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A minor crisis in an outlying province brings Aric closer to the fold, and to Queen Ansha.

Back to the smut, and the plot of the novel starting to kick off into high gear? Higher gear. This sets the scene for everything that comes afterwards, so hopefully it doesn't feel purely gratuitous. Hopefully none of this feels gratuitous! Patreon subscribers, this should also be live for you with notes and maps and stuff.

Released under the Creative Commons BY-NC-SA license. Share, modify, and redistribute -- as long as it's attributed and noncommercial, anything goes.

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Previously on The Valiant and the Bold_—_

Major Aric Laner, a veteran of the Royal Army's frontier campaign, arrives in the capital of Tabisthalia to be assigned as a bodyguard to Ansha, the young Aernian queen. Her husband, Chatherral IV, was once a reasonable figure but is now old, losing his faculties, and easily manipulated by those around him.

Aric finds the capital city to be a chaotic mess of competing political factions—minor lords jockeying to take advantage of the king's weakness—and hedonistic debauchery. It is not at all what he expected; he's overwhelmed and unsure who he can trust beyond Colonel Ivra K'nSullach, commander of the Royal Guard.

After he settles in, he's invited on a sailing review where he meets the two princes: Tabent Enthar, naive and good-natured, and his malicious younger brother Dunn Cædor. He also makes the acquaintance of Lieutenant Commander Siron Yanisca, liaison to the admiralty and a fellow soldier press-ganged into minding the aristocracy.

At the close of the last chapter Aric was sent on an errand by Ansha to a foreign mage in one of the seedier quarters. Ambushed on the way back, he was rescued at the last minute by shadowy figures—neither Ansha nor K'nSullach profess to have any knowledge of who they were…

And now...

The Valiant and the Bold, by Rob Baird. Ch. 3, "Rising Action"

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“You don't think I'm taking advantage of him, do you?" Ansha prodded at my side, grinning at my lack of response. “Well, maybe I am. A little…"

'Him' referred to Prince Enthar, the star of the recital to which Ansha had invited me. The young stag held the center of the stage. I did not know enough of violin music to judge Enthar's performance. I did, however, know people—and the small audience seemed entranced.

In addition to myself and the queen were Enthar's musical tutor, two of the queen's ladies-in-waiting, and a visiting lord from Ailaragh. I'd been told the concerto itself was Raghish; of course I didn't know that, either, but the lord seemed impressed, leaning forward in the darkened room to catch every note.

Ansha sighed quietly. “Gorgeous," I heard her murmur, in the silence after the last note faded and before the polite applause began. She joined in, as did I. “I wanted to have them play this at our wedding."

“It's very pretty."

“Magical," she answered. I had apparently not gone far enough. “I first heard Lara Habbeth perform it at the Hall of Emeralds, and it brought me nearly to tears. Six years later, Habbeth's protégé Galfeddal happened to end a Tæn's Day ceremony with it. Goodness, I could listen to it over and over."

Enthar picked up his violin again, and began the final movement of the concerto. Ansha found my paw, giving it a gentle squeeze. Unsure of what to do, I returned the gesture. This time the doe's sigh was clearly happier.

She did not quite lean against me, as the recital continued. But she stood very close, close enough that I felt her warmth through her dress and my uniform. Close enough that when I shifted away from her, she naturally followed the movement.

Close enough that others would, in my judgment, have been permitted some assumption of impropriety. The music ended, and the lights dropped. In the darkness, I felt the briefest moment of pressure on my cheek, and the warmth of the doe's breath. “Thank you for joining me, Aric."

The lights returned. Ansha was sitting straight again, applauding like the others. Afterwards she made her way forward to congratulate her son on his performance. And, seeing it, I felt rather silly for any assumptions I'd made.

Clearly Queen Ansha simply wished to enjoy the afternoon. She wanted to be herself—a proud mother—rather than nobility with an image to uphold. For an hour, she wanted to be a normal person: for me to be her friend, rather than an assigned chaperone protecting the royal family.

That was all.

***

Lieutenant Commander Yanisca waved, and hastened along the path to join me. “Are you on your way to Cassalmure?"

“Yes, as it happens. You are, too?"

“No. But it's in the general direction of the docks. You wouldn't mind the company, would you?"

I shook my head. “Of course not. How have you been, commander?"

“It's been a very long day," the otter admitted. “So just call me Siron, why don't you? I was in meetings all day with a select committee of the Old Council. Very select, I can assure you."

“You wouldn't be sarcastic about something so important," I conjectured with a grin. “What were they selected for?"

Yanisca looked over her shoulder at the Iron Hall, where flags atop the tallest spires were still in direct sunlight. I saw little love for the stately image in her expression. “The gods alone know, Major Laner, and their voices don't carry well from the Coral Valley. Apparently they're experts in naval logistics, from what I was able to glean."

“Something to be said for expertise, isn't there?"

“They want to put a coaling station in the Meteor Islands. How much of that sentence makes sense to you?"

The desolate Meteor Islands marked our kingdom's westward extent: beyond them lay only open water and what was labeled on maps as the Edge of the Known World. “I'm not the right person to ask," I said, to qualify my response. “But aren't they all fishermen? Do any fishing boats use coal?"

Her eyes blazed, and gave her sharp grin a dangerous edge. “You know, you might just as well ask if there's a naval detachment in the Meteor Islands, if you're going to pose silly questions like that."

“I'm assuming there isn't?"

“We rotate a ship out of Port Tarmett—mostly to punish captains who've fallen out of favor. No, major, there is no naval detachment in the Meteors, and no good reason for one. Strangely, pirates don't show much interest in plundering salted herring."

“What do they want the coal for, then?"

She shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. I spent most of my day pouring tea, until Lord Ashenar found an excuse to leave and I stood in for him to answer questions. I find it as curious as you, doubtless, that none of them asked the ones you did. Ah, well—it's done now. How was your day?"

“Less troubling. Prince Enthar was giving a small performance."

“Oh? You were invited to that?"

“Queen Ansha requested my company, yes."

The otter laughed. “You two must get along very well, if you're already going to concerts together."

My ear twitched, more sharply than I wanted it to. “What do you mean?"

“If she's asking you along to things of that nature? Enjoying the Yltragh Concerto No. 3 doesn't require an armed escort! But some other kind of companionship, now… and I've seen you in uniform, too. You're very much her type."

I shot her a look. “It's not like that."

I didn't like the sound of her laugh—as though she knew I'd reacted too strongly. “I don't doubt your decorum. I'm sure it was entirely innocent. Even considering the... precedent, I guess? I'll call it the precedent."

“What do you mean?"

Nothing about Siron's laugh became any more reassuring. If anything, the good humor in her eyes had a decidedly unsettling effect. “You'll find out, I'm sure."

“Not even a hint?"

She rolled her eyes and gave my arm a pat. “If you want to know more, find us someplace private to talk. I can borrow one of the dinghies, how does that sound? We can go for a bit of sailing, and… oh, that look! What is that look for? It's just water, major."

“Yes," I said, clearing my throat. “Still, if you're not willing to say it on dry land, maybe I'll… wait and see."

“Of course. Well, if your curiosity gets the better of you, you know where to find me."

I didn't know what to make of the implication. Ansha and I had, after all, known each other for several months. It was natural that we'd become somewhat closer. The affection might not have been anything more than that.

Lieutenant Commander Yanisca hinted at something else, though, which was enough to undo the hard work that had gone into previously dismissing my doubts. The mention of precedent, for one.

But Siron could just be teasing me. She'd joked when we first met about the proclivities of the nobility before, hadn't she? When K'nSullach prompted me for a summary of the events, I left out anything but the simple details of the orchestra.

Politics. It's all the politics you don't understand, I told myself. I was in unfamiliar territory, navigating the rules of a society completely alien to me. This, surely, was nothing more than another example of that.

***

There were plenty of such examples to be found. Ansha invited me to join her for tea the next day, because—in her explanation—she needed someone 'neutral' to fill out the meeting. The two princes were there as well, keeping to themselves. I stayed silent, and let Ansha talk with Ilia Ruovan, the Duchess of Lora.

Eventually the ebb and flow of the conversation simply washed over me, particularly when much of it focused on the tea itself. After that, on a painting Ansha heard the duchess had commissioned. After that, on the nature of vineyards.

“I'm very happy you and your son will join my boys on that hunting expedition. It's good to have someone their own age, of course. A shame the duke could not join them as well. He conveyed his regrets."

“He conveys them again," Ruovan assured the queen.

“It wasn't your doing, was it?" the doe asked teasingly. “I had that discussion with Hal many times. It's dangerous—you'd be right to keep him from it. Unless it wasn't his desire in the first place, and I'd take no offense at that."

“No, no. He wanted to go, and I wanted him to go. He needs the distraction. It's only… obviously, with the affair on Alethna, my husband's attention is occupied."

Queen Ansha looked up. “What's going on in Alethna?"

“Oh. My apologies. If you haven't heard, then I certainly don't mean to trouble you." She took a small teacake, gripping it between her claws so that no crumbs found their way to her fur. “I read the scryers think it will be a lovely late-summer… we absolutely must consider inviting the Teppin orchestra back for the festival, after the hunting season is over. Such a delight, that."

“Yes," the doe agreed. “But what of Alethna?"

“It is no great matter. Do you suppose the scryers tell us only what we want to hear? Or have they learned by now, to interpret the seasons as well as their clouded mirrors?"

“Ilia, please. You wouldn't have mentioned it without cause."

