"You and Merlin need to practice on how you address Royalty."
"I promise you, your highness, I try, but it's never done me any good in the past."
"Its Prince Arthur..." He paused, likely realizing he didn't know my name. "And you are?"
"I'm but a co...
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PHANTOM PAINS Known also as... {THE MARK OF NIMUEH :: Part Two}
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I listened to Burn the Witch by Shawn James and The Ballad of Lefty Brown by Maiah Wynne a lot while writing this chapter
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Rough hands shoved me to my knees beside my crying friend. Gwen's tears broke my heart, but I needed to have my concerns in order if I wanted to get the both of us out of this alive.
The king sat before us, scowling down his thick ugly nose. Around him stood his snotty counsel as they muttered to one another, watching us with disdain. This was not how I wanted to make my second appearance before the Court.
A large number of knights stood close to the entrance to the throne room. Even if I thought we could escape, I doubted Gwen would want to run to Londinium with me. And I couldn't just leave Gwen to the wolves...
"Well done," the king drawled to his son.
Arthur stood off to my right with his back straight, looking more indifferent than proud.
"Why will no one believe me?" Gwen cried. She turning back and forth, willing someone to met her pleading gaze. "He got better. He just recovered. I didn't do anything."
I kept my stare locked on the king as I rested hand on Gwen's arm, the chains around our wrists clinking together. Although I didn't look at my friend's face, I could feel her panic diminish under my touch.
I lifted my chin as I met the king's sharp glare. His face was the picture of calm- one I worked hard to replicate- but his dark eyes burned with contempt.
"Anything to say in your friend's defense, Maiden MacKay?" Uther drawled as he drummed his fingers on the arm of his throne.
"My lord, I believe that the evidence will sort itself out as long as the court is looking for justice." I spoke the words plainly, careful to keep any unnecessary violence from my tone. "Unless, of course, the court is inclined to declare guilt simply because it is easier to make a scapegoat out if a young girl than to find the true culprit."
Gasps and accusations broke out into the room as men called hearsay, thirsty for my blood. Yet, I sat as straight as I could, meeting the king's unwavering gaze with my own.
I had not be in court for many years, but I could still play the part as easily as one breathed air. My claim, although close to rebellious, had been rightly said. It was up to the court to decide how they would respond.
