The lords scrambled in ahead of me and took their seats beside the raised platform holding my parent’s thrones. I stared at the ornately carved chairs of dark wood, inlaid with a lighter carving of our family crest, the lion in the center seeming to mock me with his dangerous claws and tongue stuck out. The largest chair sat empty for my father, and the smaller one empty and waiting for his queen, neither ready for me. I glanced over at Lord Marchand and he motioned for me to sit. I shrugged, unsure of my place, but chose the smaller throne as a sign of respect, and to show the kingdom I still believed the true king would return to rule them.
A crowd of faces stared up at me. Of the few courts I'd attended recently, none had a turnout like this. Maybe they had been delayed due to my father's condition, or maybe the citizens had come out in droves just to see if I would fail.
"The court welcomes Duke Reynaud of Baudelaire versus his neighbor Duke Ormand of Ibalos,” the Herald called.
Both men stepped forward towards the platform, dripping of gold and jewels in their tailored finest. They bowed before me, each one eyeing the other and attempting to bend lower than his rival until both nearly collapsed in piles on the floor.
I placed a heavy ringed hand over my mouth to stifle a laugh. “You may stand, gentlemen. What is your dispute?"
As Duke Ormand began his testimony, I looked over at the lords and their beaming pleased smiles. I guess I must have done one thing right, but as I examined the line that snaked through the center of the front room and into the Great Hall I knew the smiles wouldn't last long. I leaned back in the uncomfortable throne, the rigid wood already bruising my backside, and tried to listen to the words coming out of the decorated Duke’s mouth.
Alright. Here we go.
"And I decree that the tree growing between your two properties to be cut down and two identical trees planted firmly within the property lines for each landowner."
I collapsed back into my mother’s throne and tried to keep a pleasant smile on my face, even though all I wanted was to run out of the room screaming.
"Thank you, Your Majesty."
Both men bowed and took their leave. Finally, the end of the never-ending line. The sun had moved through all the windows of the throne room, passing me by. My stomach growled, aching to be fed. How long had I been trapped in here?
"Thank you, but that will be all for today,” the Herald said, his chipper voice now faded into a hoarse murmur.
I stood and the rest of the attendees filed out the oversized doors at the end of the hall. Two guards flanked the throne and ushered me and the lords back out into the hallway from the royal entrance.
"That seemed to go okay,” Lord Anwar said as the door clicked closed behind him.
"Are they always so long?” I asked rubbing my fingers under the edges of the crown, a low-grade headache beginning at the back of my skull.
"Sometimes even longer."
I tried my hardest to avoid making an irritated face, the trained royal smile coming in to save me. “Would anyone care to join me for lunch?"
The three men chuckled and looked at each other, then me again.
"We've still plenty of work to do, Your Majesty,” Lord Covington said. "There are contracts and treaties that require your signature and attention.
They all turned and headed left towards the war room and I reluctantly followed behind, my head still turned right towards the kitchen. My stomach churned again and I gripped my waist.
Inside the war room, documents sat piled high on the table. I perched in the chair in front of the papers and ran my hand over the stack. Going through each of these would take days, and that’s if I even understood them with the first read. How did my father know what was right and what to do? Was it something that came with practice, or did I just have no hope of blending well into this role?
I sat down and pulled the first one from the top.
"This is a trade agreement for gold from Draconis. I suggest reading that one carefully as they like to hide tricky clauses in their contracts." Lord Marchand sat down in the chair beside me and read over my shoulder.
The words quickly jumbled together, too much formality mixed with an already long day and an empty stomach, but I kept trying. Why couldn’t they write these things in language people would understand?
Around the twentieth page, a knock echoed on the door. My shoulders dropped, hoping maybe someone brought a snack. The door opened and Griswold entered from the hall, unfortunately empty-handed.
"Sorry for the intrusion, gentlemen, but we have a foreign guest asking for an audience with the king. I told her that I would bring the prince."
"We can go through these later this evening,” Lord Covington said as he snatched the document from my hands and added it back to the pile.
“Or tomorrow?” I offered. “Tomorrow would be good."
He rolled his eyes then quickly halting when he seemed to realize I was no longer just the prince, but at this moment I was his ruler. I followed Griswold back to the throne room, dread building in my blood as flashbacks of the endless line of complaints circled in my memory. I took my mother's seat again and faced the red-cloaked visitor.
She removed her hood and dark curls dangled over her shoulders, the front of her locks pinned back behind her head. She appeared older than me, but younger than my mother, and definitely not someone I’d seen around the city before. Her striking beauty rivaled the noblest ladies of the court, but she stood with the stance of a soldier and the proud stare of a prized fighter. I sat
