Sitting opposite at a lower table was Lord Bluebeard, murmuring over a scroll with his barrister. If that wasn’t bad enough, rows and rows of people sat on the left and right sides of the courtroom. It seemed to Rilla like they were waiting with eager anticipation for the entertainment to start.
“My Lord Chief Justice,” cried the usher, “the defendant has arrived.”
A hush descended on the courtroom, and all eyes fixed on her.
Rilla trembled, as though feeling the chill of the executioner’s ax at her neck. She took a deep breath and came to a decision. If Lord Bluebeard revealed her secret, she would reveal his. It was a small comfort to know that with Bluebeard’s death, Jack would finally be free.
She allowed the clerk to lead her to the podium for the accused. Many of the people who had attended the ball sat in the audience. They reminded her of the folk who would mill around Moissan town square, to gape at whoever had been put in stocks for the day. Perhaps in Metropole, attending the Crown Court was a pastime for those too wealthy for honest work. Rilla noted that some of these onlookers had argued with Prince Armin about her. Those people had been eager to see her thrown into the infantry where she would cause no further trouble or embarrassment. Her heart sank again, but her resolve remained. Her gaze stopped at an artist sitting hunched in the corner. She assumed he was responsible for illustrating the whole fiasco.
“If it pleases the court, I am Archibald Voight. I represent the plaintiff, Orson Bluebeard, Ambassador of Steppe. My Lord Bluebeard is a widowed gentleman who, after a long mourning period of the tragic death of his wife, sought a new bride.”
Some older women in the public gallery gave Bluebeard sympathetic looks. Others shared approving nods as though seeking a new bride after killing the previous was the right and proper thing to do.
“Members of the jury, can you fathom the despair that comes with disappointed love? Lord Bluebeard is no stranger to bereavement. He is no stranger to heartbreak. And now, he is no stranger to the betrayal of a callous young woman.”
An old man blew his nose in a handkerchief while a younger woman rubbed his back. Rilla gritted her teeth, trying to slow her harried breath. What was this barrister trying to say?
“Lord Bluebeard sits here a broken man. He holds, in hands trembling with grief, a valid and legally enforceable contract of betrothal.” The man straightened his robes. “Now, the law states that when a betrothal contract is signed on behalf of a young woman not yet in her majority, she must fulfill her duties to her family.”
Audience members nodded. Rilla wondered how many of them would sell their children to a monster for a pile of gold.
“Throughout this case, you will hear overwhelming evidence that the betrothal contract was valid. You will hear how a frivolous girl both broke her agreement and broke my client’s heart when she failed to honor the contract through marriage.”
A few gasps echoed around the room.
The barrister nodded as though everyone had agreed that Rilla’s conduct had been scandalous. “Members of the jury, I ask you to consider this evidence and offer a verdict which favors my client.” He moved in a slow semicircle, making eye contact with the jury, the judge and the officials. “We demand satisfaction for this breach of contract.”
The people sitting in the public gallery broke out in cheers and applause.
Rilla almost collapsed with relief. This trial would not be about her magical powers. Shaking her head, she grounded herself. She was still in danger if marriage to Lord Bluebeard was going to be forced by the court.
When the noise faded, Rilla turned to the judge. “Your Honor. I have no barrister.”
“Your advocate is right there.” The judge pointed at Ivan, who was looking around the courtroom with his mouth agape.
Ivan balked. “Me? I’m a footman at the palace. Today’s me first day on the job. I was just a stable hand before that and I can’t advocate no one.”
Everyone in the room fell about laughing. Rilla’s cheeks burned, and she glared at Lord Bluebeard, who was glaring back. She wondered if her so-called betrothed had bribed his way into the courtroom with his huge fortune. Or used his bluebirds to blackmail a clerk into scheduling the case so soon.
The judge held his head in his hands and let out a noisy breath. “Heaven help me! Who allowed such a petty case to come before my court?”
He raised his head and pointed his gavel at Rilla. “Lord Bluebeard, Ambassador of Steppe, the girl is here. Marry her or return the dowry and find a more reliable, and may I say, suitable bride.” He shook his head. “I take it you haven’t squandered the money already?”
