Court

Hey everyone! I have a couple questions for you. One: We’re going to need to change the day of the week that I post my story. I can do Sunday through Thursday. Sunday and Thursday would be at any time, while Monday through Wednesday would be in the morning. Tell me what you think.

Two: I’m toying with the idea of introducing a new character, an annoying reporter who Martin has met before in those four months I skipped (rather convenient now that I have). Should I introduce this character and should they be male or female? I could do either and still have fun with them.

Now the questions are done. Time for the story to continue. Time for Martin to go to Court!
************
Martin walked alone in the empty halls of the royal apartments, rubbing his brow. He was thankful for the curfew the queen had given them. It was an excellent excuse to leave the ball, even if he did enjoying talking with Thomas. It had been far too long since he talked with a friend. However, the other nobles wouldn’t let the duke hog his attention. He spent the rest of the ball trying to avoid what Sara called Title Chasers.

When they got back to the palace, most of the servants were already in bed. The queen had stayed up to welcome them home, but now it was time for all of them to be in bed. They had an early start the next day. He wondered idly if he could ask for a royal naptime….

Opening the door to his apartment, he immediately sensed he wasn’t alone.

He groaned, covering his eyes with a hand. He shouldn’t be surprised by the number of young women in his apartment, all of them giddy with excitement, but it was rather annoying.

“Alright,” he said, holding the door open. “All of you. Out. I know you’re here and it is too late for anything. I just want to sleep. Out.”

Four girls groaned and came out of their hiding spots. Two of them were nobles from the ball, the others servants. They looked disappointed as they walked past him. He closed the door on them, wondering why they even thought that being in his apartment would make him interested. Did it never occur to them that he might be interested in someone else?

His sixth sense tingled again.

He still wasn’t alone.

“Just leave,” he grumbled, walking to the closest chair and flopping into it. “I am not interested in sleeping with anyone!”

“Really? Then what about that night we spent in the barn?”

Martin froze, his breath caught in his throat. Another person likely to be extremely mad at him. Standing back up, he saw Sona leaning against a doorframe. The moonlight from the windows didn’t reach her so he couldn’t make out any details of her. He just knew it was her.

“Sona,” he stuttered, suddenly looking for an escape. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d be at the Tree… Or still at Ashton…”

“I could ask you the same question,” she said softly, her face hidden in shadows. “What are you doing here?”

“I asked first!” he said quickly, hoping the delay would work.

The pretty researcher sighed. She stepped out of her shadow and in the moonlight. Martin felt himself blush. Unlike the young women at the ball with their tight fitting dresses and low necklines, Sona dressed in the Standards of a blouse and skirt, very modest and very attractive to him. In his eyes, she was far more pretty than any girl he had met.

“The queen asked that I create your past,” she answered, walking slowly over to him. He took a step back, not wanting to get caught. “No one is supposed to know that you were a street urchin or a spy. All you’re supposed to be is an orphan at Fort Mesa for years until you joined the Ghosts. I’m supposed to make your missions as a spy fit that.”

He flinched, catching the bitter tone in her voice. He knew why she was bitter. She was still hurting from being in love with him. It didn’t help that her project revolved around him.

“I’m sorry that I’m causing you so many problems,” he said, taking another step back but only finding the chair again. “I really am.”

“I know that,” she said softly, stepping up to him, her face within inches of his. “Now you’re going to answer my question. Why are you here?”

Martin gulped. This wasn’t going to be pretty.

He explained what had been happening. How Terk wasn’t going home and what the Ghosts planned to capture the Mad General. He purposefully left out his part, hoping she wouldn’t see it.

“Bait!” she yelled. He flinched. So much for hoping she wouldn’t put it together. That was hoping too much anyway.

“Sona,” he tried to say.

“Bait!” she howled again, hitting his chest. He grunted and fell back in the chair. She grabbed the chair’s arms and came within inches of his face again. “Why are you the bait?” she hissed through her teeth.

“I’m the best bait we have,” he said, leaning back from her.

“But that puts you in danger!” she growled, scowling.