The Duchess of Lora glanced towards the princes, who didn't appear to be paying attention. “I did not want to unsettle your children. But… perhaps they're old enough to hear these things, anyway. There's a sickness in the herds. As there was last year, but somehow over the winter it worsened substantially. Every flock on Cailnel took ill. They had to be destroyed."

“Is it that bad on Alethna, too?"

“Not yet. My husband prevailed upon the governor of Ara-Lorastarn to ensure that every ship in or out of the harbor is inspected. We believe it's too late to save the flocks in northern Alethna without taking drastic action. But if the quarantine holds, the shepherds in the lowlands might survive."

“Does the duke have what he needs to ensure the quarantine?"

“Paying for it has proven to be difficult," the duchess said. She took a delicate sip of her tea, each movement precise and choreographed. “I really do not mean to trouble you, Ansha. You know it's always something with us Raghish folk."

“This seems more than 'something,' my friend. We'll figure out a way to help."

The duchess shook her head. You don't have to, she insisted, and I couldn't tell whether the entire conversation had been scripted and it was all an act, or whether she genuinely cared about the island's shepherds less than she did the schedule of the Teppin orchestra.

It was not mentioned again before the Duchess of Lora left. But, with Ilia Ruovan gone, Ansha furrowed her brow. “What would Alethna be without wool and mutton, major?"

I knew nothing about the island at all, except that it was the second-largest in the lands governed by the Raghish princess Chavan, after Ailaragh itself. Before hearing the duchess say it aloud, I'd always thought the largest city on Alethna was called 'Starnara,' not 'Ara-Lorastarn'—the latter, apparently, its Raghish name.

Ailaragh's sense of independence was nothing like that of the eastern border provinces, but they kept their own dialect. Even in the Aultlands, Aernian unity was more a matter of legend than everyday reality.

Queen Ansha stirred at her tea for a minute or so, then raised her paw. Immediately one of her ladies-in-waiting rushed over. “Please schedule a meeting between myself and the Arkenprincess Chavan. It's extremely urgent that we talk."

“Yes, Your Highness." The soft-featured dog shrank, stammered. “But, well, she—"

“A problem, Siwa?"

“She is not here at the moment. She's relaxing at her winter residence—I don't—I don't know this officially, just, um—it's supposed to be private," the dog added, glancing at me.

“Major Laner hears nothing. Who's handling her affairs? The prince?"

“Yes, Your Highness. Prince Tunly."

“Then a meeting with the prince will have to suffice. See to it," Queen Ansha ordered.

She drank the rest of her tea, breaking the silence that followed only with a sigh. Her head turned; her eyes swept the lush gardens. Neither as ornate nor as extensive as King Chatherral's, the small park was nevertheless every bit as gorgeous. Watching her, I saw it, too: the impossibly brilliant green, and the color splashed from perfectly kept roses.

And nothing about Tabisthalia, or the Iron Kingdom beyond. “I hadn't even heard about it." Her voice was low—she was talking to herself as much as to any of us. “How did I not hear of it?"

“Because it doesn't matter, mother," Cædor spoke up. “It's leagues and leagues away, anyhow."

“But did you hear what she said? The whole flock is at risk."

Cædor shrugged. “They're not the only ones with sheep."

“And what of the shepherds?" Ansha demanded.

“It will take them years to rebuild. We learned about the Stumbling Plague from 620 to 626 in school." So Prince Enthar, too, had been paying attention to the conversation. “Between starvation and flight, the population didn't recover until the early 8th century."

“And?" Cædor's scoff was immediate and reflexive. “What did they learn? The Raghish are uncivilized. If they can't keep their flocks alive, I certainly don't see how that becomes our problem."

“Because they're Aernians, too, Dunn Cædor," his mother snapped. “It's not a problem, it's what you do for your own people. They're our responsibility."

“And we'd only be showing weakness to rescue them from themselves. Chavan fights father every chance she has in the Old Council. She hasn't come begging for help because she knows she doesn't deserve it. Simple as that."

Notwithstanding, Ansha's resolve did not waver. Prince Tunly was staying nearby, and the queen ordered me to come with her as soon as Siwa returned to tell her the prince was waiting. Cædor and Enthar remained behind; I found a soldier of the Guard and passed on Ansha's order that they be escorted back to their rooms.

Queen Ansha waited for me to finish taking care of those instructions, and then we set off. “It's not that I'm worried," she said. “The apartment isn't far away. But you wouldn't let me go by myself anyway, would you?"

“I would not be serving you faithfully if I did, no."

“And Ivra would be upset if I was out without my chaperone." She rolled her eyes and set out at a brisk pace down Kenley Hill to an ornate building that turned out to be the apartments in question.

The impression I'd been given by that word was severely mistaken. Prince Tunly's 'apartment' spanned the two uppermost floors of one of the buildings. The prince was waiting in one of them, which looked out towards the river.

Panes of real glass, polished into near invisibility, shielded us from the weather and the heat of the day. The glass alone cost more than half the buildings in the city—but Ansha made straight for Prince Tunly, and I resolved not to stare at the display of opulence.

Tunly rose to meet us. “This was an unexpected pleasure, Your Majesty. You don't often talk to myself or Princess Chavan alone."

“An unfortunate oversight. In this case, I wanted to make myself available to you. How can we be of assistance?"

The bear stared unwaveringly at her. “With what?"

“Do you need money? Soldiers? My husband can direct the Royal Army to help with the quarantine. We should do whatever it takes so that this doesn't become a crisis."

Prince Tunly remained impassive. “You refer to the reports of sickness in Alethnian sheep. The Old Council has been informed. They have declined to volunteer action, and we have declined to ask."

“I was told the flocks on Cailnel are completely gone, and the highlands of Alethna are next. Is that not true?"

“Your Majesty, I cannot say whether it is true that you were told something. I'm certain that you were, if that is your recollection. And now, I am telling you that there is no problem that requires your assistance on Cailnel, or on Alethna."

“But you mentioned it to the Old Council."

“Solely in the context of accounting for a slight decline in tax revenues paid to the Lodestone Sovereign this year, Your Majesty. The Old Council agreed to adjust what we owe to the treasury. The matter ends there."

I saw the way Ansha tensed. Prince Tunly was an imposing man, and well older than her—but she rallied, straightening herself up. “The matter ends where I say it does. A problem in Ailaragh is a problem for the Iron Kingdom. If we can help…"

“Your husband—my king—is the sovereign authority in this empire," Tunly growled. “But Ailaragh is its own power, and we can manage our own affairs. We're not your children, and Chavan is not merely your subject. Her will has guided Ailaragh through far worse than a few sick sheep. Now, I appreciate your concern, but I must excuse myself. This was a most unexpected meeting."

He did not 'excuse himself,' in the sense of leaving the room, but Ansha said nothing further and we made our way back to the street. She gave the top floors of the building a passing glance over her shoulder, then started walking again.

“Cædor's correct in one way: they're obstinate, and it shows in how they guard their independence. Ailaragh learned the wrong lesson from the Harvest Rising." The doe shook her head fiercely. “Or perhaps we did."

The Borderlands responded to demands on their grain by revolting, she explained, and the settlement that ended the brief war traded half the March's crop—once—for the promise that any future deal would be negotiated directly with the Landsmoot, instead of simply asserted as the king's right.

“And now the arkenprincess thinks the Old Council can be bullied into yielding authority to the local rulers—like her. Particularly if she shows no weakness. And the Council will go along with it, because they think they called the March's bluff."

“How?"

“They never made it past their borders. They never crossed the Tins River, and our advisors told the Council that they couldn't have done so. They paid restitution, and they gave us the grain, and nobody on the Council was willing to see making the harvest negotiable as a major concession… at least, not one worth fighting over. As far as they're concerned, it's just a formality, because if the Landsmoot tries it again… oh, this time, this is the time we'll punish them."

“You don't think it will be."

“Chavan is willing to sacrifice her own people for a reason, Aric. She's using them to purchase the Old Council's silence. If she admitted to a crisis on Alethna, and the Council did act, there might be consequences for the government."

“And it is not worth, ah… forcing that admission yourself? The evidence is out there, right? That can't be argued with."

Ansha laughed ruefully, patting my arm. “So naïve, Aric. No, it's not that simple. The real shame is: how can we be so powerful, and yet so completely unable to help them? And half the people inside the Iron Hall know nothing about what's beyond it—and they care even less. It's all meaningless to them. They're just wasting time until the next festival..."

She stopped short. We were back on palace grounds, and I could see nothing that might have caused her to halt so abruptly. I cocked my head. “Your Majesty?"

“Festivals, Aric. Next year is the fortieth anniversary of my husband's coronation. What if we had the celebration on Alethna?"

“I don't know, ma'am."

I didn't have to know: Ansha was only using me as a sounding board. A celebration on Alethna would remind Aernians of Chatherral's common touch, and bring his entourage to a less-traveled part of the kingdom. It showed that he cared for more than the great cities of the northwestern provinces, and the riches of Tabisthalia itself.

Of course, a proper location would need to be chosen on the island, and that might require significant investments to improving it. This had nothing at all to do with any agricultural crisis, and everything to do with pure deference to the Lodestone Sovereign. Under such a guise, the Old Council would see no reason to hold back funding.

“It's only logical, because he'd just be repaying that old favor to Lord Pallath. And if we announce it now," the doe continued, heedless of my ignorance over who the lord in question was, “there'll be a year to talk about it. A year for every Raghish noble to jockey for the king's ear—they may not like him, Aric, but they won't pass up that opportunity, believe me."