“That’s the problem, Your Honor,” said the barrister. “Lord Bluebeard did not receive a dowry. He paid a bride price... Her weight in gold crowns!”
Loud gasps and bellows of outrage emerged from the onlookers. Bride prices were rare, but such a high one was unheard of. And for a servant girl, it was unthinkable. Even beautiful, well-bred girls such as her stepsisters, Gabrielle and Angelique, had to pay steep dowries. Rilla bristled. Her bride price would enable her sisters to make suitable marriages.
“Ungrateful wench!” an old man shouted. It was the same gentleman who had been crying into his handkerchief earlier. “You’d be lucky to get a bride price of a silver shilling!”
Rilla cringed, insulted to her core. Even Ivan was staring at her with amazement that Lord Bluebeard had paid such a price to be her bridegroom. Her cheeks blazed with shame, and her heart hung heavy with despair.
The judge banged on his gavel several times before the raucous crowd quieted. “Well then, Lord Bluebeard, you have two choices. Either marry the wench in the Cathedral or demand a refund from her former guardian.”
Rilla glanced at Lord Bluebeard, her heart pounding against her tight bodice. He was still fixated on her, eyes blazing like cold fire, and a smirk of triumph formed on his features. She gulped, knowing which option he would choose. The one which led to her producing son after son for the man before he murdered her like he had his previous wives.
“Questionable though your choice of bride and your means of obtaining her, this is no matter for my court.” The judge raised his gavel, ready to dismiss the case.
“Your Honor,” Rilla cried, “I can’t marry Lord Bluebeard.”
The crowd burst into angry shouts. The judge smacked his forehead and sighed. “Why ever not?”
“Because last night I was conscripted into the Army! I defeated a band of trolls who were kidnapping Prince Armin. Surely you’ve heard?”
The shouting reduced to a quiet buzz. Rilla ground her teeth. Not a single person from the ball spoke forth to confirm her claim.
The judge raised a shoulder. “How can I be certain you’re the one who saved the Prince?”
The door burst open and Lord Florian stormed in, holding aloft a scroll. Rilla’s knees buckled against the front of the podium. She pressed her hand to her heart and breathed more easily for the first time since being summoned to court.
“Your Honor,” said Lord Florian. “You can be certain it was her because she has my vouch. Prince Armin remains in one piece because of her bravery and skill in combat.”
The judge leaned forward and squinted at Rilla.
“And,” he continued, “I have my wife and daughters because she dared to defeat Long Don Cipriano. Our need for her in service to the Kingdom is far more paramount than this domestic spat. In fact, I believe Prince Armin promised Lord Bluebeard recompense for the bride price.”
“What you believe is of no consequence to this tribunal, Lord High Steward,” said Bluebeard’s barrister. “Were there witnesses to these altercations?”
Rilla raised her hand. “Your Honor, Lord Bluebeard was present for the encounter with the trolls.” After a pause, she added, “He helped me.”
On the inside, Rilla cringed. Bringing up the trolls and Lord Bluebeard’s presence was a gamble. He could use this moment to reveal her secret. But then, she would reveal his, an
d they would be condemned together.
Lord Bluebeard snorted and turned away, his arms folded against his chest.
The judge pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows at Rilla. “Since there are no willing witnesses to the altercation with the trolls, I’m forced to regard it as a fictional event with no bearing on this case. Furthermore, combat with bandits does not result in compulsory conscription into the Army.”
The barrister stood. “In light of that, your Honor, I ask that you rule in Lord Bluebeard’s favor and enforce the completion of this marriage contract.”
Sounds of “hear, hear” came from the observers. Even the officials sitting with the judge nodded along with the barrister.
“Your Honor!” Rilla cried, her mind blank. She had to say something. Anything to get the case thrown out of court or postponed until she could produce her own legal counsel.
“Yes, young lady?” The judge’s words mingled into a long-suffering sigh.
“What if... What if...” Her brain stalled, like a cartwheel hitting a rock.
“Out with it,” snapped the judge.