“I’ve always been in danger,” he pointed out, sinking in the chair. “Besides… The trap is set to snap before Terk could get close to me.”

“Terk has evaded all the traps sent for him,” she snapped. “What makes the rest of you deluded enough to think that this one will work?”

“Because we have to end this war,” Martin said. “Aeterna needs this war to end.”

Sona blinked. Slowly, she stood back up, folding her arms around her slim form. “Aeterna?” she asked softly, rubbing her arms as if she were cold. “The Spirit is making you do this?”

“It’s demanding something to be done,” Martin explained, sitting up a bit. “I can’t stop that demand. I need to do something. Because if I don’t…” He shivered. “I’m going to loose control.”

Sona shivered. “But…” she said, turning away and looking out the window. “But it puts you in danger… How can the Spirit do that to you?”

Martin slowly stood back up. Hesitantly, he touched her shoulders. She looked at his hands but did nothing. Sighing, he rubbed her arms, stepping up behind her.

“The Spirit is giving me a chance to act,” he whispered. “This war needs to end, Sona. Too many lives have been hurt already. This way, we have a chance to end it quickly.”

“Or end Aeterna,” she said softly, bowing her head. “Ending Aeterna by ending you.”

“It’s not going to come to that,” he assured her. “Aeterna has given me too much for me to fail again.”

“You haven’t failed, Martin,” she whispered. “We failed you…” Her head bowed lower. “We couldn’t protect you.”

“And I learned to protect myself,” he said. “No harm done.” When she didn’t answer, he sighed and wrapped his arms around her. “Sona,” he whispered in her ear. “Why do you care this much about me?” He already knew her reasons for loving him. She had told him when he had asked why she was so attracted to him when they were courting at Grelend’s estate.

She turned her head away, but he could tell she was fighting tears. “Because you love life,” she answered with a choke. “You know how precious it is… You take each moment as something wonderful…” She nearly sobbed. “Because you love this nation, even when you didn’t think you belonged.”

“Then you know why I need to do this,” he whispered. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t love me, would you?”

She almost laughed. “I guess not.” Taking a deep breath, she pushed his arms away and turned around again. The tears were still there, but there was acceptance in her eyes. She reached up and lightly touched his face. “Be safe, my prince,” she said softly. “I may not be able to have you… But I don’t want you to die. Goodnight.”

She walked out, closing the door softly behind her. Martin watched her go, slumping into a chair once she was gone.

“I’ve got to talk with the queen,” he whispered to himself. “I can’t live without her.”
***************
Martin woke up suddenly, knowing that someone was coming. O’Dell was determined to teach the prince how to act properly around servants, even if that meant getting up earlier to catch the prince asleep. He was just as determined to keep his back a secret. Before the head servant was at the door, he sat up in his bed and pointed at the door. As usual, the power he directed painfully ran through his arm and out his fingers. The door locked closed.

A moment later, the door handle rattled. “Your Highness?” O’Dell asked through the door. “May I come in?”

“After I’m dressed,” Martin said loudly enough to be heard. “I won’t be long.”

“But Your Highness!”

“I won’t be long,” Martin promised, climbing out of bed. He paused before he entered the bathroom. “And trying to pick the door open won’t help. It’s magically locked.”

He flinched as he felt a strong peak of annoyance.

Coming out of his room, he tugged at the suit coat. Today he was going to be introduced to the Court, officially. The queen had a very specific vision in mind for her son, telling him exactly what to wear. It was a blue suit with silver trimmings, the Santer colors. It wasn’t much like his uniform, which was military in style. This suit was more showy than it was functional. He didn’t like it.

And he still had to wear the red sash.

“Your Highness,” O’Dell said, bowing stiffly. “It would be appreciated if you let me do my job.”

“You have other duties, right?” Martin asked, not the least bit ashamed of his actions. “I’m not stopping you from doing those.”

“Breakfast is served,” O’Dell said sharply. “On the table are a couple packages for you. Enjoy.” He turned on his heel and left, shutting the door with a snap.