She threw her arms around me, gave me a hug, and hastened off to speak with the king. Most of what she'd said remained completely meaningless, as far as I was concerned. Names of dukes, and favors, and obscure ridings—it was all so much confusion.

Politics remained outside my area of concern. I debriefed K'nSullach on the day's events, and the Border Collie gave me a look that said she was no more clear on what the queen had planned than I. “I don't even know who Lord Pallath is, major."

“I feel… lost."

“I don't blame you. But as long as it doesn't cause trouble…"

“Will I know when it does, ma'am?"

She shook her head softly, and offered no answer.

***

Nara—Lady Suttin—had become Ansha's favored lady-in-waiting, and I'd seen her regularly in the Iron Hall. “Her Majesty is occupied today," the vixen told me; I realized that though I knew her face, I'd never heard her speak before.

She understands that we're 'in public,' I thought, smiling inwardly. No point in saying anything more than absolutely necessary. “She doesn't need me, then, ma'am?"

“No, major. A quiet lunch has been arranged in the harbor. Her Majesty instructed me to convey her desire that you enjoy a free afternoon. She wishes to see you next tomorrow morning."

Even with no official duties, I could find plenty to occupy my time. Back at Cassalmure I checked to make sure my uniform was in good condition, finished a few official reports I'd been postponing, and wrote a long-overdue letter to my family.

By late evening, hungry, I went to the mess hall before it closed. Only a few of the Royal Guard were still there. I didn't recognize any of them, though truthfully I hadn't spent much time with any of my fellow soldiers at the fort. Business at the Iron Hall generally kept me occupied.

Those that I'd met struck me as living up to the worst of the rumors I'd heard—political appointees and aristocrats—and I was already coming to avoid the latter for the sake of my temperament. I ate quickly, and by myself. But, on heading for the door, I heard someone call over to me.

The voice came from a fellow wolf, sitting with a bear at a table close to where the kegs of beer were kept. The wolf waved for me to take a seat. “You're new, right, major? I've only seen you around a few times—spend most of your time on Kenley Hill?"

I nodded to her, and did her the courtesy of sitting. “Yes. I really only sleep at the barracks. And I've only done that since an… unpleasant incident a few weeks ago. I'll be moving back to the Iron Hall soon, I imagine."

“Could do worse than that! I'm Valmer Wainsmet—commander of the flying company. This is Sarkal Ondaris, our supply officer. The beer is his. You should have some."

“It's not really mine," the bear said. “I just selected the brewery and arranged for transport."

“He's being modest. Captain Ondaris is also the Baron Toller. Tollers invented bitter gold, according to Ondaris—Adleyside just stole it from them. It really isn't bad, though," she promised, so I poured myself a mug and joined them. “So what do you do? Are you a guard for the royal family?"

“For Queen Ansha, yes."

“Cargal'th. What's she like? No, no." The wolf caught herself. “You must hear that all the time. I won't force you to explain again. Do you enjoy your work?"

“Well enough, yes. You? What is the 'flying company'? Balloons?"

“Not that interesting, I'm afraid—"

“But we're trying," Ondaris interjected. “If we can find the right business to work with. That's really always the trouble, if you ask me, trying to find reliable concerns with reliable men these days."

Captain Wainsmet hid her weary expression behind her mug—I gathered conversation with Ondaris was often of this nature. “Always. Colonel K'nSullach organized a flying company to be able to put guards where she needs them on short notice. Captain Sergid always has some troops at the Iron Hall, as you might've seen, and Captain Cavell has some more at Cassalmure. But if somebody needs to… I don't know, guard a party at one of the prince's schools? In that case, I have about thirty soldiers ready to move at once."

“And my wagons," Ondaris added. “The wagons don't belong to you."

“That's true. Captain Ondaris is very helpful with that."

“We're all doing our jobs. We're professionals, in any case." The bear took a contented swig of beer, modestly oblivious to the wolf's tone. “So where do you hail from, Major Laner? Are you from Marrahurst? You sound like you could be from Marrahurst."

“Eastern Overkiath, near the Marrahurstshire border," I corrected. “A fairly small farming town."

“Not miners?" the bear asked.

“No. The family has an orchard."

Captain Ondaris nodded. “Oh, same. We have a few hundred acres in Durnland—Toller is the largest town in the Aversheal riding. My father isn't eager to give up control of the plantation, not while he's still in good health. He won't even give me my share yet. Is it like that with you?"

“My brother will take ownership of the orchards. That's why I enlisted. It was the only way I saw out of Stolvan."

“Enlisted?" Captain Ondaris seemed a little confused. Out of his sight, the other captain shook her head and buried her muzzle in her mug.

“I joined the Cahied Fusiliers. Before this assignment, I was in Dhamishaya."

“The frontier? That must've been exciting. I've never been, myself. My father would not have been pleased to find me in a barbaric place like Dhamishaya, I don't mind telling you. Tabisthalia suits him just fine. What will you do when you're done here?"

“I don't know. Whatever the Army tells me, I suppose."

“Bit of a queer idea, isn't it?" Ondaris didn't appear to mean it judgmentally; he was, if anything, genuinely perplexed by the idea. “Does your father not object?"

I told him that I didn't think so; I hadn't asked, and it didn't really matter. I wasn't about to inherit the orchards, and I didn't see many other opportunities in the farms of Overkiath. Queer, Ondaris repeated.

“When you were in the Fusiliers," Wainsmet suddenly spoke up—to rescue me from the bear, I imagined, given the way she locked eyes with me. “You spent all your time at Marskirk?"

“Most of it, yes."

“You didn't get to enjoy Bran's Bark, then, did you?" I narrowed my gaze, and the wolf flashed an abrupt grin. “You did? I think that's our fault."

“How?"

“We all but rebelled. Sod the bloody weight, you know? They took them back from us. I heard it was going south to the frontier."

“It did."

Captain Wainsmet's grin widened. “Privileges of being closer to home."

“What are you talking about?" Ondaris asked.

I kept glaring at Wainsmet, and she kept grinning back at me. Finally the wolf chuckled. “In '93, we all got new bedrolls, which were supposed to be lighter. And they were, but something about the fabric made it feel like… well, like bark. It was bloody awful. And we couldn't even figure out what it was."

“'Bedroll'?"

“Someone in our unit knew Bran Tasher," I growled. “We were collecting money to have him furloughed so he could go beat some sense into the bastard when the war broke out."

“I think he's under protection now." Wainsmet laughed. “Sorry for making you take them. Sark, a bedroll's what you sleep on when you're campaigning."

Ondaris cocked his head. “On the ground?"

“When you realize it's softer, yes, the ground." I remembered the rumor had been that Tasher knew someone in the royal procurement office, and that was how his firm landed the contract for a hundred thousand of the canvas torture implements.

“What about the barracks?"

“Campaigning," Wainsmet reminded him. “We were lucky we didn't get them before the Sunless River expedition."

She was still smiling, but the phrase caught my ear. “Gods, were you there?"

“The whole time," she confirmed, and her smile dropped. “The 12th was supposed to go to Marskirk. By the time we were reconstituted, though, there were… other reasons not to send us."

“Other reasons?" She shrugged at Ondaris's question, and the bear nodded carefully. “Well. I guess at least it's quiet here, now. I suppose it's late, too. I should finish up my work and get to bed."

I figured that meant he was uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation and, indeed, Wainsmet kept quiet until he'd left. The wolf tilted her head towards the barrel. “What do you say, major? Another?"

“Sure." I took her mug, and fetched us another round. “So you're from the coast? Somewhere in Yolleffshire?"

“Mm-hm, yes. Gel Kordeth is about thirty miles inland from Yolleff. I can't stand the area, but you know what? It wouldn't surprise me if you think that about Overkiath, and I always wanted to visit there."

“It's not much, captain. Farms. Hills. Mines. Hills with mines. Hills with farms."

She chuckled. “I imagine. But it's personal, for me. The first time I fell in love was with a highland girl who made it sound quite wonderful. She went back there. I didn't, of course."

“Before or after the army?"

“Before. A merchant's daughter. Like you, I aimed to escape. Like you…" Wainsmet took a deep breath, sighed, and downed a respectable helping of beer. “But this is escape, right?"

“The sleeping is more comfortable."

“True. I'm not really sorry about sending you the bedrolls." The admission came with a friendly half-smile; a teasing, sideways glance. Her voice lowered. “Did you really have to use them?"

“We did, yes. Gods—and here I'd put it out of my mind. Almost the worst damn part of that whole mess." I cracked a smile of my own and, thankfully, she laughed with me. “May I ask a… foolish question?"

“A bedroll is—"

“Not that. When were you bound for Marskirk? We never heard anything about that. And when things got worse, I thought I heard every rumor about who was coming to save us."

“It happened very quickly, major, that's why. We were back up to full strength, at Mirhall, and when we learned Lord Sidley was dead they straightaway started us packing. And then—the day before we were to ship out—they stopped it. By that point the Frontier Corps was leading the campaign for the government—Earl Coltharden and Viscount Gyldrane."

“Did that matter?"

“Of course they didn't say, major, and they wouldn't say—and I wouldn't even begin to speculate."

“I see."

“For unrelated reasons, the thought of the grain that went into this beer reminds me that the 12th Light fought in the Harvest Rising."

As had Lords Coltharden and Gyldrane—on the side of the March. Improper, contentious conclusions might have been drawn had their erstwhile foes been sent to reinforce the Dhamishaya garrisons. I took a sip of the beer. “You were in the 12th then, still?"

“Never left the regiment until I joined the Guard. The Royal Army even sent me back to it after I was commissioned, and I can't tell you how thankful I am for that."

