Page 34 of A War of Crowns

Seraphina

Of course, the very next daywouldbe a petition day. She hated petitions.

They were a monthly duty. Utterly tedious. And they made Seraphina feel as though she and her chief councilors were exotic beasts in a menagerie, seated atop the dais.

But they were necessary all the same.

Still, the air within the throne room was stifling. Every inch of the vaulted chamber was packed with courtiers and commoners alike—anyone at all who could have weaseled their way inside for a glimpse at their queen. Velvet ropes segregated the two groups, with the noble-born crowding the front of the room and the common-born crammed into the back.

She spied several children perched upon shoulders, craning wide-eyed looks at her from the far side of the room. She tried toconjure up a smile for them whenever her attention drifted that way, but she was sure all her smiles looked as strained as they felt on her lips.

She had barely slept the night before.

Tiberius’s proposal still stained her thoughts.

Broad swaths of sunlight spilled in through the stained glass windows at her back, leaving her and the throne illuminated in a halo of colorful hues. No doubt it was an awe-inspiring sight, as her ancestors had intended.

But for the one actually sitting the throne, it was a fairly miserable affair. The warmth of the sunlight scorched the back of her neck, and sweat pooled uncomfortably beneath her corset. Already, she had been sitting there for some hours, passing judgment on the various civil disputes brought before her.

And still, the petitioners came.

“How many more are waiting to be seen today?” Seraphina asked under her breath. She flashed sidelong glances toward both Father Perero seated at her left and Duke Percival seated at her right.

At their feet lounged Rogue and Alyx in a pile of fur and scales; at least their pets were enjoying the warmth of the day. They soaked in a pool of sunlight.

Seraphina counted the moments until she could whisk herself away and return to the cooler dimness of her private quarters. She still needed to prepare for her private dinner with the Ambassador of Drakmor, Lord Ezzo, later that evening.

The very thought of her pending meeting saw her gaze flitting of its own accord toward Lord Tiberius where he stood near Sir Tristan, Duchess Edith, and all the rest of her court. But the moment their eyes locked, she swiftly looked away.

She wouldn’t have an answer for him until after her meeting with the ambassador.

Duke Percival sighed. “I believe we have five more petitioners left, Your Majesty.”

She pursed her lips. “Are any of their grievances a matter of life and death?”

It was Father Perero who answered with an observation of, “Though their grievances may seem of little importance to us, Your Majesty, we should remember that those grievances can certainly seem like a matter of life or death to the ones living them.”

Now it was her turn to sigh. Father Perero had a point.

But if she had to listen to one more farmer try to convince her he owned his neighbor’s cow simply because the cow in question had been grazing off of his pasture through the fence, she might very well go mad.

“We will see the ones who journeyed the furthest,” Seraphina decreed to the two men. “Anyone still waiting to be seen who lives within Goldreach can wait until next month.”

Duke Percival was quick to lift a hand and announce to the nearest herald, “Her Majesty will hear only those petitioners who have journeyed the furthest. The rest will be seen at a later date.”

No sooner had such words departed her godfather’s lips, though, than there was a commotion outside the great doors leadinginto the throne room. At the sound, Alyx lifted her head from where she lounged atop Rogue and looked that way. After a moment’s pause, the usuru took to the air with an excited chirp.

Frowning, Seraphina craned her neck and tried to catch a glimpse of what all the fuss was about. From her current vantage, all she could see were several of her guards in animated discussion with another of the court heralds posted by the door.

“What is it?” she asked both Duke Percival and Father Perero, though they were surely just as much in the dark as she was. “What’s happening?”

“I know not,” Father Perero murmured.

But Duke Percival called out on her behalf, “What is going on?” as the herald posted by the door began forcing his way through the crowd.

The herald paused and bobbed into a low bow. With his head lowered, he gestured wildly toward the doors and called back, “Begging your pardon, my Lord Chancellor. But there’s…it’s…”

“Out with it, man,” Duke Percival snapped.

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