Martin shook his head. He really needed to have the queen have a word with that man. The smell of breakfast wafted to him from the dinning room. He walked across the entry room and entered the dinning room, a bit surprised that there were no servants. Then again, O’Dell probably felt the need to train his prince on how to act around servants before assigning any to him. That was fine with him. He needed to train the servants to relax around him anyway.

Breakfast consisted of fruit, sausages, and pancakes. He sat down to eat, eyeing the two packages that were placed by his breakfast. He picked the larger one first, pulling it closer.

He immediately recognized Suit’s handwriting. So, the Spy Master wasn’t going to bother bribing the mail service to get letters to him. At least he was going to save money. There was a short note attached.

I thought this might come in handy for you. Good luck.

Wondering what the Spy Master thought could be handy for him, he opened the large box, peeking inside. He grinned at what he saw. That was going to come in handy. He closed the box, thinking of where he might hide its contents when he picked up the second package, a smaller box. There was no note, but he knew who it was from because of the royal blacksmith stamp on it. He opened it, his grin turning into a frown.

Reaching in, he pulled out a gold circlet large enough to fit on his head.

“I am not wearing this,” he muttered darkly. He was already the center of attention when he wore his Connection. He didn’t need a crown to make it more obvious!

Glancing around, he spotted a trash container. He tossed it, the circlet clanking into the metal container.

“Two points for me,” he snorted, pushing the crown out of his mind. The queen might not like that he had thrown it away, but he didn’t want it. Besides, didn’t King Jonathan go to Court without his crown? Why couldn’t he?

Finishing breakfast, he knew it was time to meet up with his mother and sister. They were waiting for him outside at their awaiting carriage. Both of them were dressed in similar Santer colors and wore their crowns.

“Martin,” Abigail said, seeing him. “Where is your crown? I sent it to your rooms this morning.”

He shrugged. “Could be anywhere.”

“He left it in the trash.” Turning around, he saw O’Dell descend the steps with the circlet in his hands. Martin scowled. He had hoped no one would notice. The head servant gave it to the queen. O’Dell briefly glared at him before marching back up the steps.

“Martin,” she sighed, holding the circlet lightly in her hands. “This isn’t too bad. Much better, I should say, than what the crown prince normally wears. To be honesty, Sara has a much more elaborate tiara.”

“Hey!” Sara said, noticing that the queen was right. She reached up and fiddled with her tiara, it was set in with jewels. “Why can’t I have something simple like that?”

“Because Martin hasn’t grown up with these,” Abigail pointed out, placing the crown on his head. He flinched. “You’ll get used to it,” she promised, patting his cheek.

“I look ridiculous enough already,” he muttered, itching to take the crown off. “Can’t we just… leave it?”

“The Court would like a physical reminder of your status,” Abigail said firmly. “I know that if you wear your Connection, no one argues, but it is nice to have something else, something non-magical, reminding them who you are.”

Martin thought of a dozen other physical reminders that weren’t crowns.

However, before he could mention them, a footman helped his mother and sister into the carriage. Sighing, he followed them in. The carriage started into motion, passing through the streets of Nacre. As the night before, people lined the streets to watch them pass.

“Sit up,” the queen admonished him as he began sinking in his seat. “They want to see you.”

“She’s right. We do!”

You stay out of this!

They arrived to the House of the People, the center of the Aeternan government. Even before they arrived, he could sense that the Square of the Tree, where the magical Aeternan Tree sat in the direct center of the city, was already full. He cringed, thinking of the thousands of eyes watching him enter the House.

“Something the matter?” Sara asked, seeing his expression.

“There’s a lot of people there,” he said, trying to sink in his seat again. Abigail gave him a sharp look and he sat back up.

“Of course there are a lot of people there,” the queen snorted. “They want to see you.”

“Yes! We do!”

“Stay out of this,” he muttered.

“Who are you talking to?”

“An annoying presence that won’t leave me alone,” he said sarcastically. Abigail raised an eyebrow.

“You shouldn’t speak to the Spirit that way,” she said, shrewdly guessing what he was talking about.

