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“Maybe you’ve not attended one of these recently, my lord,” I cut in before she was forced to refuse him. “Our king has made it no longer a matter of rank. Our herald prioritises each person’s case and announces the appearances accordingly. Unless you happen to be...”
“Señorita Pérez,” Clementina helpfully advised.
“Señorita Pérez,” I confirmed, looking him up and down as he shook his head, “then I’ll thank you to remain quiet until you are called so that we can ensure each person is heard.”
“I-”
I put my finger to my lips and the lord stilled.
“Señorita Pérez,” repeated Clementina. “Please come forward.”
A petite woman slipped through the throng of people and curtsied before me. She seemed reluctant to move beyond the edge of the crowd, hovering partly behind the lord and keeping her eyes downcast. Her voice, when she spoke, was soft.
“I request assistance for my sister,” she whispered. Perhaps later in the appearances when boredom had started to set in, the general murmur of the court would have drowned out her words,but for now she had everyone’s attention. “She is subjected to daily abuse from her husband, Sergio Deocampo, and fears to leave him in case the violence should escalate. Will Your Highness spare a few soldiers to help her escape?”
I didn’t have to think about it. “Of course.”
“King consort, no,” hissed Morales in my ear.
I ignored her protests. I wasn’t having abusers left unchecked in our country.
“I will have four soldiers accompany you back to your sister, señorita,” I said, “where they will arrest Deocampo for his crimes.”
The woman beamed up at me, now freely meeting my eyes and showing none of the shyness she had a moment ago.
“King consort,” Morales whispered insistently. “There is a private forum available for such sensitive matters to be heard. This woman chose to eschew that to present it to you in public – did you stop to think aboutwhy?”
I glanced at her over my shoulder, faltering. I had not.
Councillor Morales gave me a sympathetic, almost pitying look. “Her sister’s husband has now been publicly named and condemned in a royal court, by the consort of the king no less. Whether the man is found innocent at trial or not will not matter: his country will forever presume and remember his guilt. I’m afraid she manipulated you, Your Highness.”
I looked back at señorita Pérez.
Was that true? I didn’t know.
Did it matter? I think it did.
Ren would have known how to navigate himself out of it. Hell, Ren would have known not to have gotten himself into this situation in the first place.
But my heart had led my head, as usual.
Whether the man was guilty or innocent was not something I could judge, not from here without speaking to the people involved. I could only hope that justice prevailed in the trial following his arrest, because even my politically unsavvy self knew that going back on my word would be worse. Whatever damage I’d done by vocally assuming Sergio Deocampo’s guilt couldn’t be reversed, and changing my mind now would only undermine any confidence these people held in me.
By the Blessed Five, perhaps I should have listened to Morales and given her the floor after all.
“Señorita,” I said, thinking carefully on my words this time before I spoke them. “There is no need to waste time staying for the rest of the appearances. A guard will arrange to have those four soldiers escort you back home with haste.” I motioned at one of the guards at the back of the hall and she nodded, accompanying Pérez out of the room. Hopefully the woman’s absence would minimise the court’s memory of my fuck up…and if her sister really was being abused by her husband, urgency in response could not be understated.
Clementina announced another name, although I barely heard it over my internal chastisement. Unfortunately for my next appearance,hiswords registered far too well.
“May I say, Your Highness, how exquisitely handsome you’re looking today?”
The disgusted noise I made in response carried surprisingly well around the hall. On a single breath, the crowd stilled.
“In case you hadn’t noticed from the lack of needless hair tossing and aura of arrogance,” I said tiredly, “I am not my husband.”
“The hair tossing, perhaps,” Morales commented in my ear. I tried not to laugh.
“As such, flattery is neither needed nor appreciated,” I continued in my best approximation of my brother, all stern and serious and shit, “and any attempts to offer it from here on out will get you sent to the back of the line.”
