Tahlia studied her wedding ring in a way she never had before. She spread her hand on the oak table and watched as the chandelier cast unfamiliar shadows on it, darkening the gems. When she tilted her hand, the perfectly cut edges flashed the lights back at her.

She was remembering a smile, a warm voice. A comforting touch. Her nails dug into the table, but it was too polished to scratch. She leaned back in her chair and let out a slow breath.

Oliver was standing a few steps behind her, and she could feel him watching her. She gave him no mind. He always did that when he was worried about her, and she was certain he’d never been so worried in his life. She was not worried about herself. She knew she was not all right.

When she heard muted voices outside the door, she slowly slid her wedding ring off and went to put it in a pocket, only to remember that she was wearing a dress. Calmly, she held it out behind her. Oliver took it without a word.

The doors to the hall were thrown open, and a storm of a man strode in. He stopped at the head of the long oak table, looking only at Tahlia. She stood, holding his intense, wild gaze.

He said nothing, so Tahlia spoke first. “I don’t think either of us favor false niceties, Chief Maclagan.” She pointed to a spread of maps and paper on the table before him. “Here are our terms of peace. You can agree to them or you can leave. There will be no negotiation."

Malcolm Maclagan’s eyes flicked to the papers. Tahlia took the moment to get a thorough look at him—she’d heard so much about him, but never seen him in person. He was tidier than she expected, with a clean-cut, orange beard that ended a few inches from his chin, and the rest of his hair was tied back in braids. He wasn’t particularly large or small, just a seemingly normal man. If only he were.

After a few seconds of examining the papers, the clan chief opened his mouth like he was going to say something, then changed his mind and swung around the table to walk to her. She had five guards around the room, including Oliver, and all of them tensed—but she held out a hand to keep them in place. Oliver would handle him if he got too close. Or she would.

“Do you agree to the terms?” she asked through her teeth as Maclagan came to stop a few feet from her. She wanted this to be over as quickly as possible.

Maclagan studied her with startlingly intelligent, clear eyes. After a few moments he said, “Perhaps.” Then he noisily pulled a chair out, sat in it, and put his feet up on the table. Looking around, he found a heavy wooden horse on one of the maps, indicating locations of calvary. He grabbed it, then tossed it into the air and caught it. “But first I would like to talk about something that interests me greatly.” His Ordivician accent was prominent, a light and quick speech. It irritated her, because he sounded more Ordivician than she did.

She considered just throwing him out, since she had hardly believed from the beginning that he actually wanted to meet to negotiate terms. But she figured since he was already here, they might as well have a long-overdue talk. She would let him go first, to get off his chest whatever he came here to say.

He caught the wooden horse again and it smacked into his palm. The sharp shadow of his nose shifted across his face every time he moved. He pointed to Tahlia. “I have heard—tell me if I’m wrong—but I heard that your husband passed away just some weeks ago. Is this true?”

She wasn’t surprised, but it still took some effort to conceal the knife he’d just twisted deeper into her heart. She’d taken off the ring so he wouldn't comment on it, but little good it had done. "I did not let you come here to discuss personal matters, Chief Maclagan.”

“Of course, of course. It only caught my attention because he had the same name as me, didn’t he? Malcolm? So odd.” He examined the wooden horse with one eye shut. “It’s a very Ordivician name, but he was from all the way down south, wasn’t he? He was from Rhondivar. Why do you think his parents named him Malcolm, then?” He shrugged to himself. “Maybe they just liked it. It does have a nice ring to it, don’t you think? Malcolm.”

“If you are not going to discuss peace terms,” Tahlia said tightly, “I’m going to ask you to leave my castle.”

“Ah. Of course.” He put his feet down and stood. “Let’s discuss the part where you are attempting to steal my peoples’ ancestral land.”

“These lands you speak of belong to many people, not just you.”

“And you want them all to belong to you.”

“I want Ordivicia united under a single flag and law, so I can ensure the safety and wellbeing of the entire population. Your people were attacking and burning towns, killing innocent civilians, and causing general mayhem and terror. I am putting an end to that. I am bringing peace.”

He sighed dramatically and strode back to the papers. “Let’s see. Do your terms end the war you started that has gotten . . . how many people do you think your noble cause has killed so far, Tahlia?”

