Delia Prance's Arc

Chapter 46 of 59

The petition sheets filled a leather satchel by dawn. More than a thousand marks, each a thumbprint or a name. Delia knew the nobles would try to take them before the court ever saw. So she and Nick left while the sky was still gray. No announcement. No escort. Just two riders and a bag of paper the crown could not afford to lose. They rode straight for the palace. Its towers rose ahead, green roofs catching the first light, the ornate gate shut tight. Delia held the satchel against her chest the whole way. Twice she looked back at the road behind them. Empty. Nick watched it too. "If they see us coming, they'll block the doors," she said. "Then we don't stop." Nick kicked his horse faster. "We go to my father before anyone else can speak." The gate guards knew Nick. They let them through without a word. Delia's heart pounded as they crossed the courtyard. A steward hurried toward them, hand raised, mouth open to protest. Nick rode past him. Delia followed. They dismounted at the great doors and went in on foot, fast, before the man could call for anyone. The throne hall was near empty. King Rowan sat with a cup of morning wine, blond beard uncombed, belly straining his robe. He looked up, surprised, as his son strode in with the healer at his side. "Nick," the king said. "You come without being summoned." "I come before the nobles wake." Nick set his jaw. "Delia has something for you to see. First. Before anyone whispers in your ear." Delia stepped forward and opened the satchel. She spread the sheets across the floor at the king's feet. Thumbprints in ink. Names in shaky letters. A blind weaver's mark. A farmer's. A cadet's. "More than a thousand people," she said. "Every one I healed. They put their mark down. They want me as their princess. They want Nick beside me." The king rose from his chair. He walked slowly along the rows of paper, reading. His face gave nothing away. Behind them, the steward reached the doorway with two nobles at his heels. They saw the sheets. One went pale. "Your Majesty," the noble began, "that book belongs before the court, not—" "It is already before me," Rowan said. He did not look up. He finished walking the length of the pages, then turned to the nobles at the door. "You will tell the court what you saw here this morning. All of it. A thousand marks for this woman. No prince earned that. She did." The noble opened his mouth, then closed it. He bowed and withdrew. Delia let out a slow breath. The petition was safe. The king had seen it first, and now his own court would hear it from his hand. Rowan looked at her. "You've made yourself hard to ignore," he said. "The nobles will not forget this. Guard your people as closely as you guard that book."