That the church had kept her from the throne was of no matter; she had been born for this, had been promised this by birthright, by the divine right of kings imbued in her very flesh and blood.
Brandishing the sword above her, she swung and missed by a hair as the bishop leapt to the left. He slipped a hand into a hidden pocket, throwing water on her.
"Be gone, witch!" he cried. "There is nothing here for you, nothing that belongs to you. You have been banished by the people."
She seized him by the lapels. "The will of the people is nothing compared to the will of the gods."
He buckled under his own weight, grabbing uselessly at her hands.

"You're supposed to be melting", he whined. He pawed in his pocked for more water, tossed a palmful at her face.

She shook it off, spat it back at him. "Melt? From a bit of water... you're an idiot."

"It's been told for centuries," he wailed. "Water for a witch a puddle makes."

"I've literally never heard that. And I've read a lot of lore. What kind of priest are you?"

It's a long story, he whispered as he looked towards the altar. He pushed off with both legs, tucked, flipped back over the fulcrum of her arms on his lapels.

She bent to take up her sword again, and when she stood, he was gone. A bit of smoke spread from behind a nearby column. Dancing sideways around it to keep her distance she found nothing by a cloak and a clear pool quickly drying.

Turning towards the throne set for the coronation, she smiled in victory. But hesitated, nagged by a curiosity.