Trial by Grumpy Sparrow
Flicka von Hannover
I think the judge knew who we were.
A numb shell settled over Flicka as they walked to the courtroom.
Police officers were stationed all along the courthouse halls—most of them loitering on benches and tapping their sidearms—because this was, after all, a courthouse. Criminal trials were probably going on, too.
SurelyPierre wouldn’t try to kidnap Flicka, and if he tried, she sure as hell would be kicking and screaming in the clear view of a dozen police officers.
Although, Pierre might be able to convince them that he had diplomatic immunity so they couldn’t touch him. He had convinced a lot of people to do some odd things by citing royal privilege.
Flicka kept her head up and strode down the corridor withDieter at her side. Energy crackled off him as he glared ahead of them. Clerks and lawyers scuttled out of their way.
She had assumed that Pierre wouldn’t show up for his own divorce hearing. He would send lawyers to contest and delay.
She was wrong.
His Serene Highness Pierre Rainier Grimaldi sat at the defense table, conferring with his lawyers.
He looked up when they walked in. His darkeyes stared solidly at her, neither angry nor begging. Just staring. He was glamorously handsome, as always, and his dark blue suit clung to his wide shoulders.
Flicka did not allow her stride to falter. She walked around the table where her lawyers, headed by Joachim Blanchard, were already installed and shuffling paperwork, looking competent and businesslike. Joachim pulled out a chair forher, and she sat with her back straight and her hands spread on the table for balance.
Joachim gently touched her shoulder. “Everything is in order. We are prepared for challenges from His Highness, and we have prepared a number of rebuttal briefs.”
Dieter sat right behind Flicka in the gallery, which had a fair number of people in attendance. Three dozen or so people sat on the wooden pewsback there, but she wouldn’t turn to see who they were.
The mob back there didn’t say a word, though. Not a whisper. There was some jostling and a few male grunts.
Nervousness drew her eyes toward Pierre, though she tried not to look.
Their eyes met because he was still staring at her.
“Allrise!”a woman’s loud voice said. “The court is now in session. The Honorable Judge Malone, presiding.”
Flicka stood, and her lawyers around her did, too.
A sparrow-like woman flitted up to the judge’s seat and scowled at them all. She spoke rapidly in a voice shaking with age. “Court will come to order. First case is Grimaldi versus Hannover. It appears that your prenuptial agreement is in order and very specific. Ms. Friederike Hannover—”
One of Flicka’s lawyers stood. “If it please the court,it’sHer Serene HighnessFriederikevonHanno—”
Flicka grabbed his arm and yanked him back into his chair.
Joachim reached behind Flicka and backhanded the guy on his arm.
The grumpy sparrow judge glared at Flicka’s table. “Were you interrupting me to say something?”
“No, ma’am,” Flicka said.
“Good. Quite an entourage you have there, Ms. Hannover.” Judge Malone glanced over at Pierre’s table.“And you have a crowd, too. Oh, great. I was hoping to start the day with a damned goat rope.”
Flicka didn’t know if roping a goat was a good thing or a bad thing, but the lady judge sounded sarcastic when she said it. She should ask Rae about it later.
The judge scowled at the paper she held. The paper rattled in her grasp. “Ms. Hannover is the plaintiff, and I have your affidavit of residencyand a dated water bill in your name to back it up. Excellent. Residency requirements have been met.”
One of Pierre’s lawyers rose. “Madam judge, my client, His Serene Highness Prince Pierre Grimaldi is not a resident of Nevada nor the United States, and thus this court does not have the jurisdiction to grant a divorce.”
