A mighty crowd is assembled, not just of Westfenster's resident and menials but also a mass of common folk from Hondelet—closely watched by the Knights of the Glade, of course. You and Kitty and Brute press forward as best you can, trying to make out the words from the orator on the palace steps.
Ah. You correct yourself as you get closer: by 'orator,' you of course are referring to His Majesty King Saul in the royal flesh.
A great cheer raises up, which Brute is not greatly fond of. You wince as the beast perches implausibly on your shoulder, digging its bony fingers into your flesh. Several folks nearby take notice.