“Why not?” he grumbled. “It talks to me like that all the time.”

“It’s fun to tweak you,” it teased. He groaned, rubbing his brow. He was fighting a loosing battle.

“What’s that sound?” Sara asked, frowning.

“I think it’s cheering,” Abigail said, sitting taller as she heard it too.

“I warned you,” Martin muttered.

The moment the carriage rode into the Square, the cheer irrupted, pounding the very air. The carriage came to a stop in front of the House of the People. The footman opened the door and his family climbed out first. He hung back, terrified to walk out.

“It’s alright, Martin Santer,” the Spirit told him. “No one is going to harm you. You can be our prince. Just give yourself the chance to.”

Martin took a deep breath, bracing himself against his fears. He finally followed his sister out. They came out facing the House of the People, Aeternans lining the stairs to get a glimpse of him. It was a large stately building, with towering windows and strong pillars holding up a large balcony where announcements could be made for all those listening in the Square. The carriage rolled off, revealing him to the rest of the city. He turned around, shocked.

The Square of the Tree was large, nearly large enough to hold the entire Nacre populace. It seemed that everyone who could had arrived, just to get a look at him. He froze, uncertain what to do. He couldn’t run. There were too many people to escape.

“Wave,” Abigail instructed, placing a hand on his shoulder. “A wave won’t hurt.”

He lifted a hand, giving a small wave. The crowd grew louder with excitement.

“See?” the queen laughed. “That wasn’t so bad, was it? Now, come. We have a nation to run.”

They walked up the steps of the House, people trying to break past the royal guard barricade. Abigail and Sara waved, unconcerned about the throng of people trying to get to them. Martin tried to copy them, but felt a bit pathetic and small. When they finally got inside, the masses were cut off with the door closing. He let out a sigh of relief. That was done.

“Your Majesty,” a herald said, bowing low to her. “Your Highness.” He bowed to Sara. He paused, staring at bit at him. He bowed again. “And Your Highness. The Court awaits your arrival.”

“Ready for this?” Abigail asked him.

“No,” he said truthfully. “Let’s go.” He stood tall. This was part of the plan, what he was meant to do.

He still felt like an imposter.

The doors to the Court opened wide, the light from inside spilling from it. As they walked in, the Court stood up, clapping. They walked down the center of the Court, both sides with ascending seats for Court members to sit. He recognized most faces. These were the lawmakers, the politicians, noble and elected commoners. The most powerful people in Aeterna.

I’m just as powerful, he had to remind himself, walking slightly behind the queen to the dais on the other side of the Court, where the Santers sat. He was the Crown Prince, Ghost Captain Eighty-One, the Spy Alex. He was probably the most dangerous and powerful man in the room.

“Keep thinking like that,” the Spirit encouraged. “We’ll get you to think like a prince yet!”

Martin didn’t have time to respond to that. They arrived at the dais. Mounting it, he looked at the four thrones sitting there. He felt a pang of regret as the queen sat down, the empty throne next to her painful obvious. He was never going to know his father.

He quickly shook that thought out of his head. He had to concentrate on what he was doing. He sat on the other side on the queen, a throne slightly less ornate and lower than hers. That was fine. He wasn’t in total power yet.

Once they were sitting, the rest of the Court followed their example, excited whispers ringing throughout with fingers pointed at him. It was a good thing he wore his Connection. No one was going to question him.

The Court Speaker rose from his seat below their dais, coming to the podium before his seat.

“Court is now in session,” he said, quieting the room with his booming voice. “We would like to welcome our newest member.” He turned. “His Royal Highness, Martin Santer. Our Crown Prince who we all thought dead. Let me be the first to welcome you into our government, Prince Martin.” He bowed respectfully. Martin nodded back.

“We will have an opportunity later to hear him speak,” the Speaker continued. “But the business of a nation does not stop merely because we have a new member.” There were several chuckles. “First item of business then.”

