Page 47 of A Dagger in the Ivy

At the head of the line is a farmer, his weathered hands clutching a hat to his chest. “Your Majesty,” he begins, bowing deeply. “Our village has been hit hard by the drought. If it pleases you, we request assistance with irrigation systems to save our crops.”

Queen Eleanor nods thoughtfully, her eyes kind. “I understand your plight. I will see to it that engineers are sent to your village. You have my word.”

Next, a young woman steps forward, her eyes wide with awe. “Your Majesty, my brother is gravely ill. We have tried everything, but the healers say he needs a rare herb found only in the royal gardens. I humbly ask for your permission to obtain it.”

The queen’s expression softens even more. “Of course, my dear. You shall have what you need. I will inform the gardeners to assist you.”

Torbin shifts beside me, his gaze fixed on his mother. “She’s always been good at this,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “She has a way of making people feel heard.”

I nod, though my attention is drawn to the next petitioner, a lord in rich attire. “Your Majesty.” His tone is formal and respectful as he bows. “I seek your favor in a matter of land dispute. My neighbor claims a portion of my estate as his own, but I have the deeds to prove otherwise. I request your intervention.”

Queen Eleanor listens intently, her fingers interweaved. “Bring your documents to the court, and I shall have my advisors look into it. Justice will be served.”

As the line moves forward, I notice the variety of requests—some small, some monumental. Each person speaks with hope in their voice, trusting in the queen’s wisdom and generosity. A part of my heart opens up for her, impressed with her character, her desire to connect with her people and address their needs, no matter how diverse.

Torbin leans closer, his voice a whisper in my ear. “It’s quite the spectacle, isn’t it? A mix of genuine need and political maneuvering.”

“Mm-hmm.” I keep my eyes on the queen as she continues to listen and respond with grace. “But it’s also a reminder of her power and influence.”

“Yes,” Torbin agrees, a hint of admiration in his voice. “And one day, you’ll have that same power. Or perhaps something greater.”

I glance at him, uncertain how to respond. The weight of his words settles on my shoulders. It’s hard for me to imagine, sitting on a throne—whether it be in Hedera or Delasurvia—and deciding the fate of the people.

Another lord approaches, his attire even more elaborate than the previous supplicant. His cloak is embroidered with gold thread, and a jeweled brooch fastens it at his shoulder. He bows deeply before the queen, a practiced smile on his lips.

“Your Majesty,” he begins, his voice smooth and confident. “First, allow me to express my admiration for your exquisite beauty. You are by far the fairest queen to have lived. And your long, golden hair shines like the finest silk, a true testament to your grace.”

I catch the king lifting his eyes, his jaw stiff as he regards the lord.

Queen Eleanor smiles graciously, inclining her head. “Thank you for your kind words, Lord Alistair. What request do you bring before me today?”

Lord Alistair’s eyes flicker briefly to the king, who watches him with a stony expression. Undeterred, he continues. “I come to you with a matter of trade. My lands produce the finest wines in the realm, but welack the proper roads to transport our goods efficiently. I request your assistance in constructing a new trade route to enhance our commerce.”

The queen nods thoughtfully. “Trade is indeed the lifeblood of our kingdom. Improving infrastructure benefits us all. I will consider your request and speak with the council about the possibilities.”

Lord Alistair bows again, his gaze lingering on the queen. “Your Majesty, your wisdom, generosity, and beauty are unmatched. I am deeply grateful.”

As he steps back, the king’s eyes narrow, a sneer curling his lips. He leans forward, his voice low but carrying a sharp edge. “It seems some men forget their place, fawning over the queen as if she were an object to be admired.”

Lord Alistair releases a nervous laugh. “I am simply relaying the truth, King Silas.”

The king straightens. “You will address me as ‘Your Majesty’ or you will lose your tongue.”

Queen Eleanor’s smile remains, but I see a flicker of tension in her eyes. “Thank you, Lord Alistair,” she says smoothly, dismissing him with a nod. “Your request will be taken under advisement.”

The lord retreats, obviously ignoring king’s displeasure. The tension between the king and queen is palpable, and I glance at Torbin, who shifts uncomfortably beside me.

I lean closer to Torbin. “It seems not all admire your mother for her wisdom alone.”

He smirks, his eyes flicking to his father. “It takes a strong man to handle such admiration. Clearly, my father struggles with it.”

I can’t help but smile at Torbin’s candor, though I keep my gaze trained in front of me, watching as the next petitioner steps forward. The queen composes herself, her regal demeanor unshaken, but the king’s lingering glower serves as a stark reminder of the delicate balance of power and emotion within the royal court.

After an hour of listening to petitions, the queen stands and announces that dinner will be served for the nobles in the ballroom. It’s not a moment too soon, either, since my stomach has begun grumbling.Any citizens who remain are escorted out of the castle. Torbin offers his arm, and I hook mine through it as we follow the swarm of lords and ladies.

In the ballroom, long tables are covered in pristine, white linens, adorned with glittering candelabras that cast a warm, golden light over the room. Silver platters piled high with delicacies—glazed fruits, spiced breads, and fine pastries—glimmer invitingly. Crystal goblets catch the light, filled with deep red wine and sparkling water. Servants move swiftly and silently, their uniforms crisp and spotless, as they ensure everything is perfect for the evening’s festivities.

The air hums with anticipation, the soft murmur of conversations blending with the gentle strains of a string quartet playing in the corner. The musicians’ fingers dance over their instruments, creating a melody that is both haunting and beautiful. The sound of laughter and clinking glasses fills the space, and for a moment, I feel light and worry-free.

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