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Amelia went cold. She set her tea aside and drew herself upright.

Leda spoke before she could voice any indignation. “Come on, darling, this is me. There’s no need to put on a show. I don’t mean to be insulting: gods know I’ve weathered my share of insults, and thick skin or no, it’s never fun to hear someone say you’re a lost cause. But…”

Amelia exhaled, some of her pique bleeding out. “Well. There’s insults, and then there’sdoomed.”

Leda grinned. But only for a moment. “Each duchy in this kingdom threw its heirs and its strongest, most strapping lads at the capital to defend it…and we failed. You’re a brave girl for trying, but if this is our nation’s rallying second effort…” She gestured toward the fields beyond with a grimace. “It’s not your fault, but you lack the numbers necessary. You know that, don’t you?”

Something in her tone was almost gentle, and so the words didn’t carry the same sting they might have coming from someone else. They weren’t a judgement against Amelia’s efforts, but a lamentation.

Amelia sighed and slumped back in her chair; reached for her tea, which she’d heavily sugared and desperately needed, still gripped by the night’s chill and now prickling all over with doubt and despair. “I know, I know. Why do you think we haven’t organized a proper march yet?”

“Are more expected to come?”

“We’ve sent falcons to all the major houses.” She glanced down into her tea, wishing it was wine, suddenly. “And” – a rallying thought – “we have my drakes.”

Leda’s gaze sparked with interest. “Yes. I can’t wait to see them – once it’s properly light, of course. And once they’ve had breakfast.”

Amelia snorted.

“They don’t eat people, do they?”

“Only if I tell them to.”

“What a delightful advantage.” She sounded sincere. “But, my dear…how many do you have? An army’s worth?”

“No,” Amelia said, collapsing back into sullenness. “I have five.”

“Hm. A boon to be sure. And I’ve heard tale of what happened here on this very lawn – how their appearance saved you and decimated an entire company of the enemy.” Her gaze and her voice softened. “I also heard about–”

“Yes,” Amelia said, throat tightening suddenly. She could tell just looking at the woman’s face that she was about to offer condolences about Mal. The whole bloody east knew about that by now, it seemed. “Thank you.”

Leda gazed at her another moment, painfully sympathetic, and, in that sympathy, terribly human in a way she hadn’t seemed outside, in front of the men. It was easy, here in the flickering firelight, as dawn crept in at the windows, to see past the hair, and jewels, and fine clothes to the thinking, feeling, relatable woman beneath. It was both a comfort, and, in the case of missing Mal, an unwelcome swerve toward the personal.

As if she’d decided something, Leda nodded, stood, and went to the sideboard. “I’ve brought what able-bodied, battle-ready men remained in Astoria, though I’m afraid they won’t bolster your numbers much.” Sound of wine pouring, and then the light skim of fine slippers over floorboards. “I’ve even brought my dear sweet step-son, though I told him not to come.” She appeared before Amelia, sighing, and offered a glass of wine that Amelia gladly accepted with a murmured thanks. “You remember Colum, I take it? He’s a scholar not a fighter, that one, but he was insistent.”

She settled back into her chair with another sigh, legs crossing, hand lifting her glass as her gaze went to the fire. “Sometimes I wonder if anyone in this bloody kingdom will come out the other side of this all right.”

“Statistically speaking, some will.” Amelia sipped her wine, the warm, berry notes of it welcome over her tongue. “Of course: it depends on one’s definition of ‘all right.’”

A wry grin plucked at one corner of Leda’s mouth. “Quite. Some might even thrive. The ones who are quick to prostrate themselves before their new masters.” The grin fell away, replaced by a moue of contempt. “The traitors who lead them into our back gates and offer up the juiciest bits of treasure. Those who house, and feed, and clothe them. Who turn over their own people for them.” She took a long swallow, and grimaced afterward. “Some, I’m sure – the lovely young girls and boys with soft, fine faces – will be kept as pleasure slaves. The elderly and infirm will make for good cooks and washers. The sycophants will enjoy their share of the spoils – for a time, until feeding them becomes inconvenient.”

Her gaze slid over, then, startling in its hardness. “That’swhy I’ve come, Lady Amelia. I don’t think Aquitainia can win this war, honestly…but I want to be on the side that tried to win it, scrabbling until the last, rather than on the side that rolled over and let the bastards take the victory without a fight.”

Amelia felt her brows go up. “That’s a noble sentiment.”

“I have those, from time to time, despite gossip to the contrary.”

“No–”

“Oh, I know what they say about me. And gods knows I know a thing or two about making a man happy – making him a slave to me, if I want it,” she said, with a lofty sniff. “I could be one of those pleasure slaves; could march up to any of those pale, gilded generals right now, flash a little leg, squish my tits together, and have him eating out of my hand in five minutes flat. All the kingdom thinks I’m a great whore anyway.” The wry grin reappeared, sharper this time. “But the way I see it, a girl’s got to have a little fun amongst all the tea parties and corsets and child-birthing. Why shouldn’t we?” Her look said she knew that Amelia understood. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not a patriot.

“I’m here to offer my help, is what I’m getting at,” she concluded. “Such as it is. My men. My money. My counsel, if you’ll take it. You’re doing a bang-up job so far, darling, but if you’re to make a real go of this, you’ll need sharper minds at the table than that lout Dale and the pretty little lordling whose trousers he wants to get inside.”

Amelia had, unfortunately, taken an ill-timed sip of wine, and spluttered in surprise at the last remark. She laughed and coughed, wiped her nose on her sleeve and thumped her own chest to clear her throat.

Across from her, Leda said, “I mean,honestly. If anyone here is to be accused of flagrant whoredom, it’s that Connor Dale.”

Amelia wiped her streaming eyes. “Do you know” – her voice was hoarse from choking – “that he made a pass at me?”