Martin hated to admit it, but that morning in Court was fascinating. He watched as the Court members argued points, gave in to compromises, stood firm in their convictions. He watched carefully, easily picking out who was better at this. And he knew that not everyone was there. Court members had to pick which days they would attend because they had other duties to attend to. He wondered what it would be like if everyone was there.

That’s why I’m not giving a speech today, he realized. Not everyone was there to hear it.

“When am I supposed to give this speech?” he asked the queen softly.

“In a week,” she whispered back. “After Sara’s birthday. Plenty of time to come up with one.” If he ever got time.

He was a bit surprised when the Speaker announced a break for lunch. Where had the time go?

“Where do we eat lunch?” he asked, standing up and rubbing the small of his back. When was the last time he sat that long in a chair?

“There’s a sort of common mess just outside this room,” Sara said, grimacing. “But generally we go eat in our private office on the floor above.”

“But I think you should mingle with them,” Abigail said. “It is your first day and we don’t want you to seem… standoffish.”

“The Seven Founders forbid that I seem standoffish,” Martin said sarcastically. He sighed. “Fine. I’ll eat with the others. Are you coming with me?”

“I don’t think so,” Sara snorted. “I like a little peace and quiet, thank you!”

“We’ll meet you after lunch,” Abigail promised. “Go on. You’ll be fine.”

He watched them as they quickly disappeared behind the thrones through another door. The queen was probably right. He should mingle. Taking a deep breath, he stepped down from the dais, following the crowd to the mess Sara wanted to avoid.

The other members must have been focused on getting their lunch, because they didn’t notice him following them. He was fine with that. He wanted to eat too.

“It’s pathetic!”

Martin paused. He knew that voice. Standing on his toes, he looked over the crowd. Just outside the door stood Lord Nick with a group. He looked about the same as before. Black hair with a sharp face that reminded him of a ferret. Sara had written enough of him for Martin to know what this man was playing. Nick wanted the throne and he was determined to get it.

“Honestly,” Nick was saying to his audience. “Did you see what he did? Just waltzed in here as if he owned the place and then said nothing. A prince? Is that what we’re going to call this commoner?”

“Um, Lord Nick,” a young noblewoman said, paling as she realized who was now paying attention to the conversation. “You may want to turn around.”

Nick turned slightly, easily spotting him. He snorted, turning back. “Why should I care if a commoner listens to me? What harm can he do?”

Martin narrowed his eyes, feeling something spark in him. It was always like that when someone thought less of him.

“Commoner?” he asked, stepping into the group.

“Yes,” Nick sneered, glaring at him for intruding. “A commoner.”

“He wears the Connection,” Nick’s friend Phelp Cates pointed out softly, eyeing the glove he wore. “There’s no doubt…”

“Oh, yes,” Nick said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “The Connection. It proves that he’s a Santer. Not as a crown prince.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Martin asked, folding his arms. What was Nick’s game now?

“You didn’t grow up as a prince,” Nick said. “Where did you grow up? Fort Mesa, wasn’t it? An orphan?”

No, but it was the past Sona created for him.

“You grew up as nothing more than a leech on the system,” Nick sneered. “What would you know of our government other than that they supported you until you finally joined the Ghosts. Then you’ve only known a soldier’s life.

“What makes you think you could be our prince?” he asked loudly, catching the attention of those outside the group. “Just because you have Santer blood doesn’t make you a prince!”

Martin gritted his teeth, forcing himself to not snap back. He had to be careful with this. Nick might have had a point. But the nobleman didn’t know just how connected he was with the land and it’s people. He didn’t know that he owed Aeterna his life.

“Perhaps you are right,” Martin said, surprising everyone. They stared at him. Even Nick seemed a bit surprised by his answer. “I didn’t grow up in the palace. I grew up with people. I know how to work with them, I know what’s important to them. What do you know of our people? They serve you. That’s all you want to know. Me? I joined the Ghosts to protect the people I grew to love. If a prince shouldn’t love his people, like you’ve alluded to, then, no, I’m not a prince.

“But I do love this people,” he said softly. Even though his tone was soft, everyone leaned in to hear him. “I will sacrifice everything that I am for this nation. Can you make such a claim?” Nick opened and closed his mouth, unable to come up with an argument. Martin snorted. “I thought not.”

