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. Other members of the Royal Guard went prowling through the stands.
Warden strode leisurely over to meet Their Majesties. The queen was beautiful, radiant. The king was smiling, dignified, coolly aloof and detached, but not offensively so. He was what his subjects wanted in a king, someone sublime, perfect, set apart. He was all of that and more and yet he had the rare gift to be able, on occasion, to descend from his lofty throne and remind his subjects that he was mortal--as were they.
The children were being shepherded forward to deliver their flowers. They were frightened by the commotion, overwhelmed by the prospect of being this near the king and queen. All made it, except one little boy, who dropped his flowers and burst into tears. The king knelt to the child's level, ruffled the hair on the small bent head with a gentle hand. Then, picking the flowers up from the dust, the king offered them to the queen, who accepted them with a gracious smile, a comforting word.
"That's the Blood Royal in him," Warden remarked to his cameraman.
"This will have them in tears," the cameraman predicted, his cam following the littie boy, who was looking bewildered but happy, not certain what had happened, yet realizing from the fuss the grown-ups were making--that he'd done something remarkable.
"Poor kid'll probably develop a phobia about flowers," said the producer
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