“Rustle, rustle...” The nobles broke into whispers, a dry-grass susurrus. Their eyes slid to Medith, thorns of disgust and scorn hiding behind silk.

Emperor Paris lifted a hand. Sound died like a candle in wind; you could hear a pin think of falling. The shift pricked Medith’s nerves; a cold crease formed inside. Where was the old ease of court, the frank tide between ruler and vassal? All frost now, no cicadas sing.

His need for control was worse than she’d thought. “No matter,” Paris said, voice calm as still water. “I’ve heard a little of your recent exploits. The blood moon rose; a single body leveled a city. Then ten thousand stormed the Southern Kingdom’s borders, the Bloodhand Gang was wiped out, the infamous Duke Andrew fell, and the Blood-Whip Strategist, Kains, was taken.”

“Your growth is startling,” he went on, depthless eyes like a night lake. “In mere months, you’ve raised Wind Sprite to a guild that stands with the old names.”

Medith listened tight, her gaze sharpening like a drawn blade. Paris didn’t blink, the look of a man who sees through stone. He said he knew a little. He’d likely watched her every step.

He must even have word on her Lawbreaking Ability. She had revealed her trump in the Southern Kingdom, so let them know. Still, the feeling of eyes on her back crawled like ants under armor.

“You’ve traveled far, General. You must be tired. Court is adjourned.” His tone was light, his will heavy as a mountain. “I’ll prepare a feast soon. Velledo, escort the General to the palace to rest. Serve her well. If she breathes a single complaint to me, you answer for it.”

He flicked his fingers. The hall exhaled. Taut strings slackened, and they filed out without a backward glance, reeds bending to the current.

More than a few nobles passed Medith and flashed the faintest signals, ripples under ice. She pretended not to see. In her mind, she strung their faces like beads.

Velledo smiled, lifting her skirts as if floating, and came toward Medith. Talant shot a look to Haidra. Haidra understood and headed for the palace where the two were bound. “Talant, stay. I’ve something to tell you.” Paris, reading her intent, stepped in with a sunny smile and blocked the path.

Damn it, Talant cursed in her heart, thunder under a calm sky, and nodded with feigned confusion.

...

“General, how bold,” Velledo said, meaning tucked like a blade in a sleeve. “I’ve never seen anyone answer His Majesty that hard.”

Medith looped an arm around her and stroked the bare, cool skin of her shoulder. “There’s plenty you haven’t seen. What, do you ache for Emperor Paris?”

“Please don’t joke, General. Even I would get angry.” Velledo’s smile froze like glaze on porcelain. Inside, waves crashed. In a glance, Medith had pierced the secret she most wanted buried.

Medith giggled—bright, impish. “That squad beside His Majesty, is that the new [Imperial Front Guard]?”

Velledo nestled on Medith’s shoulder, close as sisters to the untrained eye. “I’d rather you call us the [Royal Blood Guard]. The traitor unit from that day is dead. This is a reborn royal corps. We’ll never betray His Majesty. Never.”

“Oh?” Medith drew the sound out, a ribbon of doubt twined with a laugh. Velledo suddenly slipped an arm around Medith’s pale neck, cherry lips parting. “I heard you don’t fancy men. You prefer women. The tattooist Sais is your beloved companion. True or not?”

“That... what’s it to you if it’s true? You plan to manage my tastes too?” Irritation flared first, then cooled on her tongue. Velledo’s breath warmed Medith’s ear. “I want to confirm it myself. Will you grant me that dream, General?”

Medith burst out laughing, bright as bells, leaving Velledo blinking in confusion. After a while she wiped a tear, patted Velledo’s cheek, and leaned in with a strange lilt. “Let’s not. I only like the hard and unyielding. You’re a soft little lamb. You can’t bear a dragon’s weight.”

“How would you know if you won’t try? Lamb or lion, let me prove it,” Velledo said, clasping Medith’s slender hand.

“Heh.” Medith flicked her hand free. “I can tell at a glance.”

Velledo drew breath to speak. Medith snatched a spear from a Heavenly Dragon Corps soldier with a swift, clean motion. She lifted her right hand. Her long, slim index finger tapped the spearhead, straight as a falling needle.

Clang— The sound was crisp as ice breaking. Medith shook her fingers once. The spear, head to haft, sagged and crumpled into scrap iron.

“When you can do that without a scratch, you won’t need to beg. I’ll pin your hands and throw you onto the bed myself, little girl.” She dropped the ruined spear. Soldiers around them set their stances by reflex, steel humming like bees.

Medith snapped her cloak, a dark wave in torchlight, and strode off without looking back.

Velledo stayed where she was, eyes wide, pink fists tight, fury and fluster tangling like vines.