The Princess's Servant

67. The Trial

TW: Mature themes. Exact themes listed in the comments.

Sybil had never seen the inside of a courtroom — they didn't have any in Lailoy. When someone committed a crime, the citizen would plead their case to her mother, and she would hand out their sentence. That seemed to be a much more straightforward process than whatever... This was.

Two tables, two podiums. Rows of seats behind her filled with a mix of palace courtiers and what looked to be members of the general public. She sat at a table next to someone they called her "counselor," but across the aisle from her was another table with another "counselor" who would be arguing against her, she'd been told. And then there was the white-toga'd man at the podium in the center, who would determine her punishment, her own counselor had said. But then what was the empty podium next to him for? Sybil wondered. Or the empty seat next to the other "counselor?" And why was Prince Thomas in a throne in the corner of the room, absent-mindlessly finger-tracing the ornamentation on his arm rest? He glanced up at her with a bored look. Sybil glanced back.

The man in the white toga raised his hand and all the chatter behind Sybil fell silent. "Please rise for his Royal Highness Prince Holden," he said, And everyone stood. Sybil stared at the white toga'd man until her counselor gave a nudge for her to stand too. Sybil rose.

The doors at the back parted. Sybil looked behind her. And when she saw him, her eyes went wide.

Prince Holden was out of his black toga and into an even darker one. The edges of it were embroidered with gold and it swayed easily as he walked, like silk. But his fine garb wasn't what caught Sybil's attention.

That honor belonged to his face, which was covered entirely by a reconstructed black deer mask. At first, Sybil didn't notice the cracks, but as the prince passed her by, she could spot hairline fractures in the reflection of the light. Sybil cleared her throat as quietly as she could. Holden took his place next to his counselor, and was separated from the princess by only an aisle.

Sybil stared.

Holden faced forward.

"Your highness," her counselor called. "Sign this and we can begin."

"Where's your servant?" Sybil whispered to the prince across the way.

The prince turned to look at her but said nothing.

"Your servant," Sybil pressed. "Where—?"

The prince turned back to the man in the toga. He didn't breathe a word.

It was impossible, Sybil thought. No. Not impossible. It was crazy. A crazy thought coming from a crazy place. It simply couldn't be. She was surely losing her mind.

"Your highness," her counselor pressed, and Sybil turned from the prince to sign some dotted lines. As soon as she was done, she went back to sneaking glances at masked prince.

He had the right height. The right hair. But then almost every man here seemed to have that haircut, and why wouldn't they? It was the style of the royal princes. Everyone was bound to copy. Similarity in heights and haircuts wasn't anything to fret over. It was delusion to think that could be the case. He would have told her. He would have told her a long time ago.

"I introduce the case of Princess Sybil versus Prince Holden," the judge in the white toga announced.

And why shouldn't she be against Prince Holden? Sybil thought. She'd damaged his property, after all, in the form of his servant. Well, her servant really, since she'd won him fair and square, but that was what she was here to prove today. She had nothing to worry about. She was innocent after all. She had only damaged what was hers.