“Do you have evidence he stole your cows?” I asked Devron, wishing he'd look up, that he'd meet my eyes.
His gaze remained on the marble floor. “My king, I have a witness.” He glanced over his shoulder, and a merchant stepped out into the aisle in the back of the room, his hands fidgeting at his sides. He didn’t drag his attention away from Lord Hadrin.
“Come forward,” I said. “Speak.”
The merchant hurried down the aisle and out onto the open floor, not stopping until he stood on Devron's other side. He twisted his neck, keeping his gaze on Lord Hadrin. “I saw the cows in Lord Hadrin’s pasture last week.”
“Foolish man,” Lord Hadrin drawled, his posture loosening. “I have many cows of my own. It's preposterous to think I’d need to steal to add to my herd.”
“They carry my brand,” Devron whispered.
“Speak louder,” I said.
He lifted his chin, his gaze only now meeting mine. “I brand my cows and with good reason. Two among his herd carry my mark.”
“I saw this myself,” the merchant said, his voice soft with apology, reluctance blazing on his face. Few dared challenge a high lord. “The mark was there.”
“You lie,” Lord Hadrin hissed. “Dismiss this case, my king. I have many other, more important, things to attend to.”
“I speak the truth.” The merchant's shaky voice grew in volume. “You asked me to select two cattle for market, Lord Hadrin, and I walked among them to decide. I told you that two of them weren't yours, and you told me to take them instead of the ones you intended to sell.” He tugged on the hem of his darkbrown tunic shot through with golden threads. “I left without a single cow, as I should. I have an honest reputation, and I'm eager to maintain it.” He sent a pleading look my way. “You understand.”
“Your word means nothing,” Lord Hadrin huffed, drawing himself up. “I'm a high lord of this court. You're a simple merchant. As for Devron Bullipart, alesser,” he spat, “I expect an immediate apology.”
“What do you think?” I asked Reyla softly.
“Me?” I'd startled her out of her ongoing irritation about something I couldn’t wait to discover. “I'm not sure what you mean.”
“If you sat on my throne, how would you judge this?”
Her mouth formed an O before she sputtered. “I'm not a king. I'm not a queen—yet. I've never . . .” She flicked her fingers toward the men waiting.
Everyone watched with barely a whisper swirling around the room.
“You don’t have to be a queen yet to offer an opinion.” I leaned near, sucking in her sweet scent and savoring how the light made her hair shine like the prettiest sunset. “Consider both sides; put yourself in their positions. How would you handle this?”
She shifted slightly, her cheeks flushing pink as my words and nearness sank in.
“Devron is missing two cows, an important loss for a farmer who may only have a small herd,” she said softly. “This could mean the difference between survival and ruin.”
I nodded, squeezing her hand I hadn't let go of.
“Lord Hadrin is powerful,” she said. “All the high lords are. Your court—”
“Ourcourt.”
She huffed. “Ourcourt must respect his status even if we feel it hasn’t been earned in this particular instance.” With a tilt of her head, she pinned me in place with her gaze. “What tithe do they pay?”
How astute of her. “The lords and ladies?”
“I doubt you run this castle, feed all these people, and host all these glorious masked balls in one of your six ballrooms with the coins sitting in the castle’s coffers.”
“Five ballrooms. My father thought of adding a sixth, but my mother didn't want construction noise interrupting her naps.”
“And he died at age thirty before he could add the sixth, somethingyoushould’ve mentioned.”
Ah, was this why she was angry? She must feel I’d withheld information, and she was right.
Now where had she heard that detail?