“What if Prince Armin bore witness for me? Would you believe me then?”
The judge rubbed the side of his neck, moving his wig out of place. He opened his mouth then closed it as though changing his mind about what he was going to say. Then, he nodded. “You have one hour to produce the Prince. If you fail to do so, or Prince Armin arrives but does not confirm your claim, armed guards will march you to the Cathedral to honor your marriage contract. Have I made myself clear?”
Rilla gulped and nodded. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Lord Bluebeard smirking and rubbing his mustache with his thumb and forefinger, as if he knew something she didn’t.
Professor Engel
Rilla stood, ready to rush back to the palace, when Archibald Voight, Lord Bluebeard’s barrister stepped into her path. His thin face twisted into a sly smirk. “A moment of your time, My Lady.”
“Later,” she snapped. It was probably a stalling tactic to keep her in the courtroom until the end of recess, making her lose her case. She jogged down the aisle which led to the exit.
“Ushers! Don’t let the young lady leave,” he shouted.
The men standing by the doors froze as though undecided about how to proceed. Rilla was ready to knock them out of the way if they tried to prevent her exit, but they stayed still, exchanging nervous glances.
“Mister Voight,” said Lord Florian. “Surely you are confident enough in your advocation skills to not attempt winning by a cheap technicality?”
Rilla didn’t hear the rest of the conversation, because she’d already bolted out of the doors and was sprinting down the hallway, dodging clerks and outraged men in gowns and wigs. Now was not the time for the deportment she’d never been taught. She had to find Prince Armin.
Ivan caught up with her once as she darted around the square to the palace. “His Majesty will be in the Stateroom, Milady.”
“Do you know where that is?” she asked.
“No, but one of the proper footmen can show us.”
Rilla nodded, put her head down and picked up speed. Kapital Plaza wasn’t overly large, but at this time of evening, many carriages drove across it, presumably to transport all the elites from the Parliament building, so she had to stay around the edges to avoid getting trampled.
“Milady, wait!” yelled Ivan. He pointed to a white horse coming out of the palace. “That’s Prince Armin’s steed.”
Rilla slowed to a walk, hope soaring in her chest. It looked as though her message had gotten through to the Prince. She only hoped her disturbance hadn’t hampered negotiations with Tundra.
When the Prince arrived and dismounted, he and Rilla approached the doors of the Crown Court. The usher from earlier bowed. "Your Highness, I bid you welcome. I am Arnold Heffer, and I will be showing you to the courtroom."
Inwardly, Rilla smiled. The usher sure liked to bow and scrape to royalty.
Rilla walked tall down the hallways at the Prince’s side, flanked by guards, updating him on the latest happenings. A thrum of anticipation grew within her chest. Things would go better this time round. She had the prince's testimony and the friendship of the Lord High Steward. Between the three of them, she wouldn't be leaving the courtroom a forced bride.
The usher opened the door and led them into the courtroom. As soon as the people in the visitor’s gallery caught sight of the Prince, a hush fell over the room. The Lord Chief Justice and his colleagues exchanged shocked glances. Even Lord Bluebeard looked stunned, with his mouth agape.
Rilla suppressed a smirk. She supposed they hadn't expected her to bring the Prince.
The usher led Rilla to a table opposite the judge, to the right of where Lord Bluebeard and his own barrister sat. Lord Florian was already seated there, and he gave Rilla a reassuring smile.
Prince Armin entered the witness podium and addressed the judge. “I understand that Lady Cendrilla was not taken at her word that she rescued me from a band of trolls.”
"Such claims must be corroborated by witness statement, Your Highness," replied the judge.
“I am here to confirm that she saved my life and that I am indebted to her. In fact, we all are. She rescued me not knowing my true identity.” Prince Armin turned to the public gallery. “It could have been any of you. Such a brave and kind-hearted individual should be treated with respect.”
Rilla dropped her head to hide a smile. To have a gentleman of such importance speak so highly of her was incredible.
The judge nodded, looking at Rilla anew. “Thank you, your Highness.”
Prince Armin stepped off the witness podium, walked over to Rilla and whispered, “Sorry I can’t stay. Duty calls, but I hope it works out. Stay as long as you like at the palace and send a footman if you need anything from me.”