“Oh?"

“You didn't join from an academy, right? Not like Sarkal Ondaris? You said you enlisted, so how'd you wind up joining the elite ranks of the nobility?"

“It was a field commission, during the Southern Civil War."

“That's what I assumed," Wainsmet said. “So you understand. I'd been leader of my platoon for two weeks before we joined the Sunless River expedition. I really think if I hadn't known them—if they hadn't known me—we wouldn't have made it out. Being able to trust one another just mattered far too much."

And indeed, I said, I understood—though probably not enough. Bad as Dhamishaya had been, there was no way it compared to the Dalrath. Fighting beneath the canopy of trees five hundred feet tall, over ground no sun had touched for centuries? Hearing voices in the darkness—distant, before a barrage of arrows from an unseen foe?

It was all enough to put me on edge even in the barracks, with a pint of beer, fifteen years, and the walls of Cassalmure between me and the possibility. Captain Wainsmet swallowed heavily. “Wondering what it was like?"

“I can't help it."

“Worse," she assured me. “Whatever you imagine of the Dalrath, it's worse than that. Why do you think we haven't been back? But…" She rolled her eyes and gave a short, jerking shake of her head. “I wouldn't say it to Sarkal, and he wouldn't understand, anyway, but I think you might. We fought damn well, major. I'm proud of the 12th Light, and every single person person I served with. It's not often you're lucky enough to see their like."

I had a suspicion that I could guess the answer, but I posed the question anyway: “Did you volunteer for the Royal Guard, or did the colonel ask for you by name?"

“The colonel." Wainsmet finished her beer, looking towards the keg thoughtfully. “Be here a while?"

I shrugged, and she went to refill our mugs. “I take it there's a story?" I asked, when she returned. “About why Colonel K'nSullach asked for you?"

Wainsmet sat back down and, after a moment, laughed quietly. “It wasn't for the Dalrath, let's say. She wanted to talk about the Harvest Rising, and that surprised me. She asked about the action I, ah… I was decorated for. And… what I could figure was she hadn't requested me. I figured somebody else had, and she wanted to see me apologize or something—because you know, she said straightaway that she was from the borderlands."

“But?"

“No. Nothing. She told me she was impressed by my improvisation. She said this would be a challenging assignment, and she looked forward to working with me. That was two years ago. But I think she might've been kind of… perceptive."

“How's that?"

“We had an hour's warning that a militia column was headed our way. But we managed: dug in, made a barricade of our wagons. We lost our lieutenant in the first ten minutes. Just before we made contact, he whispered to me that we wouldn't be reinforced. I mean… what he said was: nobody's coming to save us. So we saved ourselves, and… sometimes it does feel like that, here. We're not being shot at—thank the gods. But there aren't many we can count on. Nobody's coming to save us."

“Is there something they need to save us from?"

The wolf's gentle smile was mirthless. “Do you truly not know the answer?"

“I'm trying to keep my faith about me."

“That, then. That would be why she asked for you." She held my gaze, pointedly, and just as pointedly chuckled. “But the evening is too nice for this, major. So's the beer. Tell me—how was it in the colony? Anything decent?"

“For beer? Gods, no. Only when a ship from the north came in. They drink… alat, they call it. It's made of southern rum, and some sort of sweet juice? It's vile, even when it's cold."

“And the girls? Is it true they know magic?"

“We weren't supposed to interact with the locals. Certainly not to fraternize in that sort of fashion. I'm sure K'nSullach also asked me here for my decorum."

Her eyes narrowed. “So it's true?"

She'd picked up on my tone. I sighed heavily, as if it had been an imposition, and took a grateful drink of the beer. “So, you have to understand: our intelligence was always bloody awful. I'd heard rumors of this… parlor, in the Saffron Quarter—always second- or third-hand rumors, as you can imagine. Our captain, knowing I spoke the language, told me to investigate."

“You speak Dhamishese?"

“Ni sahan kao svati charna. That means: 'I speak a little of the language.' I used to know more—and my pronunciation is horrid, trust me. But me and another soldier, we went looking. And eventually, we found it. A lot of drinking, a lot of smoke, and… on the stage, this girl. A spotted cat—a leopard, I think—dressed in flowing robes and a gorgeous silk scarf. She holds out her paw, gesturing that we should give her some money, and this corporal—in the interests of research, you understand—"

“Naturally," Wainsmet interrupted, grinning.

“Gave her a coin. She took it and grabbed her scarf—started winding it around her paw, slower and slower, watching us… until she snapped her free fingers and the scarf vanished. The coin, too. A bunch of sparks, and then… nothing."

“Nice trick."

“Corporal Marn looks at me: 'sergeant, what do you suppose would happen if we gave her a full pound?'"

“So you did."

“Naturally," I echoed, in the same tone she'd used. “How else would I know she was spotted?"

“And when you say you 'gave her a full pound'—do you mean sixty-four shillings, or…"

“Privileged information, captain. Frontier intelligence is too valuable to trust just anyone with."

“Of course. Sir." The other wolf smirked, sipping at her beer. “So did the spots go all the way between her legs? Or just to the hips? Help me understand the topography. For important military reasons—I need to know the lay of the land."

“Rather crass thing to call someone you've never even met, don't you think?"

Wainsmet's composure faltered. She bit back a laugh: “Spots or no?"

“No. No spots between her legs, captain."

“You always do wind up disappointed, in those sorts of places. Very well, my turn. My first time on leave, I wound up in a very similar situation…"

***

Ansha smiled, setting her book down and pointing to the cushion next to her. “Please, sit down. I missed you, Aric."

“Was the lunch pleasant, though?"

“Yes, it was, in many ways. Tedious, mind you, in other ways, but no matter about that. It was a necessity. I was discussing what we talked about—having the 40th anniversary ceremonies hosted by Ailaragh, on Alethna. Everyone agrees it's a grand idea."

“That's good—so it will happen?"

“Well, the arkenprincess might not be happy when she learns it, but everyone in attendance seemed so enthusiastic that I think she'll have to agree. Rumors were starting to spread about the… the unfortunate illness. And, of course, this kind of commitment from the Lodestone Sovereign himself puts any stories about that in context, surely."

“That's good, too."

“Yes! My husband is busy for the rest of the day, so his official approval will have to wait, but I'm sure he'll give it to me. Gods, but it's good fortune how quickly this has all taken shape!"

She grinned. The doe was quite obviously pleased with herself, happy that everything was going according to plan despite her circuitous means of bringing aid to the island. Listening to her recount a lunch she herself had described as tedious, I had a clear picture of how in her element she had, nonetheless, been.

At least, I would not have known how to arrange the seating chart to minimize challenging questions. I would not have known who to invite for the afternoon's entertainment, so that the appearance of a Baric wind quartet might put Lady Callen in an agreeable mood.

“I wish you could've been there. It might've raised… questions. Nobody else brought… well, they'd call them 'servants,' but that's not fair at all, is it?"

Of course I was—after a fashion—but she didn't want me to say that. “It seems like it was for the best that you carried it out as you saw fit, Ansha."

“I know, yes. And I'm sure you appreciated a day to relax. But I did miss you. And you're not a mere servant."

“I appreciate you saying so."

“I would like to make it clear, Aric." She reached out, and put her paw lightly over my own. “I hope I have not given you the wrong impression about my intent."

“In… in what manner, ma'am?"

“In the manner that I am quite fond of your company. You're a capable and very dedicated guard, and a confidant. But of course, it would be unreasonable to deny other aspects of our relationship."

“And I do, ah… naturally, I do wish to continue serving you well, Ansha. Hopefully none of these, ah, other aspects"—I was trying to choose my words as carefully as possible, and echoing her own seemed the safest course. “Ah—hopefully they do not cause problems."

The doe smiled, and her fingers stroked slowly over mine, from the knuckles to the worn clawtips resting on the ironed fabric of my uniform. “There's no reason for them to. There's no reason to see anything about our shared experience as troubling."

“I see."

“And I hope…"

Ansha turned, so that she was facing me. She worked her fingers between mine, and leaned closer. If I did not wish to look away, there was no alternative but to hold my position as the distance shrank until her delicate nose was all but touching mine.

Her voice became gentle. Her eyes danced. “That you do not mistake my meaning," she finished, at last.

“Your Majesty?" The soft voice came before a gentle knock at the door.

Queen Ansha startled, and sat back on the sofa. “Enter."

Lady Suttin stepped inside carefully, and bowed gently to the doe. “His Majesty says that he would like to speak with you."

“I thought his schedule was full?"

“He cleared it, ma'am."

“I see. Well, I'd better go see what he wants, in that case. Do you have an idea? Is it about planning for the Alethna affair?"

“No, ma'am, I do not believe so. It is more likely to be a social matter. A carriage arrived, via the Harradunian road, and bearing the standard of Lord Rothuring."

“The cape? I suppose I should attend to them, in that case." She rose, pausing at the door to whisper something into Suttin's ear.

The vixen nodded. “If you're certain, then… yes. Very well, ma'am."

“Quite certain, Nara. Good day."

Lady Suttin closed the door, waited for me to speak, and decided from the ensuing silence that I was not going to be the one to do so first. “I have been… asked to keep you busy, sir."

My ears twitched, for everything was still slightly reeling. “To keep me busy?"

Nara nodded; the more I looked at her smile the more I decided it was less demure than simply subtle. “That was Her Majesty's request. So: in what fashion would your attention be most easily captured?"

“If she does not need me, I can return to Cassalmure. That's what I did yesterday."

