Page 139 of The Forbidden Fae King

A row of guards separate the people from the royal family andescort each petitioner before the king when it is their time to speak. The king’s many advisers are seated in neat rows just below the dais, with Diarmuid amongst them.

The white noise ofhundreds of voices in constant chatter bounce off the stone walls. The only windows are high slits, so the temperature rises as the morning progresses from all the body heat. Despite the high ceilings, the space is suffocating.

I try not to cringe at the white banners draping from the ceiling and the arrangements of white flowers in great vases, a continued announcement of the coming royal wedding. It is strange that I think of it in third person. Not asmywedding.

Finan taps his fingers on the arm of his chair to the beat of a common tune, reclined to one side and eyes glazed, as a lord speaks of a land dispute. I try not to send him an incredulous look, but keeping such a tight rein on my features for so long is exhausting.

“I think I would like a walk through the gardens after this.” Finan murmurs to me. “We could have a picnic and get the royal bard to play tunes for us.” A smile passes across his face.

Even though no one else could hear us, the idea of talking about the mundane throughout these proceedings churns my stomach.

It is not only the disrespect to the people amassed.

It is the complete indifference Finan shows to running the kingdom.

A ruler must know the political currents of his land inside out, even if news of failed crops or hungry peasants bores him.

“I would love that.” I force a lightness into my voice. “Is there always trouble at the border of Ethos and the Rice Planes?”

Finan actually waves a hand to dismiss the topic. “There is always something, somewhere. If you fancy, we could sneak out of the castle tonight and swim in the ocean…naked.”

My skin crawls. I need to stop that visceral reaction to him. “You know I would love to, my prince, but your mother keeps such a close eye on me.”

Finan grunts and returns to his tapping.

The procession of people continues on, their stories and needs sovastly different. I am startled when the petitioning lords and wealthy merchants are replaced by commoners, and a woman dressed in rags with three children and a baby hanging off her kneels before the king.

She wears a scarf that hides her knotted hair, and her skin is streaked with grime. I have never seen anyone so low in the depths of poverty.

“I petition my queen, mother to mother. Our babes are dying. There is a fever in the city, but it only affects us poor, because we don’t have enough food to feed the babes, or clean water to wash them. No coin for healers. As a mother, help us. Save our children.” The woman sobs.

The blood drains from the queen’s face. Her hands shake ever so slightly where they are placed on the rests of her throne. It takes a long time for her to drag her gaze away from the peasant. The muscles of my shoulders are taut and my blood races as I stare at Queen Andrea with horror.

The queen goes to speak, once, twice, then stops herself and turns to the king. He has a withering gaze focused on her and raises his eyebrows.

“I will defer to the wisdom of my king on this and all matters,” the queen finally says, then closes her eyes.

Something dies within me. The queen is utterly, utterly powerless, even on a matter the king would consider a small trifle.

“Do you not have access to fountains for clean water like the rest of the city?” The king immediately snaps.

The peasant woman bobs her head. “Not in the poor quarters. We must travel inside the wall for water, and it is a long trip with multiple children hugging my legs.”

“But youdohave access,” the king points out.

One of the king’s advisers stands from his bench. “If I might add, your grace, the crown distributes grain amongst the poor, but in times of sickness it would be prudent to give them vegetables too. An infant can die from poor nutrition alone. There are much our kitchens and the markets reject as inferior quality.”

The queen gives the man a slightest nod of thanks, and the colorreturns to her features. I wonder if she sees this as one of her discrete wins, having a man speak for her on his whim, when she has probably put years of effort into nurturing a very unreliable alliance.

“We should send healers to investigate the situation and help where they can.” Prince Niall speaks and his father turns a predator's glare on him. “A sickness like that can quickly spread through the city and affect all of us.” Niall adjusts.

“Everyone seems to have something to say on this case. Very well.” The king flicks his fingers at his guards, and the petitioner and her four children are led away. He sends a dark look to his wife, as though she could have somehow orchestrated the whole thing.

Queen Andrea’s gaze follows the woman as she recedes through the parted crowd, an intensity within it. A queen should have the power to enact social change in her own city. Arrange regular food and healers for the poor. Have fountains built into their shanty town outside the city wall.

That desire burns in her, but the nervous tick of her hands shows she is a caged bird.

That is what I will become.

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