“Dillon of the Shadows,” Nidhug said, “do you accept the crown of Belmair, and all it entails?”

“I do,” Dillon answered.

“Will you have Cinnia, the sorceress of Belmair, as your wife?”

“I will,” Dillon replied. He had hardly even looked at the girl.

Ping. Ping. Ping!

“Then take the last breath of Fflergant as he breathes it,” the dragon replied. “As he, and all the kings of Belmair have taken the last breath of those who preceded them.”

Dillon stepped up on the dais containing the throne. The old man’s eyes were closed now. Dillon bent down, and opening his mouth took the old king’s last breaths into his body as Fflergant breathed them.

Ping! Ping! PING!

As the sound echoed throughout the room the old king suddenly faded away, leaving the chair empty. The sand in the glass next to the throne turned silver, and then it, too, disappeared. And then suddenly the top of the life glass was filled so full with a new supply of purple sand that no grains were able to begin dropping right away.

Cinnia began to cry. Dillon went to her and attempted to comfort her, but she pushed him away angrily. “Leave me be. My father is dead, and I am wed to a stranger.”

“You are a stranger to me, too,” Dillon reminded her.

“But your father is not dead!” Cinnia sobbed.

“Nay, but until today I thought he was,” Dillon said.

Startled Cinnia stopped weeping, and looked at him. “What do you mean?” she asked him.

Dillon smiled. “It is a tale for another day, lady. Now we must mourn the good man who was your father. Tell me of your traditions so we may follow them.”

“We have none where death is concerned for at death our bodies simply evaporate here on Belmair. Even the life glass of the king has refilled itself with the death of my father. If we go into the Hall of the Kings now we will find a marble bust of Fflergant in the place designated for it. There will be a new empty alcove waiting for you when your reign comes to an end,” Cinnia explained. She wiped her eyes. “We do not celebrate death here in Belmair. We celebrate life. My father was a good king. He will be remembered as such, but he is gone. No further mention will be made of him.”