The vixen crossed the room to sit down next to me, smoothing out her dress. “I know. However, that's not what she told me to do. She told me to keep you busy. She did not tell me to release you from your duties."

“I see."

“Do you? There are, of course, many ways of keeping busy. What might occupy a gentleman from the west would not necessarily please, for example, a noblewoman of the northern hills of Laddachshire."

“I'm neither of those."

“So you are not. But you might understand what I mean."

If there was some meaning, it eluded me. I gave the phrase some thought. My mouth was open to admit defeat when it occurred to me that the only town I knew of in Laddachshire was Eybridge. And, further, that I knew that town only by way of Peri. My ears pinned again.

Nara smiled. “Indeed."

“Where are you from? Not Laddachshire… the Aultlands, right?"

“Yes. I'm from Hutwick. Suthian is a very old barony, close to Rothuring."

“So," I ventured. “Presumably your experience and demeanor is closer to that of the west than anyone from the Midlands."

She laughed, so briefly and so quietly that I might've missed it. “Yes. You're quite good at circumlocution, sir. Were it not from your accent, you might be from the west as well. Is this an engaging hobby, or should we stop talking in circles?"

“I don't know what the queen wants. I don't know why she left you here with me. I could go back to the barracks on my own. I could wander the galleries of the Iron Hall, for that matter. None of this was really… necessary."

“'This'? If you had to look at something, you'd rather it be paintings?"

I gave an embarrassed cough before I could help myself. “I didn't mean it like that. I wasn't trying to say anything about you, specifically."

“But you think that I am being offered up in the role of… mm, what would the best word be? Entertainment?"

I declined to answer.

“You think it is a possibility that I, a lady of good breeding but conspicuously absent spouse to be attached to—a lady in the prime of her life—might be offered to you. A commoner, albeit one who's been taught sufficient politeness not to exceed his boundaries when among his betters. Strong, in impeccable shape—quite handsome, really, particularly in uniform. The kind of commoner they really do make those uniforms for, I think, where it's so terribly distracting to think of what a true delight it would be to learn how much more handsome you are out of uniform."

“I… do not really…"

The vixen laughed again, patting my thigh gently. “Eloquent, at times. Perhaps later, after everything more exciting has been finished? Still, a wolf—and we do hear things about wolves, do we not? About their energy, and their thrilling penchant for dominance when it's appropriate. And, naturally, that the rumors around hybrids remain just that: rumors. Here you are, a dutiful soldier sworn to serve your country, and certainly discreet enough never to speak of anything…"

“I don't think I really understand what you're getting at."

Supporting herself with the paw on my thigh, Nara pushed herself up to whisper into my ear. “I am not the one being offered, Mr. Laner."

“Oh."

She settled down, and smoothed out her dress again. “I hope this is not terribly disappointing to you."

“It's more… confusing, than anything else. I'm sorry for my assumptions."

“Don't be. I'm sorry for having to be so blunt." Her paw had returned to her own lap, where her fingers were folded demurely. “Or I'm not used to speaking so bluntly."

“We're 'in public,' as Her Majesty would say. I suppose I shouldn't ask you why I'm being offered?"

Nara's head turned slightly, her smile delicate and fleeting. “Indeed. At times, the queen desires privacy. At times—this is not to leave the room, Mr. Laner—but at times, she also desires that there be no witnesses who might repeat things. I might, for example, retire to a salon and incautiously let slip that the queen sought His Majesty's blessing for something. Perhaps another lady at the salon might then… discreetly remove herself, to pass that word to others."

“Why?"

“I can't even hazard a guess, Mr. Laner, except that my family owes fealty to Lord Rothuring. It does not matter: the queen expects that I remain here, and to… find such ways as you might offer to keep myself busy. She has… somewhat misread my habits, but that is no great matter."

With her habits having been 'misread,' I felt better about my own reservations. The vixen had what she described as 'acceptable' social obligations in the mid-afternoon, and we passed the intervening hours without incident.

And then, trying to figure out how to ask Ivra K'nSullach what, exactly, was going on, I returned to Cassalmure. I hoped that the colonel would know, at least, but I did not want to say too much in case it proved to be impolitic.

If the Border Collie was surprised to see me, she said nothing about it, only: “you were scheduled with the queen until this evening, I thought?"

“I was released from service early. Her Majesty went to meet with the king, and she asked me to remain behind. One of her ladies-in-waiting kept me company."

Colonel K'nSullach nodded; this fact was apparently too unremarkable to record in her log. “Lady Suttin? I see. Mr. Couthragn says she's dependable, if unambitious. Was it a pleasant afternoon?"

“Reid's Keep and a discussion on the history of Tabisthalia, ma'am. I suppose it wasn't bad. The queen is busy tomorrow, as well."

“Yes. I've seen her schedule. There's no reason to keep you at the Iron Hall—she won't be there. Take it as a leave day, major—and the one following it, from what I understand. Her Majesty will be completely occupied. And for once, you should actually relax."

“Yes, ma'am. Ma'am, I have a question. I can't gauge Queen Ansha's intent, exactly. In the past, she asked me to deliver or collect a letter, or a parcel—pass a message along. The last few weeks—since I returned to duty, indeed—it's less of that. The prince's recital, for one. And the discussion over tea with the Duchess of Lora…"

The Border Collie thought briefly, and shrugged. “She likes you. That's good, Major Laner. It's important you have a good relationship, particularly with everything that's going on. This Ailaragh thing…"

“Yes, ma'am. It's only that I don't… I don't know how to respond to everything she asks of me."

“Well, your responsibilities are quite broad."

“I know. But… how broad? What exactly can she ask of me?"

“Did she try to send you back to the Eastern Quarter?"

“No. She hasn't really ordered me to do anything, it's more… the way she talks."

K'nSullach sighed sharply. “She's the queen, Major Laner. Use your judgment. You're a smart man—that's why I asked for you. Now…" She pulled a folder from a stack of them, opening it; her eyes flitted across the paper. “How much did she say about Alethna? I have a request from the supply depot at Fort Athin that we return any pack mules we're not using, and that we lend them a dozen wagons."

“I heard nothing of that, ma'am." She hadn't really given me an answer. I tried to think of how to ask it again without crossing any lines.

But the Border Collie considered any discussion closed, obviously. “Captain Ondaris suspects the Royal Army may send a detachment across the High Lora to maintain order, but there's nothing suggesting any of the western units are being mustered. You know nothing different?"

“No."

She shut the folder and placed it back on the stack. “Well, keep your ears perked and let me know. That will be all, major."

I didn't think K'nSullach had been purposefully obstructive—I hadn't been clear enough, or she was too distracted with the situation in Ailaragh. Or she had no sense that the queen would attempt anything untoward. That hint, after all, came from Siron Yanisca.

A visit to the docks that evening revealed the otter working late. But, when I said I wanted to talk—and that I had the following day free—her mood brightened immediately. So it was that, late the next morning, I found myself in a tiny, rocking boat with Siron grinning madly at my expression.

“Please, don't kill me."

“Don't worry. The water's quite nice." Siron pushed us away from the pier, then glanced up at the fluttering sail. “So's the wind today, I think. Duck, if you'd be so kind."

When I did so, the otter guided a long wooden spar over my head. The sail was attached to it, and presently it began to fill. I watched this all still bent over, peering carefully out of the corner of my eye.

Satisfied, Siron tied the spar in place and took a seat behind me, at the boat's tiller. “I suppose I should not have assumed that you can swim, Aric?"

“No."

She snickered, lifting her head to take in the puffed sail, its edges snapping crisply, framed by the clear blue sky above. “It's much safer to assume the opposite, given how landbound we are… can't stand it, myself."

“Solid ground?"

“Mm-hm. At least, the sillier parts of its worship."

Even the Iron Kingdom, Siron pointed out, went to sea. Tabisthalia's harbor was filled with ships: fishing boats, freighters—even a few passenger liners, calling in at Aernia's abundant coastal cities.

“It's not that we don't sail, it's that we treat it like it was perverted, somehow. Funny how they're still willing to eat fish, though, isn't it?"

“If you say so. Myself, I prefer Taber's coal."

She scoffed, making a disgusted face. “Gods, you would."

At least it was consistent. The dish wasn't really the province of miners—it took its name from the blackened meat mixed in to the diced potatoes and onions. I wasn't even sure it came from Tabershire. It was common in my hometown, and I thought of it as comfort food.

“Be that as it may, it's good to indulge in the unknown, occasionally. At least experimentally."

“Even that needs to have its limits. I'm trusting you not to drown me."

Siron laughed. She leaned over the side of the boat, trailing her fingers through the water. “If you fall in, I'll rescue you. You should survive that long."

“You can swim, right?"

“Naturally. But I prefer this." She left the tiller and untied the spar, turning the sail until… in truth I didn't know what she was doing. Until the breeze caught it right, apparently, and she was satisfied. I could feel our speed beginning to build.

Siron went back to the tiller, shifting our course away from the banks of the bay. The little boat was all but sprinting, now—gliding along the tops of the waves, the wind in its sail heeling the craft over. I had to raise my voice to be heard. “You're quite sure this is safe?"

“Safe as anything!" the otter called back. She leaned into the wind, closing her eyes to take in the spray that splashed her, beading on her stiff whiskers. “Gods, I miss the water! What would I have to do to teach you?"

“Find a way to ride a horse on it."

She stretched out her arm, trailing her fingers through the water. Spray kicked up behind them, hanging like jewels in the brilliant sun. After half a minute of this, though, she straightened up and adjusted the position of the sail. Our boat slowed down, dropping the sound of the wind to something less deafening. “You landlubbers are impossible," the otter pronounced.

