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The Petitioner
By Sheila Jenne

Theresa, the Princess of Ticino, was only seventeen, far too young to rule. Everyone knew it, from her Regent to her high council to the lowliest cadet in the army. But everyone also knew she was the one who shaped the policies of her government. Her word was law not because of any official power she held, but because of her influence with her citizens.

The people loved her as their own. She was beautiful and kind, and they could sense her sympathy for all their troubles. Whenever she held an audience, her subjects would come filing in into the throne room to present their petitions.

Today was audience day. Theresa sat straight in her inlaid throne in a dark green dress of fine linen. She wore her black hair tumbling down her shoulders beneath her silver circlet. The peasants approached one-by-one to bow before her throne and state their suits.

After hearing an argument over a cow and deciding in favor of the poorer cowherd, she leaned back in her throne. For a moment, no one else entered. The carved oak doors hung motionless at the far end of the vaulted chamber.

"Is that all?" Theresa called out softly to the halberdier by the door.

The guard turned to her, clicking his heels. As he opened his mouth to speak, the door slowly creaked open. A familiar figure was silhouetted against the sunlight streaming in from the People's Court. She brushed her hair back with one hand and smoothed her dress over her knees.

The tall man stepped forward with strong, eager steps. As Theresa had thought, it was Lorenzo, her top general. She stood up, descended the steps of her dais, and dismissed the guard with a gesture. "I hope there are no more peasants out there," she scolded. "Now is their only time to see me. You can come any time."

"There's no one else, Theresa." He tugged his black forelock in an informal salutation.

She sat back in her throne. He was so tall he could look directly into her eyes. Taller than her fiancé. "Good. Now tell me, how is your brother?"

"He couldn't be better. It's an honor for him to take care of your sheep, and he wanted me to thank you for not making him a page. You know how he hates to stay indoors and be polite."
Theresa smiled. "What a delightful boy he is. So unassuming."

"Modesty, like royalty, comes with birth." He looked unwontedly serious.

She sighed. "The virtues of peasants are far too often spoiled by the vices of my class."

"Virtues and vices are found in both classes, I think." He grinned at her, to show it was a compliment.

A corner of Theresa's mouth turned up and a pleased pink tinted her cheeks. "Perhaps. Now, will you be able to join me in the garden for lunch?"

Lorenzo looked at the floor. "Ah, no, not today. I have to eat with my soldiers. I've neglected them too many times this week."

"After lunch, then."

"I'm busy then, too. More drills. Ticino is a small country, but I want to make a great army." He didn't throw his head back when he said that, as he usually did, but kept his eyes down.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were avoiding me." Theresa's eyes twinkled.

"Well…" Lorenzo cleared his throat.

The laughter died. "Well?"

He rubbed his clean-shaven chin. "Well, I…You and I…We've always been good friends."

"Of course." Theresa tilted her head, trying to understand him.

"But…I was thinking, maybe we're a little too attached to each other, considering your engagement to King Entiro." He glanced up at her, then down again, uncomfortable.
Theresa's lower lip pushed out a hairsbreadth. "No more than is decorous."

"But closer than is wise." Lorenzo took a step forward, staring into Theresa's eyes. "I speak only for myself, but I feel a good deal more than I've ever said."

The silence swelled about Theresa, forcing an answer. Her mind raced, finding perfect replies. I'm sorry you feel that way. I will send you off to the garrison on the coast. After some time, I'm sure you will recover. Tell him nothing, just let him go quietly. Or, No, I think we are no closer than we should be. There is no need for you to go anywhere. Stay here, as my friend, as you have always been. A lie.

The truth. "You speak for me as well," murmured the Princess, her eyes on her hands.
Lorenzo took a deep breath. "I think it would be better if I were to go away. Send me to the border, to the coast, anywhere. It would be much wiser…"

"It would indeed be wiser," said Theresa faintly. "I can't argue with you. I knew it must happen someday. I can't help marrying King Entiro, and I'm only making it harder for myself by…"

Lorenzo shook his head in dissatisfaction. "You can help it," he argued, walking closer until his toes touched the dais. "You chose to marry him. No one is making you play the martyr."
Theresa's head lifted up and she stared into his dark eyes. "If your army could protect me from our country's enemies, I could act differently. But your men are too few, and we are too poor. I know you've tried, but there's only so much you can do with a kingdom the size of a county. But if I marry Entiro, he will take care of us."

"At the price of selling your hand!"

She looked away. "If that's what it costs, Lorenzo, that's what it costs."

"You don't have to tear your heart out like this." He laid a hand on her armrest.

"Or yours?" Her eyebrows crinkled together sadly.

"Don't worry about my heart. I can live without it," he said carelessly. "But you…"

Her eyes met his earnestly. "If you can live without your heart for me, I can give up mine for Ticino. What is it you soldiers say? 'I regret that I have but one life to give for my country.' And so do I."

"But have you thought of what it will cost you? Entiro is-" His voice held only scorn when he spoke of her fat fiancé.

She stood up and turned away. "I have thought, General. Thank you."

"Shall I go, then?"

"Please. Go to the border-tonight. I don't suppose I'll ever see you again." She held her hand to her cheek, hiding her face.

"No." Lorenzo's chin dropped, but his eyes stayed fixed on her.

She half-turned to look at him and in a voice thick with repressed tears declared, "But I swear-and if this is an evil oath, so be it-I swear I will never forget you." She turned back around, watching the patterned marble swirl drunkenly through the wet bubble in her eyes.

"Nor I you, your highness." Lorenzo's lips pressed tightly together until they turned white as he stared at the black hair flowing down her back. Then he turned away and walked slowly out, his back straight and his shoulders so tightly squared they were trembling.

When the door shut behind him, Theresa sat back down. She pulled her knees up to her chest, hugging them miserably. Her soft green kirtle rumpled around her shoes. A few salty drops stained the fine linen as she rested her head on her knees, rolling it back and forth.