He turned to go, then suddenly remembered a point he forgot. “Oh, and Nick?” he said, half turning to glare at the noble. “Just because you don’t think that I’m a prince, that doesn’t make me any less a Santer.”

He left, quite pleased with himself. The emotions he felt were amazed, with a bit of pride. As he walked into the mess, seeing everyone turn to gawk at him, he realized what he had been missing in his training as a prince. It wasn’t to control his power, or learning to lead. He was missing opposition, something to fight against. Nick’s utter refusal to believe he could be a prince made him determined to prove that noble wrong. To prove to the world that he was the Crown Prince of Aeterna.

Maybe I can do this, he thought, suddenly able to take the stares.

“Yes, you can.”
**************
Abigail sat at her desk at the end of the day, working on the last two days’ worth of paperwork. She shouldn’t have put it off, but Martin’s arrival took all her attention. She didn’t regret it.

Though as she looked at the piles of paperwork on her desk, she felt a bit of regret.

“Your Majesty?”

She sighed. Looking up, she saw Shay open the door to her office, the fading sunlight hitting him in the face and making him squint. “Yes?” she asked.

“Pinsamen is here again,” he said apologetically. “Should I send him in?”

“Is he right behind you?” she asked with a sigh.

“Yes.”

She groaned, rubbing her temple. That man didn’t know how to take no for an answer.

“Send him in,” she said, resigned.

Shay bowed out and opened the door wide. Pinsamen walked in. Over the past few months, she had come to dislike everything about him, from his thinning hair to his oversized waist.

“Your Majesty!” he said, flourishing a bow. “How wonderful you look this evening.”

She snorted. “The answer is still no.”

Pinsamen sighed. “But…”

“I refuse to give you my brother’s estate,” Abigail snapped. “It’s his wife’s now. Go to her to ask for it. I gave up my family’s inheritance when I married Jonathan.”

“She can’t handle it…”

“Excuse me again.”

Abigail leaned over to look past Pinsamen. Shay poked his head in. “Your Majesty,” he said, “your son is here. He’d like to talk to you.”

“Excellent,” she said, standing up. “Send him in!”

“But Your Majesty!” Pinsamen protested.

“My son needs to talk to me,” she growled, walking around the desk to face down the lord. “And to be honest, I much rather talk to him than argue with you. Dismissed.”

“But!”

“Dismissed.”

Pinsamen took a deep breath, and then another. He bowed to barest degree he could without being rude and stomped out of the room. He almost slammed the door when Martin walked in, stopping him from doing so. The lord gave another hostile bow and left without saying anything.

“What’s with him?” her son asked, closing the door behind him.

“Oh,” she sighed, sitting on the edge of her desk, “family disagreements.”

“Family?” Martin asked with surprise, pointing to where Pinsamen left.

“Second cousin by marriage for me,” she admitted. “He firmly believes that he should have my brother’s estate. I keep telling him to go to my sister-in-law about it, but he thinks that I transcend her in that regard and wants me to do something about it. He just doesn’t know how to listen.” She sighed again. She was going to have to write her sister-in-law about this. Again.

“Anyway,” she said, returning to the present. “You wanted to talk to me?”

Martin sighed, taking a seat. “There’s a couple things. First is O’Dell… Honestly, I don’t need help dressing…” He looked away, his voice growing softer. “I just don’t want people to see…”

Abigail knew what he was alluding to. He had no idea that she had already seen his back and how badly scarred it was. She wanted to keep it that way.

“Say no more,” she said, holding up a hand. “If you don’t want help dressing, I will have a word with O’Dell.”

Martin let out a sigh of relief. Abigail felt a small cut inside. He really must be ashamed of his back if he was relieved that he didn’t have to talk about it to her.

“And the other thing?” she asked, feeling pretty good. One problem down.

“It’s Sona,” he whispered.

Abigail frowned. “Sona?” she asked, confused. “What about her?”

“I still love her.”

