palace that hadn’t been locked since being built two hundred years ago.
Max entered the armory and strapped on the golden jewel-encrusted sheath and sword of the head of state. He left off the sash with its brooches and badges of honor. This was not a ceremonial occasion, only a punishing one. The sword of justice represented that fact.
“Do I look regal enough?” he asked, his smile tinged with bitterness at the thought of what was ahead.
“Royal to the bone,” Chuck assured him, grasping his shoulder briefly.
Few men would have dared touch him, but Max knew the gesture from his friend was one of solidarity. He turned and walked into the Justice Chamber before he blubbered like a baby at the betrayal of his uncle and the minister he’d also trusted. Kings were not allowed emotion.
“All rise,” the sergeant-at-arms intoned.
The court and its audience rose as one, heads bowed, as he took his place on the high seat behind the three justices. When he was seated, the crowd sat, too.
The bailiff presented the case to the king.
“Has the jury reached a verdict?” Max asked. As if he didn’t know.
“We have, Your Majesty,” the lord high mayor said.
The sergeant-at-arms received the signed verdict from the mayor and delivered it to the senior judge of the Supreme Court, who silently read it, let his two cohorts see it, then presented it to the prince regent.
Max read the paper, then, setting his face to no expression, spoke, “Lord High Mayor, how find the jury on the first charge?”
“We, the jury, find the defendants guilty,” the man said.
“Lord High Mayor, how find the jury on the second charge?” Max continued the formalized ritual.
“Guilty.”
The third charge?
“Guilty.”
The fourth?
“Guilty,” the head of the jury replied.
Max experienced not satisfaction but a great sorrow as the men were found guilty on all counts—treason, attempt to murder a head of state, conspiracy to overthrow the rightful succession of the kingdom, use of violence against a member of the royal house.
Gloom settled in his spirit like great weights strapped to his soul. Through the high, stained-glass windows of the courtroom, the world seemed to darken.
Ah, rose, I need you.
“Is the court ready for the sentencing?” he asked.
“The court is ready,” the senior supreme justice told him. “The defendants will rise,” he instructed.
Max sentenced his uncle and the minister to ninety-nine years in prison. Even after their deaths, their remains would stay in the prison cemetery until the full ninety-nine years were up before relatives could claim the bodies.
The two captains of the Royal Dragoons who had joined them in the conspiracy were given life sentences with no chance of parole.
The two hired assassins, who were not citizens of Lantanya, had already been tried in a lower court and sentenced to life. The men would work at hard labor and have no chance of getting out for thirty years.
At the end of two hours it was finished.
When Max returned to his quarters, his dress uniform was damp under the arms and down his back from the tension of sentencing four men he’d known from birth to a prison routine filled with work and, when not working, isolation.
Their lives would be almost as lonely as that of a king.
Bartlett quietly entered and removed the used clothing. “Will you be needing anything further?” he asked in the gentle tones he’d always used when Max had been a child and suffered some bereavement to his young soul.
“No, thanks. I’ll take a shower, then ring for Chuck when I’m dressed. Perhaps coffee when he arrives?”
“Muffins and fruit would be nice, too,” the valet suggested. “You haven’t eaten.”
Max nodded. “Okay. Give me twenty minutes. And, Ned, thank you.” He wasn’t sure what he was thanking him for. Perhaps for his unspoken sympathy, or his eternal kindness, or for simply being here when things got tough.
The older man nodded solemnly. “My pleasure, sir.”
Alone, Max quickly showered and dried, then returned to the bedroom to dress. Stopping by the reading table, he lifted one perfect rose from the bouquet and sniffed the delicate perfume.
He closed his eyes as memory poured through him. In an uncharacteristic gesture, he brought the flower to his lips, feeling the fragile coolness of its petals. A shudder went through him as the vast emptiness of his chambers assailed his heart. For that one night he hadn’t been alone….
“You’re trembling,” he had said, drawing back a little from the kiss, reluctant to let go of the treasure of her mouth.
“It’s…I don’t know what it is,” she’d admitted. “It’s all so strange. The night…the whole day…seems like a dream. Unreal.” She laid her hands against his chest. “And yet so real.”
“I know.” He gazed deeply into her eyes, their blue depths so clear it was like looking into her innermost thoughts. He saw doubt and uncertainty, but also passion and intrigue. All the things that raged through him in undulating waves of desire. “I’ve never felt this way before, not about anyone.”
“Nor have I,” she said, gazing at him with a worried frown on her beautiful face.
He kissed her cheek, along her jaw, then behind her ear, careful of the tiny gold earrings she wore. Against his chest, he felt her breasts rise with a quickly drawn breath. A groan of need escaped him as the passion rose higher between them. Her arms crept around his neck as he drew her tight against him, unable to disguise the strength of his response to her.
For a time he was content to hold and kiss her, to stroke her back, her arms, her sides. Then that wasn’t enough. He’d always made it a point never to become involved with anyone not of his set, women who knew the rules and expected only a night of pleasure with no promises.
He wanted to make promises to this woman, he found. Words like forever danced on the tip of his tongue. He closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind.
When she swayed against him in sweet surrender, rational thinking scattered like birds before a storm. He cupped her hips in both hands and rubbed against her, needing full body contact.
“Beautiful princess, will you stay?” he asked, oddly humbled by the passion in her eyes and the sweet confusion in her trembling lips. “Say yes,” he urged, afraid she was going to say no.
“I…I may not please you,” she whispered.
A realization came to him. “Are you an untried rose, opening her petals for