He squeezed her hand and left the courtroom, leaving everyone whispering. Rilla glared at the people who earlier had brayed at her about being unworthy of a bride price. Now that the Prince had spoken up for her, they weren’t quite so hostile. On her left, she felt Lord Bluebeard’s gaze burn the side of her face.
Lord Florian stood. “It is my opinion that the case against Lady Cendrilla should be dismissed. She is a minor who defeated magical foes. Her conscription into the Army is thus compulsory, and her marriage is no longer a priority.”
"Objection, Your Honor," said Bluebeard's barrister.
"On what grounds?" The judge's voice had lost all inflection. Rilla supposed he was getting bored with the case.
"Because Lord Bluebeard is not a citizen of the United Kingdom of Seven, and as such, neither is his betrothed."
Loud gasps came from the public gallery.
Rilla squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath. She was doomed.
"Preposterous," said the judge. "The laws of our land only transfer citizenship upon marriage. Any more ridiculous assertions, and you will be in contempt of court."
A slow, relieved breath escaped Rilla's lungs. She rested her hands on the table, giving the judge a smile of gratitude.
“Your Honor.” Bluebeard’s barrister smirked, which made Rilla narrow her eyes. “But what if the foreign citizen were the ambassador of Steppe? Surely the court does not wish to sully relations with the Enchanted Realm for a mere girl.”
The judge stilled, eyes wide. The officials who sat to his left and right argued among themselves. Lord Florian took his seat, folded his arms, and scowled.
It was then that Rilla knew, without a shadow of doubt, that she had lost. Glancing at Lord Florian gave her no hope. He sat still as a portrait, with only his flared nostrils betraying his anger. When she peeped at Lord Bluebeard, he was not smug as she had expected. The man was glaring at her with such rage, such malice, Rilla thought he would burn her to cinders.
Rilla gazed hopelessly at the judge, anticipating his verdict.
The Lord Chief Justice’s face reddened. “Lord Bluebeard, Ambassador of Steppe.” T
he man’s voice was cold, and he spoke his words with deliberation. “Do you mean to tell me you are prepared to commit your country to war with the United Kingdom of Seven for a mere chit of a girl?”
The barrister for the prosecution held up a hand. “Your Honor—”
“One word from you, Archibald Voight, and I will hang you myself for treason.”
“Hear, hear,” shouted a man from the public gallery. Rilla was sure it had been the old gentleman who cried into his handkerchief earlier.
“Lord Bluebeard,” said the judge. “Answer my question.”
Bluebeard scowled but remained silent.
“I will take your lack of response as a retraction,” said the judge. He turned to Rilla, still furious. “And you, young lady, have two choices. Fulfill your betrothal contract or enroll into the Academy.”
“I’ll go to the Academy!” she shouted.
The judge slammed down his gavel, looking every inch the Lord Chief Justice of the United Kingdom of Seven. “Lady Cendrilla, you are to attend the Academy at once. If you fail your first assessment after three months, you will be marched, by armed guard, to the Cathedral and you will honor your betrothal contract. I will even give you away myself. Do you understand?”
“I do!” Rilla cried. She cringed, expecting an explosion of rage from the plaintiff’s bench. She turned, out of morbid curiosity, only to see the opposite.
Lord Bluebeard’s shoulders slumped, and he wore a crestfallen expression. He looked like the broken man in his barrister’s opening speech.
Rilla blinked several times to make sure she wasn’t imagining the vision before her. That wasn’t like Lord Bluebeard. He acted like a petulant child, openly disrespected the Prince, beat his servants, kept slaves, and killed his wives. But the large man genuinely seemed to mourn the loss of his bride. Something was off. Rilla wondered whether he knew something she didn’t and what it could be.
“One more thing,” said the judge. “As long as you stay in the Army, Lord Bluebeard will have no legal recourse to enforce the betrothal contract. If you leave before your twenty-first birthday, he may attempt legal proceedings against you.”
The Academy (Perrault Chronicles Book 2) Page 4