“My apologies?"

The sailor laughed. “You don't mean that, though. You're good company. And you wanted to talk to me about something, didn't you?"

I waited for her to take a seat, facing me across the tiny boat and suddenly grateful for the privacy even though we were completely in the open. “You hinted at something about the queen. Uh, her behavior."

“Yes, well, she has a reputation. You must know—maybe Colonel K'nSullach has told you?"

“Colonel K'nSullach is rather circumspect when it comes to court gossip. I've learned a few things on my own. She's well-read, and fond of the common folk. And interested in magic."

“All of those things are true. But despite her cultured air, and that polite 'common touch,' she's also a bit of a hedonist."

“Really? I didn't get the sense I was liable to find her at the Ralcarry Baths. I was sent to retrieve one of her ladies-in-waiting from being… overly conspicuous there. Queen Ansha certainly didn't approve of that behavior."

The otter snickered, as though I'd said something charming and naïve. “No, she wouldn't be at the baths. She has more sense than that, at least. But she also has a tendency to employ the Royal Guard for rather tawdry affairs."

“That's what why you meant when you said I was her 'type'? The precedent you mentioned?"

“That's what the gossip says. A handsome man with no attachments and a willingness to take orders? And no way of creating untidy loose ends in the line of succession, for that matter." She might've been Lady Suttin, for the subtlety of her implications.

Siron could obviously tell from the change in my expression the realization that was dawning on me. That what appeared to be affection from the queen was, indeed, precisely that. And that I had not been the first, obviously. And that, had we not been interrupted, the kiss would have been merely the beginning.

She didn't know what had happened to my predecessors. “They leave. It's not a scandal or anything. I can speculate, if you want, because I've noticed they tended to the aristocratic. I imagine they became a bit too pushy, and given to stray. Her Majesty wouldn't want that."

Considering Ansha's focus on what was said and done in 'public,' I was inclined to agree. “What should I do?"

“Serve faithfully, I suppose—no?"

“She's the monarch's wife," I protested.

“And you're her subject." Siron dropped her smile, at last, seeing that I was not in especially good humor about the situation. “I'm sorry—I sound flippant. I had assumed you knew. It's not really much of a secret. I guess from your point of view it's less of a hypothetical matter."

“It would definitely be indulging in the unknown."

“Really? You've never—I assumed, as a soldier…"

“Not that. I just mean that it's more… it makes things more complex for me."

The otter nodded, and began to guide our dinghy back towards the docks. “I imagine she doesn't see it that way, major. From what I know, it's rather simpler than that. Maybe you can let it stay that way."

***

I was far from convinced. The situation hardly seemed “simple," and didn't think it was going to become any more so. It's so damn easy for her to say that. Lord Ashenar wasn't inviting her to any private concerts, was he?

The next morning, Colonel K'nSullach summoned me to her office. “Get dressed and report to the Iron Hall immediately. A delegation will arrive in an hour. You're to be there first."

“The queen has asked for me, after all?"

Ivra shook her head. “No. I'm asking for you. It's an envoy from the Carregan Transcontinental Railroad. Probably someone from the family itself, considering how little notice we had."

I nodded. “I'll head over at once, ma'am. Do you know their intent?"

“No. But I believe that you're close enough to Queen Ansha that she'll allow you to remain with her. The relationship you've cultivated could be a helpful one."

There wasn't time for me to clarify, despite the opening Colonel K'nSullach had inadvertently created. By the time I'd put on my uniform, a horse was waiting for me. I made straight for Kenley Hill, dodging around thickening morning traffic.

Ansha smiled at my presence. “This is a pleasant surprise, Major Laner. You were not on the schedule today. He was not, was he, Lady Suttin?"

“No, ma'am. He was not."

“Please give us the room, then." The vixen did so at once, and silently. “Ivra sent you, right?"

“Yes. Something about a—"

“Visitors from the east, yes. Our friends in Stanlira. I don't know what they want." She paused, looking thoughtful. “I don't know how the Royal Guard found out, either, but I'm grateful for it. You'll have a valuable perspective on whatever they have to say."

Valuable. 'Helpful,' as Ivra had put it. I followed Ansha towards the throne room; Nara joined us, remaining silent. King Chatherral was already waiting: the smile on his face told me he felt the meeting would be a pleasant one.

And I had no idea what that meant for the rest of us.

The delegation's arrival was announced a few minutes later: Ithil Carregan, whom I recognized, and a younger fox Ithil introduced as Ennobeck. Both of them ignored everyone but Chatherral. “It's so wonderful to see you again!" The elder Carregan bowed when he said it. Ennobeck did not.

King Chatherral ignored the slight, or didn't notice. “And you as well, my old friend. Your son has grown so handsome… he must be… almost ten, now, isn't it?"

“Thirteen," Ennobeck answered promptly.

“A proper young man, now," was the stag's answer. “You can't imagine my happiness when I received a message you were stopping by. You will join for lunch, won't you? I insist."

“We would love to." As before, Ithil's voice, and his obsequious smile, set me on edge. “And Ennobeck always talks of how he misses his companions. It is not, of course, purely a social visit…"

“It rarely is," Ansha spoke up. “New Jarankyld?"

“Yes. After a fashion. But… well, you see… these are sensitive matters. I'll discuss them with His Majesty. If you don't mind."

Ansha caught the same contempt in the way he accented those words as I. “I do mind. I have a special interest in the South Coast and, of course, in our trade with Jarnshire. You must be aware of that."

“Of course," the fox answered, a little testily. “But it is sensitive."

“Ansha is very wise, and very discreet," Chatherral assured him. “I always value your insight, love. You'll stay—and for lunch, also. Yes."

Ithil Carregan stiffened, tail twitching. “Very well. But what of the others? The soldier is armed—I was asked to leave my escorts outside. I did not argue."

“You think we'd threaten you?"

Chatherral reached over, patting his wife's arm. “No, no, he didn't mean that. It's a friendly discussion. Major… Laner, isn't it? You wouldn't be insulted if we asked for some privacy, would you, my boy?"

“As long as Lady Suttin—and the child—are here, I would remind you that the major's advice is—"

“Dear," Chatherral interrupted, smiling placidly. “You'll be well enough without it. Major—if you please?"

I looked to Ansha. After a long pause, she nodded. I bowed to the pair and made my way outside. Ivra would be displeased—so, probably, would the queen. But His Majesty's word was law, of course. And, as the door closed behind me, it occurred to me he'd asked for no guard of his own at all.

Ithil's “escorts," as the fox had said, were waiting in the hall. A hare and a mongrel with wiry fur and mismatched eyes, they were both clad in steel-grey uniforms. Soldiers, obviously, and officers in my judgment—though I wasn't entirely familiar with the insignia of the Railroad's mercenaries.

“Captain Hastal Hallegan," the hare introduced himself, then pointed to the dog. “Major Tevrey."

“Major Laner. From the Royal Guard. Iron Corps, I assume?"

“Yes." They were unarmed, therefore, unlike me—and, by the way Hallegan kept looking to the sword at my belt, keenly aware of that fact. “I think we saw you with the queen when we were being led here. You're her personal guard?"

“That's right. You're Ithil's?"

“Mr. Carregan? No. We're proper soldiers," Hallegan said. “This is a temporary assignment, and then we're back to active duty. Both of us." Was it only pride I caught in his tone of voice? Or was there also a hint of scorn?

“All three," I answered, curious to see his reaction. “All three of us are 'proper soldiers.' I was south, before this. In Surowa."

Hallegan's eyes flashed. “So it's you, then. You're the one."

“Tal," the dog said gently. “Let's not."

“Convenient. Isn't it, sir? Or insulting. Sure, they'd put him on duty for this. And us without so much as a pistol—I'll have a word with—"

“Captain Hallegan." His tone had sharpened.

“Sir! You remember what Captain Græch said. We don't have to take this kind of—this bloody—"

“Captain. You're dismissed. Speak with the attendant about returning to the wagon. I'll wait here for Ithil and his son."

The hare's jaw trembled. He glared at me fiercely before tearing himself away. “Yes. Very well, sir," he spat, and strode quickly down the hall. One of the palace guards—they must've overheard the commotion—stepped forward to escort him.

Major Tevrey looked at me, saying nothing; I returned his stare. The dog finally sighed. “You'll ask for an explanation, I suppose."

“I can imagine part of what's happened. As for the rest… well, yes. I should hope my confusion is at least well-earned enough to ask for an explanation. Captain Hallegan must've been in Dhamishaya."

“Yes."

“During the rebellion."

“And after. You were at Marskirk. In the 34th Infantry, I think—the Cahied Fusiliers? Someone else is in the 42nd, I recall. Unless I've mixed you two up… in which case, please accept my apologies."

“You haven't. I do have more questions, now."

The dog smiled his understanding of my discomfort. “The Royal Guard's senior officers are public knowledge, major. We were briefed on this before we came here… I think now it must've been for Tal's benefit."

“There's a story," I concluded aloud. “Something that happened in the south?"

“One of our trains was ambushed by the Royal Frontier Corps. Those that survived were taken prisoner. Or, depending on who you ask, held as hostages by the mountain bandits. They were not returned when the fighting stopped. A detachment of the Royal Army found them by happenstance, a month after the treaty was signed. And then, they pressed them into service tearing up the tracks they'd laid down."

“I hadn't heard that, although… it wouldn't have been in my province, either. I do recall the Railroad was supposed to dismantle its infrastructure before leaving, but in general we never saw the Iron Corps."

