A strange hush rolled through the room. All eyes shifted to the door. Anais followed their gazes.
Duchess Satryani.
The lady shouldn't be here. The nobles ardently avoided the military wing; soldiers were beneath them. They couldn't be leashed. The more conniving of her courtiers attempted bribes and false friendships to sway the captains and generals, but the flimsy efforts of corruption usually went nowhere. The Queen protected the military, and they were loyal to her in turn.
“Another time, soldier.” Anais nodded to Morwen. Her cold gaze traveled over the room, and the sound of clashing steel resumed.
“Coward.”
That single, sharp word somehow carried over the noise.
The Queen slowly turned. She didn't say a word, didn't make a gesture.
Jerome stepped forward. He placed a hand on his sword. “Kneel, soldier. Kneel, apologize, and you might keep your head.”
All motion stuttered to a halt. Nearby rebels bristled. Killing in response to an insult was courtly behavior. The military had its own rules.
But Lady Satryani was watching.
Morwen snorted. “I was told the Queen answers all challenges. Or was that a lie from your devoted pups?”
Only a few of the rebels appeared to agree. Most seemed uncomfortable. Perhaps the situation was salvageable.
“The Queen’s schedule does not alter for an insubordinate soldier.” Jerome stepped into the circle. The whip around his wrist unfurled, leather snaking to the ground. Morwen frowned and raised her sword. Before the blade finished lifting, Jerome flicked his wrist in a motion too quick to follow. The air cracked. The woman's weapon flew from her hands.
Soldiers weren't whipped.
The Escort snapped his whip again, hitting the back of Morwen’s knee. She cried out and crumpled to the ground. Restlessness stirred in the ranks.
The Queen hadn't commanded this.
Jerome yanked her other leg down. The soldier fell to her knees.
Neither had she put a stop to it.
The captain lifted his arm again.
“Escort.”
His whip dangled loosely.
“Attend.”
Jerome slowly rolled his whip as he returned to her side. The rebel soldier glared up from the ground, her face red and lips pulled back in a sneer. Whether her silence was due to rage or caution, Anais was glad for it. The palace soldiers were well aware of the court’s expectations. A servant’s insult to a noble earned them anything from a bloody whipping to slow death.
A soldier wasn't whipped. The courts’ rules applied in court, but here, the men and women who served the Queen didn't obey out of fear. Fear was a dangerous method of control over people who might one day realize they could turn their weapons against her. Respect, however, was far more difficult to obtain and maintain.
Anais cooled her tone. “As I said, another time, soldier. I shall entrust Baron Jerrl with the consequences of your impertinence.”
Turning on her heel, she glided to the duchess. Captains shouted, and the clash of steel resumed. Displays for her court were an unpleasant necessity. Most of the soldiers understood that. Had the rebels learned it yet?
A step behind Satryani was a bracerless man, his head bowed and hands clasped in front of him. On her other side was a young woman with a single leather bracer. None of the duchess’ sycophants trailed along.
Which meant this was a test. The lady didn't want the court to know if she was embarrassed here today.
Bowing appropriately given her age and station, the duchess waved a hand to the side. “My Queen, I'd hoped to find you after the meeting. May I present a toy to replace your missing courtesan? Temporary, of course, but there are plenty morewhere he came from. He's of my own stock, exquisitely trained. Break him if you wish. It might take the edge off.”
The man inched a small step forward.
