“Growing over my feckin’ fence.”
They glared at one another, nostrils flared, fists tight at their sides.
Rían pinched the bridge of his nose. “So this is about a tree, then, is it?”
“Mytree,” the tallest confirmed with a bob of his head.
“The tree is—”
Rían’s fist cracked against the throne’s arm, sending vibrations through the floor. “Enough!”
The hall fell silent.
A book appeared in Rían’s lap. He opened it to the middle, flipping to find whatever he was looking for. As his eyes scanned, he huffed a curse. “It would seem there is no law regarding a tree growing on the border between two properties.” Another flick, and the book disappeared. “And as there is no previous ruling, I shall make my own.”
Glares shifted to worried glances as the people at the front of the room began to whisper.
“The fruit tree belongs to neither of you,” Rían announced. “It will be harvested, all fruit brought to the castle’s store house, chopped down, and burned to the root.”
“Prince Rían, ye cannot—”
“‘Tis the best tree we got—”
Rían held up a hand and the hall went silent as a catacomb. “Did you or did you not come to me to solve this dispute?”
Neither responded.
“You could have worked it out amongst yourselves, but you didn’t. And now neither of you get the tree. Now, get out of my sight before I decide to take your homes for wasting my time and everyone else’s.”
Their shoulders slumped as they turned and made their way through the crowd and out of the hall.
The next handful of disputes were resolved quickly and without issue. Each time, Rían called a rule book, found a previous ruling or law, and gave a clear verdict, outlining what was to happen.
It was fascinating.
How did he know which book he needed and exactly where to look?
He was absolutely brilliant. For all his eye-rolling and drawled responses, he was clearly enjoying himself. And the people, though wary, never argued with him.
They took his ruling as law.
More people paid their taxes with coins or food or bolts of hand-woven cloth. And then a red-faced man with a sloping jaw stomped forward, yanking a woman with orange hair toward the dais.
A woman I recognized from the courtyard on my first day.
She stumbled forward, her muddy slippers catching on the torn hem of her dirty skirts. Her knees cracked off the stones. Without thinking, I ran to where she’d landed, offering her a hand. Red, swollen eyes met mine. The tears streaking the woman’s grimy cheeks tugged at my heartstrings.
With my help, she righted herself and smoothed a shaking hand down her skirts. “Thank ye, milady.”
I nodded and returned to the dais.
“What’s the issue, Madden?” Rían asked.
The man smirked. “I caught this deceitful witch shiftin’ goods from Airren, bolts of cloth and the like.”
Rían’s eyebrows arched toward his perfect hairline. “Anwen, you have been charged with theft. How do you plead?”
The woman’s gaze dropped to the stone floor. “Guilty, Prince Rían. But Maisie was sick, and little Sean needed new shoes, and with the new baby . . .”