The queen froze, blinking fast as she stared at her son. Martin clasped his hands, his posture slumped in despair. She stumbled into her chair, too shocked to speak. She was under the impression that the prince and researcher were no longer courting. She thought they weren’t in love. Sona herself said that there was nothing between them.

“I know I’m a noble now,” he went on softly. “And that I’m probably the most available young noble in the world, but…” He sighed deeply, dropping his head into a hand. “I love Sona. I don’t want to be with anyone else. She’s the only one who ever just… liked me. Not a title, not a prince, not a spy. Just… me.”

Abigail stared at him, surprised that she believed him. Martin was in love with Sona? “But…” she stuttered, trying to make sense of what was being said. “Does… Does she return your feelings?” Sona said that she was not interested in marrying a prince.

Martin chuckled softly, running a hand through his short hair. “She does. And it hurts her to think that we can’t be together. She’s been trying to distance herself from me to keep from hurting.”

The queen slumped in her chair, shocked. It made perfect sense now. Sona said she didn’t want to be in Nacre when the prince returned. She had thought that was because the researcher was still mad at Martin and wanted nothing to do with him. This revealed something far more profound and hurtful. Thinking back on it, the queen remembered other small indicators that Sona loved her son. The profound sense of sadness after a day working on his records, the way she would sometimes stare off into the distance, sighing, sometimes caught with wandering thoughts.

She really should have spotted it.

“Oh, Martin,” she whispered, realizing the seriousness of what he admitted. “Why?”

For a moment he didn’t answer, gazing at a spot on her desk. “I suppose that’s a couple questions,” he finally said, almost smiling. “Why did I court her when I knew I was the prince? Why I even bother bringing this matter to your attention when Sona’s made it very clear she isn’t going to marry a prince?” He took a deep breath. “I started courting Sona because you made a bet about when we’d become a couple.”

Abigail suddenly wished she could kick herself for that.

“You didn’t stop us,” Martin went on, either oblivious to her annoyance or choosing to ignore it. “I thought that there might be a chance. And besides, Sona has been the only woman persistent enough to pursue me. She didn’t care about where I came from, or what I might be for that matter. All she really cared about was me…And in time, I learned that all I cared about was her. Toward the end of our stay at the Grelend Estates, I realized that all I wanted was Sona to be happy.”

If that wasn’t a sign of someone so in love, the queen didn’t know what was.

“And that’s why I’ve come to talk to you,” Martin said, finally rising his head to look her in the eye. “Neither Sona or I are happy about this trap we’re in. We love each other, we want to be with each other, but…” He left it hanging, bowing his head with shaking.

“You’re a prince and she’s a commoner,” Abigail finished for him with a sigh.

“What can I do?” Martin asked with a plea, looking back up. There was true, unhidden emotion in his expression that the queen thought impossible with her son. “Sona… She’s the most amazing woman I’ve ever known. I don’t think I could be with anyone else. I can’t see myself with anyone else.”

He had already convinced her that he loved the researcher, but this last plea hit her in the heart. Her son, a man she really only barely knew, was admitting the deepest desire of his heart to her, hoping that somehow she might be able to grant it to him.

“Martin,” she started to say, wanting so much to say something to console him for his loss. A prince couldn’t…. She saw him slump, his hopeful expression turning into deepest despair. Abigail stopped. Her son wasn’t always a prince. He was a man who grew up in a terrible childhood, rejected, beaten, ignored, he came from the bottom.

He grew up alone.

Alone.

I can’t tell him, she realized, feeling tears well in her eyes. I can’t tear him from the woman he loves.

She couldn’t let him live alone.

“Give me a few days,” she suddenly said firmly. “I’ll find something. I don’t know what. But I will find something.”

Martin blinked in surprise, sitting back up. “You will?” The hopeful tone in his voice cut her to the center.

“Even if I have to change laws,” she promised. “I will find a way.”
***********
Ah! Abigail’s going to help Martin and Sona get together! Anyway, I’d like to stay and chat, but I’ve got family to play with before I have to go to work at noon. Enjoy the journey!