"Yet this 'sovereign' is perhaps ill-suited to the bloody press of the front lines," Duke Snit cut in, his voice smooth but barbed with scorn. "In all of Cynthia's annals, there is no mention of a woman knight... nor even a woman-at-arms. Warfare, with all deference, has ever been men's work, Your Majesty." The title was a veiled insult on his tongue.

  "Ignorance!" Claire Grace's rebuke cracked like a whip. "What do you know of Cynthia's origins, Duke? You may recite our thousand-year history, yet remain blind to the magnificent epochs our ancestors endured before. We—we are—" Suddenly, her words faltered as emotion and nausea churned within her like a tempest. She fought the urge to retch, to surrender to darkness, but more desperately, she yearned to speak, to shatter the prejudices Snit and Grace so confidently displayed. The queen's slender frame wavered like a reed in storm winds. Without conscious thought, Rhones Lord extended his hand to steady her.

  Claire Grace felt a light touch on her arm, a steadying pressure. Not the cold steel of a gauntlet she half-expected, but the warmth of a woman's hand, smooth and slender. "We are the descendants of the Argonians, the living spirits of Alaxia," declared Blancheless Liwendell, Royal Mistress of the Robes and the queen's chief handmaiden, in a voice that stunned the assembled court with its nobility, confidence, and unassailable pride. "We warred with the Ptolemaicks, we were driven into the ruins of Blessedwood, we wept for our fathers, our brothers, our sons, until a man of fighting age was a rare sight in all the land. Yet we did not break. We came through it, by blood and by tears."

  "When Alaxia's adult males lay strewn across battlefields, it was the women—Argonian women—who continued the resistance against the Third Ptolemaick Dynasty. They donned tattered leather armor, mounted emaciated warhorses, and fought across forests, plains, deserts, and the broken streets of cities. They wielded rusted scimitars, splintered bows, and battered shields. Like men in courage, yet never lesser in spirit." The Mistress of the Robes, trembling now that the torrent was unleashed, had finally spoken the words rehearsed a thousand times in silence, words she'd never found the courage to say to the man who raised her. Tears tracked down her cheeks, and she wished only to shrink back into the queen's shadow as she always had. And then, through the blur, she saw the queen smile.

  "Indeed, as Blancheless has so eloquently expressed," Claire Grace steadied herself, clasping her handmaiden's hand firmly. "If our Argonian ancestors could rise to such heights, we must aspire even higher. The women of Cynthia must not merely equal men, but exceed them in valor. Once, Cynthia's mighty walls stood as our impenetrable shield, our perfect defense. Now that they lie breached, unfathomable chaos and terror will cascade through our realm, particularly in Kadenford. As their queen, I must be physically present, standing at the forefront, fighting alongside Cynthian soldiers. Only through such action will Kadenford—indeed, all Cynthia—maintain faith in their sovereign. Only thus will our people's spirits rise to defend hearth and homeland. Therefore, my resolve remains unshaken. I shall don armor, wield sword and shield, and lead Cynthia's army at Kadenford against the Godman invaders. This is not rash impulsiveness, but a carefully considered strategy."

  "I deeply respect Your Majesty's desire to inspire Kadenford's citizens," Baron Grace admitted reluctantly, "but I possess no armor tailored for a woman's form..."

  "That need not concern you, Sir," the queen replied with a knowing smile. "I have made all necessary preparations."

  No further objections arose. All present recognized that once Claire Grace set her course, she would not be diverted—whether from steadfast conviction or royal stubbornness.

  "I find it difficult to accept," Duke Snit shifted the discussion, "that the Godmans would concentrate their assault solely on the West Wall."

  The Archmage elaborated: "Indeed, we previously intercepted Godman communications explicitly stating that Commander Raveirmom Dear intended to launch his primary offensive against our main gate. It appears now that this was deliberate misinformation, planted for our interception."

