Page 29 of Chosen

Chapter Nineteen

Truth

The sun wasn’t even up yet when my ladies came flying into the room and jerked the bed curtains open. Sig leaped to his feet and snatched his dagger off the bed table.

“Highness,” Caralee gasped.

“Never do that again,” Sig warned.

I curled up in the covers and watched as he composed himself. It took him a few seconds to orientate. It was obvious that he was no more of a morning person than I was.

“We will not be disturbed before breakfast from now on,” I instructed.

“Yes, Highness. Of course.” Miralee agreed. “It’s just that… well… His Grace has instructed us to ready you both. He says you will be receiving complaints in his stead this morning.”

“Receiving complaints?” Sig glanced between us.

“Yes. It’s just like village meetings at home, only much more orderly. People are permitted in for an audience with the king. They voice complaints and beg for justice.”

“No one should have to beg for justice,” Sig scoffed.

His eyes pinched with a bit of disgust as he thought about it.

“Fine. We shall do this for my father,” he relented.

Caralee curtsied and hurried over to the wardrobe. The other two joined in and within an hour, we were both dressed in our finest and being escorted to the throne room. Sven was nowhere to be found, but his wife was standing next to the king’s throne. She patted it and offered her son a smile. It made me falter a little. I was suddenly unsure if I should sit in the throne Sven had prescribed for me or stand on the other side of Sig. It was Ava’s throne, after all. Sig sat down and glanced toward me.

“What are you doing? Be seated.” He patted the armrest of the other throne.

I looked toward Ava and was met with a death glare. Rather than let it deter me, I gracefully sat on the edge of her throne and tucked my legs in the way that I’d been trained to do. It was an unnatural pose; I didn’t care how graceful it might have made one appear. While I doubted anyone could nod off in such a position, I had no doubt that if they did, they’d faceplant in front of the entire court.

“Let’s get this over with,” Sig called to the guard.

The guard waved toward the door and the butler opened it, permitting the first peasant. He was a stout man with disheveled hair and a dirty off-white tunic.

“Who comes now?” the page called.

“Tom. Name is Tom Harlow,” the man said, running a hand through his hair.

It did little to tame the greasy mess, and he soon gave way to scratching instead.

“Very good. Does it please the court to hear Mister Harlow’s complaint?” the page formally asked.

“It does.” Sig nodded.

“You see, Your Grace—” Tom started.

“Highness,” Ava corrected.

Tom flustered and turned red, “Right. Yes, Ma’am. Highness….”

“I am the Queen of the Bay.” Ava interrupted him again. “I am Your Grace. The man you are addressing is my son. The Prince.”

Tom looked toward the door like he might flee.

“It is understandable, Tom. You are not a man of many complaints,” I ventured, trying to help the man out. I knew what it was like to be belittled by those who sat high and looked low. “You are probably not accustomed to the details of court and how such works. What brings you in today, my friend?”

Ava glared at me, but Sig nodded and gave a grateful smile.

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