“You wouldn't have recognized them. A few dozen survived the ambush. Most of them made it through their imprisonment. Eight, eventually, made it back. The viceroy promised that he would investigate."

“But there's not much warmth between the viceroy and the Iron Corps." Jonham, Lord Gyldrane, came from the Aernian March. Before being made viceroy, it was he who had put down the rebellion, and he who had fought the Iron Corps. I could easily guess the result: “Nothing ever came of it."

“No. Though… you could just as easily say there were no consequences on our part, for the Railroad's… for the role they played. We—we played. None of us are without blame." Tevrey let that hang. “Hastal Hallegan is a good soldier, major, and a good man. I hope you can forgive his reaction."

“He thought it was a deliberate provocation?"

“It is a deliberate provocation. The queen isn't happy with King Chatherral's closeness to our enterprises. Someone decided a veteran of the rebellion should be her guard. You don't consider the politics behind it?"

“Not often."

“Really?"

“I don't understand them. I'm just a soldier."

“And they don't teach you? They teach us. I've learned well enough to say: it's a bloody horrid mess, is what it is."

“I've gotten that impression. And I suppose all their teaching never makes it any clearer. Even if tell you it's important."

“It can be. Ithil went on about how the crown wouldn't want to pay us back for garrisoning the bridge over the Chirel's Tooth. Being met by a nobleman with a grudge to lord over us about the Dhamishaya affair seemed like a very obvious, petty slight."

“To what end?"

Tevrey scrutinized my expression. First his eyes narrowed. Then his brow furrowed, and his head tilted. “You really don't understand, do you?"

“No. I told you, Major Tevrey, I'm a soldier. My parents are farmers—I enlisted because it was better than starving. And I learned to be decent enough with tactics, and I can shoot well enough, and I've stared down enough men who want me dead to make understanding them my priority. The Iron Hall is all but a foreign country."

“But as a soldier, you know of the Chirel Bridge, and the New Jarankyld Line."

“Yes. A fairly recent Carregan branch through the Dalrath, crossing the Chirel's Tooth. I don't know the full route, but I believe it runs along the Ostermere. Is that about it?"

“The king wanted that line, and we gave it to him. The floor of that forest hadn't seen light for centuries, major. Trees thick around as a temple—and we blasted a route through them. Fought the natives back, too, and held them off with the camp outnumbered ten-to-one. By rights, it should be one of the proudest moments in Aernian military history."

“Is it not?"

“Not a decade later, the king asked for a railroad in Dhamishaya. This time, other subjects disagreed. They won on the battlefield, which I—well, between us, I'm grateful for it. But it's here they keep fighting. All those old aristocrats want to needle us, so they can prove who's in charge. We're here to talk about the gods-damned Chirel garrison and they want to insult us."

“For what it's worth. I was never ordered to insult you, Major Tevrey."

“'Sam' is fine. Nobody's watching." He sighed heavily. “I think I had the wrong impression in general, coming here. I've only visited Tabisthalia twice before—we're not called out very often. Yourself?"

“I saw it for the first time when I was summoned here."

“And before that… Marrahurst? I'm awful with accents; you'll forgive me. You sound like you could be from somewhere on the Spal Plateau, though. It's good train country."

“My hometown lies between Spal and Aesheral. But I know very little of trains, I'm afraid. Nor boats, if that's what you'd say next. Are you a Stenbyman?"

“Grew up not three leagues from Stanlira," he confirmed, nodding. The mongrel scratched behind an ear, sighing again. “I don't know what's going on. You're right, politics is impenetrable. I've been thinking about it so long that when you said—Stolvan, I guess? Only town I know of out there. I started thinking if that mattered, us not building rail to there and all. You get… paranoid."

“I worry about that—it becomes too easy to forget we're all still Aernians."

“No easier than it is to forget how different our cultures can be. Captain Hallegan and I are both from…"

“Major?"

“We're from the east. Neither of us have ever been to the Dalrath. Ithil could've had his pick of the Chirel veterans to talk about that garrison. But…" He caught himself abruptly, and shook his head. “It's nothing. What I mean is, yes: we're all Aernians. Sometimes it just feels it's in spite of our differences, not because of them."

***

Afterwards Queen Ansha told me that the meeting didn't seem to have been about anything at all. Ithil Carregan was merely feeling out the mood in the city: judging how the court reacted to the troubles on Alethna, and to court gossip. The Chirel Bridge was mentioned only in passing.

“Perhaps it's because I was there," she mused.

I couldn't say. Over the next days Queen Ansha found herself busy in various tasks—conversations, mostly, which I continued to find just as impenetrable as whatever effect she might have had on the Railroad.

Or, in some ways, even more so. Certain families could be placated into compliance; certain others needed to be threatened, though always vaguely. Certain meetings needed to be held with certain outwardly unrelated parties in attendance, or only after other conversations had been completed, and subtly alluded to.

“I'll need you at the Kesterian Hall tonight," the doe said, as we left one such engagement. “And wear your formal uniform, please."

This was all the explanation I received. At Kesterian Hall I found a crowd already waiting, all of them in formal attire that outclassed mine dramatically. It was only fitting, considering the setting—marble walls that curved in glorious arches over banquet tables heaped in impeccably presented food.

“Arkenprincess Chavan," Queen Ansha whispered to me. “Gathering her allies."

Chavan and her husband entered to the sound of a string orchestra, subtly hidden from view so that the two bears seemed to have summoned the music from the very walls. There must've been a hundred people gathered, but they fell into such hushed silence that Chavan did not need to raise her voice.

“Thank you all for attending. This was the first way I could think of, to demonstrate my surprise and gratitude in hearing that His Majesty King Chatherral wished to plan a festival in my homeland, on Alethna. Some of you have been to that wonderful gem of an island. The rest, I hope, will be able to join us next year. If I might ask that Her Majesty the Queen step forward, to be recognized?"

Queen Ansha did so, and at once the rulers of Ailaragh dropped to their knees. The rest of the crowd followed, myself included, though the uniform made the gesture rather uncomfortable. It all must've been choreographed: the orchestra switched seamlessly into a soaring, regal melody.

When it dropped away the queen nodded her head, stepping back to my side as I rose back to my feet with everyone else. “I know you as a friend to the Raghish," Arkenprincess Chavan continued. “And the Raghish are, eternally, a friend to you."

She went on for some minutes, listing others in attendance. Most of them, on the occasions I could recognize their title, were not from Ailaragh. I didn't know what Ansha meant by allies until Chavan began to describe the preparations for the feast.

Lamb from the highlands of Alethna, and pickled radish from Yltragh. The orchestra was Raghish, too, having sailed from Giral Moss. Chavan, I understood, was creating allies. The gala was not meant to favor anyone, including Queen Ansha. It was meant to demonstrate that there was no weakness in Ailaragh, nor any sign of trouble. They could spare the extravagance.

Dinner was not intended for me—nor was I the only one from the Royal Guard in attendance. Two dozen other uniformed soldiers stepped back from the table, taking their place around the doors of Kesterian Hall, which began to buzz with distant conversation beneath the orchestra's accompaniment.

“Hell of a display, sir." I turned my head to find Captain Wainsmet standing next to me. “They asked me to provide 'protection.'"

“Against?"

The wolf smiled. “Not making an impression, I believe. The request bypassed Colonel K'nSullach—she was very upset when I told her. But here we are."

“Just… showing up to prove a point?"

“Indeed. You're not here to test the queen's food, yourself, are you?"

Another soldier stepped forward before I could answer. He snapped a salute to me, and to Captain Wainsmet, who was his real objective. “Captain. I request entry on behalf of Arlen Olmor, sommelier." A rabbit stood behind the soldier, and held up a bottle of wine as his name was called.

Wainsmet took the wine—the rabbit winced when she did so. “Careful," he begged. “Please."

She looked over the bottle and handed it back. “Where did it come from, sergeant? And who ordered you?"

“Lord Tethragh, ma'am, in the arkenprincess's retinue. We were sent to retrieve a case of wine from the cellars of the Olmor estate—he directed which case was to be retrieved by number. I have accompanied Mr. Olmor and the wine the entire time."

“Very well. Enter." We stood aside. Olmor and another man, pushing the crate on a gilt-wheeled cart, slipped past us and into the hall. Captain Wainsmet rubbed behind her ear. “From the Low Kingdom," she said. “Seelour 856, according to the label."

“Is it good?"

“Based on the stamp, it was taxed at a hundred and six pounds per bottle. I suppose someone thinks so, sir."

As a major in the Royal Army, my monthly salary was just over twenty-four pounds. I couldn't hide my astonishment, watching what had been wheeled in for the gathered nobles to drink. “Cargal'th…"

“I'd heard about some trouble with the farms in Ailaragh." Wainsmet shook her head derisively. “Guess I was mistaken, though. Or perhaps that's why the wine comes from the south."

We both knew, in other words, that she was not mistaken at all. And we both knew that Chavan imported the wine merely because of the expense. Neither of us bothered speculating on whether anyone else in attendance cared.

It was a moot point. Two hours in, the orchestra stopped playing, and the gaslamps dimmed over the table. A trio of actors filed in to the remaining pool of light. Wainsmet and I were too distant to hear most of the performance. It ended in a raised speech, given in Raghish-accented Aernian.

“—thee, tho' I were sworn for no other. An' 'ere beyond t'island, iron-born, 'ere ends me voice—would I 'ad more for ye, my king." The actor appeared to plunge a blade into his chest so skillfully that I almost believed the final stillness with which he crumpled to the ground.

