Sorina:

  “What do you mean they refuse!? This is war. Surely, we can at least agree on that!”

  “I know, your majesty, but the dukes are slow to muster their forces and—”

  “Any other monarch, and they would’ve been clamoring to prove their worth. But with me? With me they all just—”

  “Ignore you?” I ask, kicking the door open at that moment. The council of Catolica’s outpost at Havenmarch is small. Exclusive. Pamela sits at the table's head, her blonde hair curled into a tight bun. The crown of Catolica sits slightly crooked on her head.

  Next to my cousin is a fat, mouth-breathing duke I’ve learned to despise over the past three weeks. His sausage-like fingers splay heavy over the round table. He smiles amiably at me and my eyes pass over him, to the other councilors here. Merchants and lieutenants. Plus the head accountant—an older woman with kind eyes and a dead leg she drags across the fortress grounds. I still don’t know her name though. But I’ve always been horrid with names—even at the village, I spent days memorizing the townspeople's names before the election. I got a fair few wrong, but I had other factors that nabbed me the win.

  Riddeck, the lead commander, stands sentinel behind Pamela. He affords a slight nod, confirming our continued partnership. I don’t acknowledge it for fear of Pamela sniffing us out. Instead, I lackadaisically make my way toward the roundtable. Along the walls of the council room are furnished tables with a variety of foodstuffs. Grabbing an apple from one of the boards, and taking a seat opposite of Pamela. She just glares at me.

  I take out one of my daggers and start cutting the apple into small pieces—make sure to kick boots on the table as well, startling the duke. His eyes nearly jump out of his sunken head, which looks like a pale melting slime for there is no visible neck to speak of.

  The rest of them just hold their silence. The only sound comes from the soft, wet scrape of my steel against the red apple.

  I feel their stares eat into me.

  Looking up from the crimson apple, I shrug.

  “What?”

  “Good question. What are you doing here?” the duke asks. His smile remains, but it hides a veneer of lechery and greed.

  “I am a princess of Catolica. Technically, I outrank everyone at this table,” I say, before theatrically putting a finger to my chin, widening my eyes in mock realization. “Except of course, for her majesty.”

  “Lady Sorina, you outrank no one as of currently,” one of the other councilors begins. “You were married to a clan shogun. You are of Sorayvlad now.”

  “I don’t think that’s how it works, councilor. After all, blood doesn’t change just because it is whored off. And besides, my husband is dead. His name is no longer mine. I haven’t been… ‘Sorayvladian’ in a long time.”

  “We are in the middle of a very important meeting. And you have not been in the noble circuit for a while now. So, why don’t we stop playing this game and you can go back to lounging in our fortress, rather than—” the fat duke speaks, but I cut him with a loud CRUNCH, biting into the apple.

  He sniffs. “Rather than pretending—”

  CRUNCH!

  His eyebrows narrow. “Don’t disrespect me—”

  CRUNCH!

  “You dull witted woman! This is the reason we sent you to Sorayvlad! All you are good for is—”

  I glare at him. He has enough sense to realize he’s gone too far. But, I can tell by the red sheen of his face that he wants to say so much more.

  I chew thoughtfully while he bristles. His hands splay the table now and push back the weight of it back to his side.

  Surprisingly, the duke (whose name I now realize I’ve also forgotten so I’ll just call him Pudgy) actually manages to calm himself. Pudgy ignores my winning, apple-juice drooling smile and continues on.

  “You do not deserve a seat at this table.”

  “Ah, yesh—” I say through a mouthful of apple core, swallowing bitterly on the seeds. “But who decided that? You?”

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  “Me, actually,” Pamela interrupts. First time she’s spoken since I’ve entered. Good restraint on her part.

  “So she speaks! How wondrous. Tell us, your majesty, what we should do about the current state of affairs,” I begin, spreading my arms out wide. “After all, Catolica is lacking in reinforcements. We are veritably stuck here without plan or motion, all while we continue to levy taxes on the traveling migrants—or more rather, the refugees of Havenmarch. And oh so graciously we let them pass on by.”

  “Are you finished?”

  “Oh I’m just getting started.”

