One Month Later

"...and that is why we cannot simply allow this to continue! Your Majesty's health must come first! Surely there is no harm in ending the petitions early just for today."

King Andrade sighed at this. He was growing weary of that argument. It had been reaching his ears more frequently as of late, irritating him to no end.

Yet that didn't mean it was a bad argument. On the contrary, it was perfectly sound. The king could even now feel his strength waning after hours of taking petitions from his people. He wasn't so dense as to dismiss an argument just because it was inconvenient, and he knew that the minister voicing that opinion was only doing so out of genuine concern. He had purposefully surrounded himself with people like that, people that would tell him what he didn't want to hear.

But his own frailty could not stand between the people and their right to petition the court. He would not allow today's activities to be cut short. This was one of the two days per month where all citizens--commoners included--could state their pleas before the throne. He would not deprive the people of their right to bend his ear.

"That won't do," the king said, pushing himself to his feet on creaking joints. "The people have a right to state their cases. I will not allow that to be cut short."

They were currently taking a break. It was near midday, and the king's servants were distributing food to those in line so they could eat without losing the chance to speak to the court. That decision had earned grumbles from his court back when he had first implemented it some twenty years ago, but it had since become common practice and had earned a great deal of goodwill from his subjects.

This break would last only for a short while, and sending the remaining line of people home early would not do. The king began to steel himself for the long afternoon ahead, but another voice chimed in. 

"Then let us hear their pleas, father. You can remain in your seat while we do the speaking." It was the voice of the first princess Dinah, and she wasn't done. She held out a gentle hand to shut down his counter. "If you are on the throne, you can still interject at any time. You can even give us a nod or shake of your head before we settle each matter so we don't make a mess. We worry about your health, father. Projecting your voice for hours yet today may lead to further weariness or even a worsening of your condition."

The first prince Dante also stepped forward. "We can handle it, father. You have been instructing us for just this since we were little, and we've attended each session right beside you. We will not let you down." The prince bowed deeply, his military training apparent in the stiff and precise movements. The princess also bowed, yet she was more refined and graceful in the movement. They were an interesting contrast, the king thought. He could not be more proud of them.

It was immediately apparent to the king that his children had been conspiring behind his back. Dante had no doubt approached his sister to find a way to convince their father to rest, and Dinah’s clever mind had come up with this. A reasonable argument, equal parts concern and practicality, presented humbly in front of a number of officials. Their scheming was commendable, especially since King Andrade knew that it was the furthest thing from malicious. 

The king laughed, or rather chuckled under his breath, and motioned for them to rise. "Already so frail as to need to lean on my children. What a pitiful king indeed."

"No, father, we didn't mean-"

The king laughed and waved his hand to cut the prince off. "Don't worry, Dante. I know. I only wish I didn't need to lean on you both so much. You two shall hear and pass judgment for the remainder of the day. I trust your judgment, the both of you. I will only step in if you do something outlandish." 

The king motioned for them to follow him, then began walking towards the door to the audience chamber. Dante fell behind, as did the retainers, ministers, and guards. Dinah, however, slipped beside the king and wrapped an arm around his elbow to disguise the support she offered as he walked.

He chuckled self-pityingly once more, patting his daughter's hand. "Oh how pitiful indeed. Come now, it will be good for the people to get to know you both. I know you will do well."