But then he rose, and bowed with the other two to the polite applause of those around the dinner table. “Of course," Arkenprincess Chavan's voice explained from the darkness. “The real Prince Reil did not kill himself to save King Gereon. But it lives on in a Raghish saying: we are an island with no iron throne. I know that all of us here are better than to dabble in folk interpretations. Its meaning is clear—the Iron Throne is here, in Tabisthalia. Every Raghishman knows, as Reil did, no other."

The applause that answered this was less demure—louder, and more genuine. When the lights came up again, it was on Chavan's smile. She bowed gently, and sat while the orchestra resumed and more servers appeared to bring dessert.

“Loyal citizens," I said. It struck me that Arkenprincess Chavan affected a scrupulously continental accent, and I wondered if she did so amongst her own people. “Did we really need to be convinced?"

“I for one believe it, sir. I've served with more than a few."

“True," I allowed. “So have I."

“Tell you what, though..." The wolf trailed off. She stared at the busy hall, the light sparkling off golden fixtures, and the servants bustling around to attend to the noble guests. The main course had been removed—last I'd seen, it was only half-touched.

Captain Wainsmet didn't have to finish; I was thinking the same thing. However contentious Arkenprincess Chavan might have been, however independence-minded the island, I trusted any random Raghish muskteer a damn sight more than I trusted the guests who capered before me.

***

“It was all a bit much," Ansha said, after I'd escorted her back to the Iron Hall. “An obscene spectacle."

That was one way of putting it. I was still bothered by the gulf between the crisis on Alethna and the princess's response to it. So out of touch, so… cold. “Is the arkenprincess satisfied, though?"

“I hope so. And it's over for now. Nara," the doe called out. “I'm not to be disturbed for the remainder of the evening. By anyone."

“Yes, ma'am. I'll be back tomorrow morning, first thing." I didn't see the vixen; heard only her voice, and the sound of the door closing behind her.

“Do you need anything else from me, Ansha?" I asked.

The doe smiled, stepping closer. Her arms circled me. “I might, perhaps. It has been a long night already—but not so tiring that I'd pass up the opportunity for your company."

I caught the hint of wine on her breath. But not much, and not for long: she closed the rest of the gap, and pressed her lips against mine to cement the implication of her statement. There was no surprise on my part—I couldn't use that as an excuse. I knew what she wanted.

Not its full extent, not yet, but enough that I didn't pull away from her. I wrapped my arms around the doe, instead, felt the lithe warmth of her body beneath her dress. When the pressure at my muzzle deepened, and I felt her lips part, I let my tongue work between them.

She broke free, panting quiet. “Take your shirt off. And the tunic." By then it was obvious she wanted more than the kiss. When I hesitated, she began to unfasten the buttons herself, though, so I went along with it. Queen Ansha's fingers raked through my fur. “You're even more handsome than I expected…"

“Thank you, ma'am."

Finally she stopped—though her paws stayed in place. “I see. I respect you greatly, Aric," the doe said. “Do you believe me?"

No answer I could give would account for the disparity in our respective stations. “May I speak freely?"

“Of course."

“Would it matter if I believed you?"

She stepped back, regarding me. I worried that I'd misstepped, but her soft, deep eyes showed no sign of hurt at the question. “Of course it would matter."

Ansha reached forward, her fingers gently stroking my arm. The wound had mostly healed, and no longer troubled me, but the fur had yet to grow back in. The doe kept to either side of the bare patch, though it was clear where attention lay.

“You put your life in danger for me. You're a good, discreet companion. You can manage the princes. I want you to know that I understand that, Aric."

“I do."

With a nod, she closed the distance between us again. “That's why it matters. You could say 'no,' if you wanted." Carefully, skillfully, Ansha pressed her body to mine and guided her nose to my ear. Her breath was silk; her voice was softer. “I'm not ordering you to be my stud, Aric. I'm asking you to take me as a lover."

Could I truly have turned her down? She had one arm around my neck. Her other paw rested at my side. And as she stroked my pelt, I realized how little I knew. I didn't know what Siron's counsel would have been. I didn't know what the rest of high society would think.

Simple, damnably base as it was, I knew that I did want to see the doe wearing nothing but that coy smile of hers. I wanted to have her. I wanted to know what the Queen of the Iron Kingdom looked like on that last thrust where she took my knot and my claim to her could no longer be argued.

The obscene image was so shocking that I gasped at the thought I'd even entertained it. Ansha's approving murmur washed the warmth of her breath into my perked ear.

She'd at once misread, and completely understood, the reason for my gasp. It no longer mattered. The doe slid her arms from me and stepped back. “It's up to you, of course. If you were to find me in my bedroom…"

Her tone said she knew I'd follow her, but when she slipped away and through the next door I paused. It was my chance to leave, even if she hadn't intended it that way. I wouldn't need to tell K'nSullach anything, and Ansha would get the message, and I could go back to standing watch over tea parties, and…

Ansha's bed was sumptuous, sheets ornate and finely decorate as the tapestries on the wall. Of course I saw none of that, and I only briefly perceived her discarded dress. She was grinning at me. Waiting. Expectant.

Saying nothing, she watched as I unbuttoned my pants, and freed myself from them. Her eyes stayed fixed for a moment… then she rolled over, rising onto her knees and elbows—facing away from me, not that it mattered. Not that the sight of her sleek hips presented to me was any less enticing.

Not that I could stop myself any more from joining her on the bed, guiding myself into position. Ansha stayed all but silent as I worked my shaft between her wet lips until I, too, was glistening with her arousal. Only the faintest, softest unsteadiness in her breath betrayed her.

I pushed, sinking easily within her. The doe's insides were soft and warm, smooth around the prodding tip of my cock. It wasn't the feeling of her taking me that drove home the blasphemous reality of what we were doing but the quiet demureness of her pleased sigh.

Her eyes had closed. I looked downwards: half my length was buried in her. I slid further inside, marveling at the way the tuft of her tail hiked invitingly, until it was pinned against my belly and I could no longer see anything at all.

“Lovely," the doe breathed. “Is it good, Aric?"

The way she said my name I could almost forget what we were doing. As though we might've met at the county fair, or the market. As though it might be anyone else but my sovereign's bride on her knees before me, her tender folds spread around my throbbing cock, haunches raised eagerly to take it.

But it wasn't anyone else. I pulled back easily, then just as fluidly thrust a second time. There was no hesitation now—I pressed into her all the way to the hilt without reserve or resistance.

“It's good."

There was a growl already teasing the edges of my voice, and Ansha clearly heard it. She opened her eyes and turned her head, smiling at me over her shoulder. “Then take me."

Her composure hadn't faltered. As I started to thrust I resolved to change that. I intended to see her crack. She'd wanted me, after all—like Peri had. A soldier. A commoner. A wolf, proudly rutting into his mate. Take me.

I let her have it. In deep thrusts—strong, one after the other—I drove my shaft into her willing, sodden pussy. It wasn't long before I was pounding her rump, spurting precum that only added to the slickness of our coupling and stained her silky fur.

Her shoulders trembled and her back arched. The doe's subtle gasping started to carry the faintest hint of a whimper as the quick tempo took its hold. I didn't slow down. My breathing was ragged, and my growls grew louder. My eyes shut and I felt the primal urge rising to encourage me. Fuck her like a dog. Use her like some dock whore.

I opened my eyes. Saw her perfect, soft fur. The supple curve of her body. The delicate grace of her lashes. She was no whore, of course. She was my queen—on all fours while I hammered my cock into her lifted, begging rear. I hauled her hips back, claws raking her sides.

“Oh! Gods!" she cried out—at the grasping, at the way I roughly hilted in her. At the way those heavy bucks took more effort, forced more of me inside. She squeezed involuntarily around the base of my cock, and I felt that full-body shudder that told me she'd realized what was happening. “Aric—your knot!"

“You're taking it," I snarled back. Now there was no sense of station or nobility. Ansha answered each demanding thrust with a gasped moan. Her fingers splayed on the headboard, quivering every time I pumped against her.

I sank in, close to tying her—another dozen strokes and there wouldn't have been any question—but didn't bother even trying to pull out. I was going to breed her, after all. She was mine.

Instead I bent over her. I took her in short, hard, bucks that let her feel the knot swell the rest of way inside her. My muzzle shoved into her neck to put those dominating growls right against her ear.

It also meant I was close enough to hear every moan, every hoarse whimper that crossed Ansha's elegant lips. “Please…" My knot had claimed her, was tugging and grinding in her taut, stretched folds. I prompted her to finish with a fresh growl, low and feral. “Make me yours…"

Nothing else was possible. Even by those words I was past the edge—my sac drawn up, tensing. I groaned, ramming hard into her squirming hips until every muscle locked and my seed pulsed deep in a long spurt. For a moment her exulting cry rang out before my snarl overcame it.

I jerked forward again. Gushed into her again. Snarled again, but this time Ansha was louder. She shuddered—then her head abruptly dropped and her muffled moan choked into the mattress. I felt the doe pulse around my cock; felt her stance weaken as I thrust and growled and pumped my load into her.

But I couldn't stop myself. I kept humping, digging my claws in, intent on making her take every last bit of me. She collapsed with a muted squeal, her leg kicking out. My weight pinned her; I grunted my protest into her neck with a hard lunge.

Ansha wailed. She clasped her paw around her muzzle, and didn't let go until I'd finished. Her nape was wet with my saliva—I was thankful I hadn't bitten her in my eagerness.

Or I would be—later. Well before the import of what we'd done sank in, because between my hoarse apology for the roughness and dawn the following morning there was no room for such prudence.

Unfortunately.