The Princess's Servant

4. The Trial

It was hours before the court was ready for Holden's trial. Leather soles slapped flat rock again and again as he paced and waited. Thin wool waved and rippled, swirling with each turn. He marched around his little square cell, huffing in the scent of must and puffing out sighs. His fingers curled into fists.

I'm innocent, he thought. "They can't jail me if I'm innocent," he said aloud. "The guards were there, they saw what happened. They can tell the queen what happened." Holden's mind projected the scene in his head for the hundredth time. How he'd cried out for help from his wet bed of hay. How the guards had hurried over and saw that woman standing above him. How she had lied to them and how they had believed her. Why had they believed her?

"Prisoner!" A female guard approached the pacing man. He stopped his stepping and for the first time felt how damp and soggy his socks had become. He looked down at his feet and noticed the pools of standing water. He tried to flex his toes for relief but that only seemed to make the feeling worse. "It's time for your trial," the guard said. "Give me your hands."

Holden clutched his hands, remembering the night before. He froze for a moment, which the guard did not take kindly. 

"Do as I say, prisoner," she told him with her hand at her hilt. Holden twisted his lips and obliged. He reached his hands through a slot in the black iron bars and the guard slapped a pair of shackles onto his wrists. Holden brought his hands back through the door and the guard opened the gate.

As he ascended the dungeon steps, the sunlight hit his eyes like rain. Holden winced and wondered when the hell it'd become daytime. Out long windows, the sun soared high in a bright blue sky over geometric jigsaw walls. He and the guards padded along velvet carpet atop blue-gray stone. He might have been able to imagine himself prince of this place, had two guards not been gripping his forearms. In the middle of the hallway were large oak doors that the three of them came upon. Decorated guards with feathered helmets pulled the doors aside.

Holden was led into a great room with a ceiling so high, he wondered if he didn't see mist at the top. Half the room was flat, and the other half was marble staircase that led up to a great gold throne. Beside the throne were two smaller chairs of a similar decadence, clearly meant for the ruler's spouse and heir. Behind it all were windows of yellow and blue that depicted heroes of whom Holden was ignorant. Colored sun beams streamed in and backlit the focal point: Her Majesty Herself.

She had skin the color of her kingdom's sandy shores; hair the color of its fertile soil. Her eyes were copper and her lips were red like wine. She wore a dress of shimmering gold that slit at her thighs and pooled on the floor. At her side, she held a long scepter as one would a spear, and on her head was a crown of fine work. At the temples and at the nose, little charms dangled from its golden crest.

"All bow before the queen!" A lean man in white tights announced.

Holden watched as the guards to his right and left bent at the hip. After a swift kick to the foot from the guard, Holden registered that "all" meant him as well, and he bowed as they did.

"All rise!" cried the lean man. Not wanting to risk another kick, Holden obeyed. 

The lean man neared him. "State your business before the queen!"

Holden studied his sharp nose and little mustache. "Well, your Highness," he began, "I was out last night when—"

"This man was caught trying to steal, your Majesty!" called the male guard. "We have reports from Captain Ivanson and Captain Smith that he was apprehended after attempting to take money from the barkeep at the Tavern on the Edge! We are prepared to jail him for six months in accordance with the law, your Majesty!"