“Tell me, where lies your loyalty?”

Captain Cerul swallowed, “With you, my Queen.”

“And your soldiers?”

“They’ll follow you as always. We have profited under your leadership.”

“Surely one of you would wish to lead instead?”

Queen Vesper enjoyed asking these sort of questions. They made Cerul think. If he answered yes she could accuse him of treason, if he answered no she could call him a liar. As usual, Cerul did not disappoint. He had a knack for not answering her questions.

“I don’t reckon the rest of us could manage, Your Majesty.”

Queen Vesper smiled, “That’s a relief. Now do be careful out there. I would so hate to lose you.”

“Thank you, My Queen. May I be excused?”

Queen Vesper waved her hand, amused.

“Of course.”

The defences were important, but dealing with rebellions was never about defeating the people. The jangling bells of revolution so easily became a cacophony. All Vesper needed to do was eliminate the conductors.

She coughed discretely, and a curtain depicting her grandfather heroically swearing to protect her grandmother was moved aside. A man dressed in a dirty white burlap tunic stepped out. The outfit made Vesper chafe just looking at it, but such disguises were necessary. Her assassin, who went by Fray, appeared excited, and began speaking immediately, “Your Magnificence, I was conversing with the king consort, and he believes it imperative the tax on rye be lowered.”

Vesper arched a carefully maintained eyebrow, “And?”

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Fray smiled, “And apples, which the astromancer and cartomancer agree will be in abundance this harvest season, should have their tax raised significantly. Preferably while the collectors’ boots are being kissed for their generosity with the rye.”

Vesper returned his smile, “I married my husband for a reason, he’s brilliant in his own way. I’m sure there is more to the taxing changes than that—”

Vesper stopped the assassin before he could speak, “—but please, leave that between you and the king consort. I have other business to attend. I need you to find the rebel leaders and kill them.”

The assassin grimaced. Vesper fetched a platter of vegetables from her desk and offered them to him, “Carrot? You look ill, they’re supposed to be good for your health.”

“It is my conscience that disagrees with me, not my constitution.”

“You’re an assassin,” Vesper said, bemused. She took one of the carrots for herself and then spat it out. Tsihk, her chef, had boiled them until they were nothing more than tasteless slime.

“I enjoy the infiltration aspect of the job, not murder. I like making friends.”

Vesper put down her half eaten carrot. She was as likely to choke on it as not. Vesperdom might be better off if I shuffled all the jobs around, she mused.

“You can make as many friends as you like, as long as the leaders end up dead.”

He bowed, “Of course, My Queen. All jobs have their less savoury aspects, but that does not mean I cannot perform.”

“Excellent. When will you leave?”

“Immediately My Queen.”

The assassin disappeared behind the curtain, causing the banners of the approaching enemy in the distance to wave. It was a remarkable effect, Vesper wondered if it had been intentional.

“How alike we are grandfather. Heading off to a doomed war. Nobly trying to protect those we love. Perhaps I should find a sword to offer my husband and some sewer to commemorate the scene. What do you think? I think I won’t be fooling anyone any more than you did. A knight doesn’t fight, they lead. The girl could have taken your sword for herself and not made nary a difference in the war. You would have stood, ordering men to their deaths while you remained atop a hill overseeing the battle. Standing as the army drew closer and closer until some noble you thought loyal decided your head would better decorate a pike than your neck. And that is why, dear grandfather, I have Cerul. The first knight, the first ten, who seek my head will find their own missing instead.”

During her monologue her husband ducked into the room and then ducked out without a word.

“Strange woman,” he muttered as he passed an affronted looking maid.

“Not you, dear, my wife,” he said. The maid clutched her linens in fear and rushed past the consort.

“Strange woman,” he muttered.