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I close my eyes for a moment, the scent of the battlefield and the orgy fading slightly, replaced by the dizzying prospect of possibility.

My mother knows my weaknesses. She knows my desire for Heald’s security, for the strength of our people.

I am a good soldier, and I do as I am told.

And a soldier, at heart, wants to secure victory.

This, she argues, is the ultimate victory.

But I am also a princess, and someday a queen who will be forced to make her own decisions about the fate of our people. Given the choice, would I do any differently than my mother is asking of me now?

When I nod, it’s because understanding has settled, even if acceptance is still behind it.

“And you truly believe this is possible?” I want to believe her because I know there’s no changing her mind.

Maybe with something less tangible, unattainable.

But Mother is committed, I can see it in her face, and even Aunt seems swayed, so my support won’t hold me much longer.

Mother’s smile returns, sharp and triumphant.

“You are my heir, Remalla. You are more warrior than any man in that court, Overprince or otherwise. You are the blood of Heald. Of course, you can. You will be the true power, the true hand guiding the realm. This is not merely a marriage. It is a conquest of a different kind.” She steps away, head back, voice deep and commanding.

“This is not for me, child. This is for us . For the future of Heald. Do you deny your homeland such an opportunity for power and glory?”

The last question is a hook, sinking deep into my gut. My duty. My honor. My dedication to Heald. She might as well be blaring a trumpet and shouting for me to charge. My mother has played her final card, and it is a powerful one. I cannot deny Heald. I cannot deny my duty.

I swallow, the bitter taste in my mouth still present, but my heart now lifts with a sense of purpose. “I will go,” I say, the words feeling heavy, monumental, as they leave my lips. “I will marry the Overprince.”

A genuine, albeit brief, flash of pride lights Mother’s eyes before it is masked by her usual queenly demeanor. “Good. You make the right choice, Remalla.” No choice at all, but I nod. “Now, you may go. Prepare yourself. You leave for Winderose within the week.”

She dismisses me with a wave of her hand, already turning her attention back to the flap to the main tent, discarding her robe as she goes. It falls behind her, a roar as the celebratory crowd greets her, making my aunt grimace.

I linger, a puppet whose strings have just been released.

Vivenne won’t leave me to hang myself with them.

“Your mother’s ambition, Remi, is a fearsome thing.

It makes her a powerful queen, yes. One of the best warriors I know.

But it can also be a blindness.” She looks at me, her dark eyes filled with a quiet wisdom.

“You have a good heart, dear one. A true heart. Jhanette relies on that, uses it.”

I feel a pang of something akin to despair. “Do you think I’ve made a mistake?”

Vivenne shakes her head. “No. You have made a choice for Heald, as is your way. But there is much you don’t know, that she’s sheltered you from, that I fear won’t serve you in the days to come.

” She flinches like she’s said too much while my insides crawl with doubt.

“The court at Winderose… it is nothing like Heald. Here, strength is measured in steel and honesty. There, it is measured in whispers and smiles that hide daggers.” Her gaze is solemn.

“Be careful, my little warrior. Very, very careful.” She throws me a smile, then, rueful and resolved.

“Now go,” my aunt says, her calloused palms catching my hands, squeezing hard before she turns me physically and pushes me gently toward the back of the tent and the exit.

“Before your mother changes her mind and insists you join her.”

That has me moving like nothing else can.

I step out of the tent, the cool night air a blessed relief against my hot skin.

The chill of Aunt’s words sinks into my bones, colder even than the breeze that’s risen in the falling dark.

The remembered warmth of her hands is a small comfort against the vast uncertainty that now stretches before me.

I am going to Winderose. I am going to marry a stranger, the Overprince.

And I am going to try and conquer a realm not with my sword, but with my mind, what a novelty for a soldier like me.

My aunt’s warning remains as much as the scent of blood and sweat, sticks to me, and I fear I’ll need the constant reminder that this new battlefield will be far more treacherous than any I have known.

I fetch Gorgon, who dozes in his gear, and retreat to my camp and my soldiers there.

They undress me, already done so for themselves, bathe me and that night, I celebrate in my own way.

Quietly. Away from the heat and the wine and the constant motion of limbs.

My personal guards gather, hand-picked men and women both, who know what I need without words.

The bed is low, scattered with furs and cushions, and their bodies are strong, warm and eager. Clever hands and mouths make me moan. Fingers thread through my hair as I take a heated shaft between my lips, savoring the groans that can’t be held back.

Then it’s my turn. They take their time with me.

Lips and tongues and hands and slow, hard thrusts that make me ache deep inside.

I let it all crash over me. Not because of lust or need—though there is plenty of that—but because I have to remember who I am.

To wash away the sting of my mother’s command with sweat and satisfaction.

I lie there in the spent glow of orgasm and release, sprawled and panting, someone curled against my side, another at my feet.

Tomorrow, I prepare for a future I did not choose.

But tonight, I remain Remalla of Heald.