  The elderly accountant sighs languorously at this. I like her already.

  “If all you’re going to do is berate and complain, Sorina, I’ve gotten enough of that already,” Pamela says, rubbing her forehead. Her tone is less annoyed and more tired than I expect. “If this is to rankle me or one up me, please drop it.”

  “It’s not,” I say, my own pitch dropping now.

  She looks up at me, emerald gaze narrowing. Assessing.

  Then, she shakes her head. “I don’t have time to indulge this. Get out.”

  “Technically, your majesty, by Catolican law, she has the right to sit in this court,” the accountant drones.

  I can see the veins on Pamela’s forehead pulse. “And would I have to go through parliament to circumvent that?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  The queen sighs before making a shooing motion with her hand. “Fine. Just… be quiet. These are not matters you can speak on.”

  I make a mouth zipping motion and give her my brightest smile.

  …

  Halfway through a laborious speech of Duke Pudgy, I start whistling. It's low and quiet enough only for the people closest to me to hear. They give me a few odd stares before shrugging and turning back to the duke, who pontificates on about some grand supply line that he has in mind—though it is such an irrational proposition that I think everyone here will disparage it.

  But to my surprise, he is received by a rally of claps.

  He smiles and begins to take a seat once more.

  I narrow my eyes his way. It's not that I hate fat people—no, I’ve known many fearsome warriors wielding large hammers like thunderous beasts, only, they have the bodies of drunken brawlers. No… rather I hate excess. And this man reeks of it. Excess pride, excess greed, excess barren lust, and of course, excess blubber. Not just a middling amount of fat, but rather, the fat of someone who gorges himself nonstop while his own people suffer and starve.

  Ah, I do remember him now. No wonder he’s so easy to hate. Duke Rothbore. I think my father hated him too—must be where I got it from.

  All this to say, it gives me great joy when, as he takes his seat, the wind caresses his large chair before smashing into the leg. He falls back, flailing, yelling obscenely.

  And as he does so, the wind drags his pants down and exposes his undergarments to the world.

  I stop whistling. Close my eyes and hear the sweet sound of a man getting his well deserved comeuppance.

  But once more, the whole council room surprises me by actually stirring. They practically flounder their way to help him.

  What am I missing here? I shake my head as they haul him up, and he curses something about injuring his leg.

  Rather than laughing, like I expected them too, they are all dead quiet.

  Afraid.

  Well, almost all of them. A soft giggle hisses forth. She covers it up quickly, but I spot a rare smile peak through Pamela’s guise.

  Her eyes catch mine at that moment and the smile drops.

  “Everyone out.”

  “But—”

  “We’ve discussed enough. See to it that Duke Rothbore is treated with the utmost care.”

  And so, the rest of them leave one by one. When Riddeck reaches the door, he gives me a worried glance but I nudge my head. Following him is the accountant. The elderly woman waddles with small, adorable steps.

  She too levels a knowing stare at me. “I see your magicks have improved,” she mutters.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I respond with a tilt of my head. She gives a dry chuckle at that.

  “I am glad to see you back in the game, Princess Sorina.”

  “Do I—” I hesitate. “Do I know you?”

  She shakes her head. “But I know you. Saw you in court when you were just a lassie. Oh, the trouble you’d get to—drove half the kingdom mad.”

  Some things never change I suppose.

  “I am Yasna. Feel free to indulge me with your time while we rot in this fortress.”

  “I look forward to rotting together then.” She leaves after that, making Pamela and I the only two in the room.

  “Alright. You’ve earned my attention with that showing. You get five minutes.” She takes off her crown and undoes her hair, letting it flow down. It spills like golden rivers. Looks good actually—as annoying as that is to admit. I try swallowing down any lingering bitterness and stand, stretching now.

  “Look—I will do us both the favor of not trying to pretend that we are friends. Let us ignore our previous… misgivings about each other, for a moment, and talk business.”

  “The business of what exactly?”

  “What else?” I ask. Then, quite theatrically, I stab my dagger into the table. It flops to a standstill as I take my seat once more, hands clasping together and elbows haunching over the wood.

  “War.”