“You will address the Queen as My Lady or My Lady the Queen,” Oliver snapped.

Maclagan looked up at Oliver for the first time. He blinked, then raised his eyebrows in understanding. “Ah, Oliver Torrey, is it?”

Tahlia didn’t look back, but she knew the exact kind of glare Oliver was answering with.

“Yes,” Maclagan went on, smiling, “we trembled to hear our lady had recruited a Torrey, but you’re quite a bit younger than I expected. And only a guard, hmm? Remind me how your family got all their money, Torrey—old royalty, was it? Or systematic exploitation of the common people over generations? Or is there a difference?”

“Maclagan,” Tahlia snapped. “The issue at hand.”

“Of course, My Lady the Queen. I actually have a serious question for you, concerning the issue at hand: what right do you think you have to rule a country you weren’t even born in?”

The question that plagued her day and night. She had had to answer it for herself long before anyone had asked. “My mother’s family has traditionally ruled all or part of Ordivicia, and my father’s family ruled an empire that spanned three-fourths of the world, including Ordivicia. I have been educated extensively on how to rule a country.”

“You were born in Astheld, to the mad son of a tyrant. Not in Ordivicia.”

“My father was killed over a throne when I was very young, and I lived in Ordivicia after that, in Breden. After my mother died, I lived on the streets of Breden because no one dared to take me in. Therefore, I have lived among both the nobility and the common people of Ordivicia. And, far more importantly, the people chose me two years ago at the Council of Breden. They chose me to defend them from you, and to help them flourish, which I will spend the rest of my life doing to the best of my ability. Does that answer your question?”

Maclagan watched her while she spoke, barely blinking. When she finished, he looked down at the wooden horse in his hand. “Pretty speech, but you’re I know you’re descended from tyrants, and I recently learned that you actually spent the last fifteen years in Rhondivar with your husband. Quite far from Ordivicia, isn’t it? And you were living with Malcolm Cormont, the richest merchant in the East. Tell me again how difficult you’ve had it? How you lived on the streets as a child? How much of this has your husband funded, by the way? Just the military, or also the people’s opinion?”

“You think your implications are new to me?” Tahlia inquired. “You think I haven’t heard this a thousand times already? I don’t need to explain myself any further to you, Maclagan, you’re wasting my time. I am queen of this country already, and there is nothing you can do to change that. You are the chosen speaker for the last remaining clans who have not joined me, and your numbers are dwindling by the day. Agree to live peacefully in this country with the rest of us, following our laws and customs, or continue to fight me, in which case you will either die or be removed from your ancestral lands. At this point I don’t care which.”

Maclagan smiled toothily. “It seems that simple to you, does it?”

“It does. Our laws are not unfair.”

“Your laws are your laws, and ours are ours. I will not listen to your commands and demand my people follow them. I will not pay your taxes. I will not let my men be conscripted into your wars to die at your whim in a foreign country, nor their sons to your successor’s wars. We are a free people and we will remain that way. And we will remain that way on the land we have lived on for hundreds of years.”

“I would love to leave you to your ways in peace if your people weren’t known to steal people off the roads and sell them into slavery. Torture farmers and hang them from trees. Steal women from their beds. Attack caravans of medicine and supplies.” She looked him in the eye. “If you act like savages, you will be treated like savages. My people will not live in fear. Swear to follow our laws, or leave this land. You have no other option except death.”

“Hmm.” Maclagan tapped his chin, making his beard twitch. “That is unfortunate. Do you know what else has been of interest to me recently, My Lady the Queen? I’ve heard that you have two children.”

Tahlia did her best to look disinterested, but a chill ran up her spine. “Your source has repeated a common rumor to you. I do not have any children, and we are still not here to discuss personal matters.”

“Really? Because I’ve been wondering. Where are those children, if they do exist? Down in Rhondivar with their deceased father—ah, no, probably not. I think they’re here. Right here, in this castle.”

Tahlia stared at him for a few moments, infuriated by his audacity. “This is a meeting about peace terms. Do you agree to them or not?”

Maclagan sniffed and tossed the wooden horse into the air again. “Warrior queen with children. Seems like a poor decision. Warrior widow with children.”

