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David
    The line ahead of him moved with glacial slowness.
    David shifted on his feet, watching the digital display clock on the wall of the palace antechamber. If he didn’t get his moment with the king in the next thirty minutes, he’d have to turn around and go back to the barracks to take up his watch. That would mean coming back another day, something he’d already done twice.
    Please let this blasted line move faster. His ceremonial uniform, worn just for this potential audience, chafed against his shoulders and thighs. Fitted for him when he was sixteen years old and first joined the Panath army, it no longer fit his form six years later despite multiple tailors putting their hands on it. As a fourth son of a single mother, he made due with what he had.
    To his surprise, the line ahead of him moved quickly. Perhaps the king was in a benevolent mood today. Though he was known internationally for many things, King Samuel Solum II was not the symbol of grace and benevolence his father and grandfather had been.
    And yet, David held out hope that he would listen to his plea. If nothing else, he had to try.
    There were only three citizens in front of him in line, and he had fifteen minutes left. Closing his eyes, David sent a prayer up to the Father for time to be on his side.
    The wide-open doors to the audience chamber were as tall as five men and wide enough for David to drive a tank through. He amused himself with the thought of it for a while, trying to picture the look on the stuffy servants’ faces.
    Then his turn came.
    David stepped up to the doors and gave the herald his name.
    “Captain David Thresher!” the man announced into the room.
    David walked into the audience chamber, appreciating its high, vaulted ceilings and polished marble floors in the classical style. In the center of the room, a shallow dais rose from the ground, topped by three majestic steel and stone thrones in the 22 nd century style. On one throne sat King Samuel Solum II, the picture of grave, disapproving power, his throne the highest of them all. At his side was his wife and queen, Valencia Solum, her face eternally drawn in displeasure. Beside her was their son, Prince Jonathan Solum, the picture of boredom and disregard. The young man, almost David’s age, looked to be everything the rumors said he was: spoiled, lazy, uninterested in governance, and obsessed with his own appearance. He had dark hazel eyes, more colorful than his father’s grey ones, along with silky blond hair and a too-perfect, pouty mouth. David would have known him for a prince even without the throne and all its trappings.
    David saluted and bowed, his ceremonial soldier’s cloak sweeping around his outstretched arm.
    “You may rise,” the king said, his deep, gravelly voice echoing in the oval audience chamber. “What grievance do you bring before your king? And be quick with it.”
    Samuel’s temper was the talk of every soldier in the barracks; David wasn’t surprised to see it displayed here. He’d only ever seen the man’s face on streaming video before, when he gave speeches to rally the soldiers - usually concerning the evils of their enemy Gibran - but even on a monitor cupped in David’s palm, he had seen the man’s impatience in his drawn, heavy brows.
    “Captain David Thresher, of the Fifth Company.” David brushed his cloak behind himself and rested his hand on his ceremonial soldier’s sword, belted from his shoulder to his hip. “I’ve come to make a request on behalf of my men.”
    The king was silent. David’s mouth was suddenly dry, and he had to summon his courage to keep going. “You see, Your Grace, we’ve been moved closer to the borderlands, where as you know the fighting is worse. I’m more than thankful to be in the thick of things - that’s not why I’m here, to request that we be moved.”
    “Good, because we wouldn’t listen to any such request.” The king’s face was stone. David suddenly regretted the way