Royal Sentence (Steamy Historical)

Chapter 9: Judgement

Louis, King of France, did not enter a room; he made an entrance. He pranced inside the humble cottage with the same solemnity he would the throne room in his Louvre. A throng of people followed suit, crowding the limited space.

When the King sat in the chair, Roland took to a knee, nudging Sabine, who curtsied as low as she could and stayed down.

"So this where you chose to stay, Monsieur le Comte?" Louis' eyes ran on the mud and stone walls, earth floor, small window, and large chimney with its crackling fire, his frown proclaiming that he was not impressed. "Are we not paying you enough?"

This was a rhetorical question, and Roland answered in kind. "My wages are more than sufficient, Your Majesty. Shoddy as it is, this house suits my needs; it is warm and dry and close to the camp. Your regretted father slept in far worse lodgings during his campaigns." Perhaps this would appease Louis; his mood seemed to roil with the dark clouds outside.

Roland waited while the young sovereign's hand hovered over the plate of sweets, as if the sole goal of his presence was to sample them. He opted for an almond and honey tartlet, and took his time eating it, before cleaning his fingers with a perfumed towel. Only then did he deign to return to the affair at hand.

"I guess you are the notorious rebel Sabine de Brissard, aren't you, Madame?" he dropped, his eyes boring into her.

Sabine raised her head and held his gaze. "I am, Sire." Her voice was firm with a defiant edge, despite her inner turmoil. She was determined not to show fear.

"We are aware of your unfortunate circumstances, yet you are guilty of a number of crimes. Do you regret your actions now that you are facing the scaffold?"

"No, Sire, I do not. If I had to do it again, I would."

There was a murmur of disapproval and Roland grimaced. Of course she wouldn't act sensibly. Why did he ever hope? The fool was heading straight for the noose.

Louis silenced them with a flick of the hand. "You murdered two men. Don't you at least repent for this?"

"I rendered justice. Robbing and raping are against the law. If your Majesty or any of his gentlemen witnessed such crime, wouldn't they feel bound to intervene? Did Monsieur de Vitry repent for running his sword through the Maréchal d'Ancre? Did your Majesty repent for giving the order? Like him, these men deserved to die, I have no remorse."

The courtiers held their breath. This mad woman had all but insulted the King. Any moment now, he would explode in one of his cold rages and she would be dragged to her doom. But Louis remained frighteningly calm. He tilted his head, observing her with the same rapt attention he usually afforded battle plans. "You make an interesting point. Then what about me? Do you wish me dead too? According to Monsieur d'Ypagne, you believe the attack on your castle and your person was done on my behalf..."

This was a blatant trap, and Sabine wasn't blind enough to stumble into it. Wishing for the King's death was high treason. She preferred her limbs attached to body rather than torn off by four horses. "I did not, regardless of the orders bearing the royal seal. I just thought I had been naive believing in the King's justice. After all, the Fermier Général held a royal commission."

Louis straightened in his seat. "We give you our word, Madame, that we neither sold that commission, nor gave such order. Your plea didn't reach us, and if it had, we couldn't have acted upon it as our authority had been usurped by the Italian scum. We confirm to you that our seal was counterfeit. Do you believe us?"

Sabine nodded. "I do, Your Majesty."

"Do you still maintain you have no regrets?"

Another trap, but an easier one. "I revolted against the unfairness of the taxes, not against the authority of the King, so no, I have no regrets. I would defend the farmers again."