Tahlia slammed her hands onto the table. “This meeting is concluded. Guards, escort Chief Maclagan back to his people.”

“Ah-ha,” Maclagan said happily. “Too much, eh?” He jumped up and strode toward the door as a leisurely pace. “I’m so fascinated by you, My Lady. But I’d hoped for more.” He tapped his chin again, halting near the door where the guards awaited him. “A girl and a boy, was it? Iris and . . . Clive?”

Tahlia, steps heavy, heart heavy—walked right up to him until they were inches apart. He was a head taller than her at least, but she had never cared less. She got a strong whiff of leather and horse. “Speak of my children again,” she whispered, staring into his eyes, “and I will return you to your people without a tongue, if I return you at all.”

Maclagan broke into a grin. “Ah, there she is.”

“Get him out of here,” she snarled.

Maclagan gave her a deep bow. “My Queen.” He let the guards escort him out, but he called over his shoulder, “I’ll see you on the battlefield, then.”

As soon as the door shut behind him, Tahlia turned—and nearly ran into Oliver, who had followed her across the room. She pushed him out of her way as she walked back to the table and waved a hand at the four other guards. “Out.” She sat down hard in a chair and let out a long breath, closing her eyes. How was she supposed to do this now, of all times?

When she heard the door shut behind the other guards, she opened her eyes and found Oliver holding out his hand, her wedding ring sparkling with candlelight in his palm. “Thank you,” she murmured, taking it. Instead of putting it back on, she put in on the table, folded her hands over it, and bowed her forehead to her hands. “We have to get them out of here.”

Oliver lowered himself into the chair next to her. “There is nowhere safer for them than here. He’s just trying to rattle you up. We can’t send them away, anyway—pirates on the coast, Ordic spies on the roads—it’s not worth the risk.”

“I should have left them in Rhondivar when I had the chance. Then they could have . . .“ she sighed.

“Spent a bit more time with their father, but then they would have had to go through this without you.”

She sat up to gesture wildly. “They’re already doing it without me, I hardly get five minutes a day to see them.”

“They’re doing fine.”

“I highly doubt that.” She blew out a breath and dropped her head to the table again.

After a while, Oliver said, “I think Maclagan took that horse.”

“Of course he did.” She looked at her wedding ring. Should she put it back on, or maybe put it on a chain around her neck? How did these things work? She never thought she’d have to ask, at least not for another twenty years or so. A widow at thirty-eight . . . and how was she supposed to run a country when these were the thoughts racing through her mind all day? Why now? Why in the world had this happened at the worst possible time?

She took a shaky breath. “I can’t do this, Oliver.” Her husband had been thousands of miles away for the past few months, but his letters were all she had needed. The idea of him, waiting for her when next they could see each other, was enough. But she’d never see that smile again. Not once.

“Unfortunately,” Oliver said, “you have to.” He squeezed her shoulder. “But you’re not alone.”

She looked over at him. Young, yes—ten years younger than herself, and he had been even younger when he agreed to join her cause. She would never forget the day she met him—a bright-eyed, handsome young soldier. Her husband’s cousin, and the younger brother of some of the most important men in the world. Oliver could be out doing anything in this world that he wanted, and yet here he was, at her side.

It seemed that Oliver and his four brothers were all trying to out-do each other, all finding a cause to dedicate themselves to and make history. So when Tahlia and her husband were visiting the Torrey mansion, just a stop between countries, they found Oliver at home, looking for something to do. When he heard her plan to unite Ordivicia, he had simply said, “I’ll help.”

And help he had, in so many ways. In truth, she didn’t know how she would have done this without him. Many people had helped, but none had dedicated themselves to stand by her side day and night, rain or shine, encourage her, help her make hard decisions, and even help her take care of her children, who never should have been mixed up in this.

She took a deep breath put her hand on top of his. “Thank you, Oliver.” She only hoped the two of them would be enough.

After a moment he inquired, “Were you going to make me cut out his tongue?”

“Oh, yes. I’m not doing that.”

“Lovely.” He stood up and stretched, then bounced on his heels. “So, what next?”

She slid her wedding ring back on her finger and stood as well, thanking the gods for Oliver’s boundless energy. What she wouldn’t give to be young today. “Next, we find a way to kill Maclagan, before he finds a way to kill me.”