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  "Then all the more cause to ride for Kadenford, drive out the Godmans, and wall up that breach for good—"

  "Caution, Your Majesty," Snit interrupted. "Raveirmom Dear remains undefeated since launching Godma's northern campaign. We would be wise to maintain vigilance. While I support reinforcing Kadenford, Pafaheim's defenses must not be neglected. This is merely intuition..." His brow furrowed. "Were I in Raveirmom's position, I would strike from multiple vectors simultaneously."

  "Could you elaborate?" the Archmage pressed.

  "It's difficult to articulate precisely, Archmage. A soldier's instinct... or perhaps a schemer's suspicion." His lips curled into a self-deprecating smile. "I cannot confidently identify the primary thrust, but of this I am certain: strengthening Pafaheim's defenses would be prudent."

  "You think the West Wall is the feint, then?"

  "Essentially, yes. But remember, this remains conjecture. I offer no concrete evidence."

  After attentive consideration, Claire Grace spoke: "Regarding Kadenford, my decision stands firm. However, concerning Pafaheim, Duke Snit's reasoning merits consideration. Archmage Hamilton, what is our current military strength?"

  "By my assessment, approximately one hundred and twelve thousand. Nobility-commanded forces comprise roughly ten thousand, while the royal army..."

  "One hundred and one thousand," Sir Loyes interjected. "This encompasses two cavalry corps, three infantry corps, and half a chariot corps—though the operational status of the war chariots remains questionable, Your Majesty. Years of neglect have taken their toll. I would not place significant reliance on the chariot division."

  The queen contemplated briefly. "Sir Loyes, into which formations have the Duke of Pafaheim's troops been integrated?"

  "Both cavalry and infantry, predominantly the latter."

  "Excellent. If we were to redeploy those soldiers originally under the Duke of Pafaheim's command directly to Pafaheim itself, would that prove feasible? As commander of Cynthia's royal forces, your assessment is critical."

  "Entirely feasible," Loyes confirmed. "In fact, advantageous. I share Duke Snit's conviction that Pafaheim warrants heightened security. Soldiers with intimate familiarity of local terrain will execute this responsibility most effectively."

  "Very good. Now, Lord Grand Pip, how many troops can you allocate to Baron Grace?" The earl hesitated momentarily. "Thirteen hundred. Would that suffice?"

  The queen looked to Grace. "And you, Baron?"

  "It is more than enough, Your Majesty."

  "Then the matter is resolved." Claire nodded with satisfaction. "What news of the reinforcements from the Western Seas?"

  "According to intelligence received three days past, they approach Bellita," the Archmage stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Barring unforeseen complications, they should reach Bellita Village within days. However, their arrival in Cynthia proper remains indeterminate. The journey from Bellita necessitates traversing the Western Kulen Mountains and Wymar Forest—treacherous terrain, even in peacetime."

  "They are strangers to these lands, knowing neither Bellita nor Cynthia. How will they find their way across the Kulens?"

  "We have secured an appropriate guide—a Bellita fisherman who has accompanied merchant caravans across the Kulen Mountains and through Wymar Forest for many years, trading between Bellita and Cynthia. Apart from his propensity for strong drink, the guide possesses few shortcomings."

  "May Goria light their path." The queen pressed her palms together, a silent prayer for the Shahani host. "They will reach us safely. I know it. And Duviliel? What word from my brother?"

  Archmage Hamilton's hesitation was perceptible. "No response has been forthcoming, Your Majesty. Duviliel has not even confirmed alliance status, let alone committed to military support."

  "...Is that so." The fire that had briefly lit Claire Grace's eyes seemed to dim. (You've changed, brother,) she thought. (Or perhaps... perhaps you were ever thus.)

  "We cannot place excessive faith in external reinforcements, Your Majesty," Grand Pip declared, thumping his breastplate resolutely. "When the decisive moment arrives, we must ultimately rely upon ourselves."