I am, though. I’m cowed.

Every time I blink, I see Allin’s blood spilling across the cobblestones.

But the worst was hearing Rhen say, “Kill him.”

And watching Grey lift his arm.

We’ve moved to the Commons now, an open area at the back of the market where food is cooked and sold. It’s busy, but without the press of bodies that crowded the aisles of the marketplace. The scents of beer and cooked meat fill the air, undercut with the warm sweetness of baked bread.

Dusk has fallen, painting the sky with streaks of pink and yellow, bringing a chill back to the air. More barrels of fire have been placed near the tables. Strange faces flicker in the firelight. Everyone looks at me. It was mildly unsettling before. Now that I know people want us dead, it’s terrifying.

The Grand Marshal and his Seneschal came to find us after the attack. They couldn’t stop apologizing, and insisted on adding a contingent of guards to back Grey and Jamison.

Rhen declined. A further show of trust, he explained to me—though honestly I’d kind of stopped listening to him by that point. It’s all I can do to keep this mildly bored look plastered to my face.

“My lady.”

I blink and look up. Rhen’s been talking to me again. “I’m sorry, what?”

His eyes are concerned. “Here. Sit. I will have some food brought.”

“I don’t think I can eat anything.”

“You have eaten nothing since this morning.”

I keep my voice low. “If you think I can eat after what happened, you’re insane.”

“Sit, then. The guardsmen need to eat, too.”

That startles me into sitting. I hadn’t thought about Grey and Jamison.

“I will return in a moment,” says Rhen. A hand brushes over my shoulder before he strides away, Jamison close by his side. I’m alone at a large stone table, sitting on a wide wooden bench. Grey stands close by, the firelight flickering off the polished buckles of his uniform.

“Do you want to sit down?” I ask him.

He glances at me, but only for the briefest moment. I expect his voice to be short, sharp, the way his mood feels, but his tone is low, quiet. “I should not.”

I follow his gaze to where Rhen is speaking with a woman tending a spit. The woman laughs and curtsies, and a coin sparks in the light as Rhen hands it over.

Grey’s quiet voice gives me the courage to ask him a question I’m not sure I want the answer to. “Do you think there will be another attack?”

“We are sorely outnumbered. They very nearly got the best of us earlier. One more attacker and we might have had a different outcome.”

I consider the thwick of his throwing knives, the way our attackers dropped on the stones. “You seemed to do okay.”

“I am glad it seemed so. It should not have happened at all.” He nods toward where Rhen is turning away from the hearth, Jamison at his heels. “It is dangerous for us to be divided, even momentarily. Jamison is a soldier, not a guardsman. I forgot earlier. I will not forget again.”

I turn those words over in my mind until I figure it out. Grey is mad at himself.

Rhen has moved to another vendor. I watch more coins change hands.

“Did I do the wrong thing?” I say, and my voice is rough and quiet. “When Rhen told you to kill that man. Should I have let you do it?”

He looks out at the people milling around the Commons, and for a long moment, I wonder if he won’t answer this either. Our relationship seems to tick forward like the hands of a clock, always changing in relation to each other.

Eventually, Grey says, “You are merciful and kind. But kindness and mercy always find their limit, beyond which they turn to weakness and fear.”

“Where’s the limit?” I say softly.

His eyes find mine. “That answer is different for each of us.”

Rhen returns, carrying two earthenware mugs. He sets one on the table in front of me. “If you will not eat,” he says, “please drink.”

I hesitate, then wrap my hands around the mug. “Thanks.”

He seems encouraged by this, then drops onto the bench across from me. “Food will be delivered soon.” He glances up at the soldier. “Jamison. Grey. Join us.”

Behind him, Jamison moves forward and places the two handled steins he carries in one hand on the table as well, then swings a leg over the bench. He pushes one stein across the table, his expression easy. “Commander?”

Grey remains next to me. From the corner of my eye, I see him give Jamison a look.

The soldier falters, then begins to rise.

“No,” says Rhen. “Sit.” He looks up at Grey. “That is an order.”

Grey sits. He doesn’t touch the mug.

“I believe we are winning over the people,” Rhen says. “I want them to know we are confident despite the attack. That they have our trust.” He looks at Grey. “Do you disagree, Commander?”

Grey may be sitting at the table, but his eyes are still on the people surrounding us. “Allow me to answer once I make it out of Silvermoon without an arrow in my back.”

“Look around. The Grand Marshal has dispatched his own guards anyway. Anyone would be foolish to make a move now.”

He did? I look around, and then I see them, the uniformed men and women lurking in the shadows. It makes me feel better. A little.

Rhen looks at me, and his voice is quiet. “Our visit has been a success, my lady.”

I’m not sure I agree. I take a small sip from the mug he brought.

A woman approaches with a tray loaded with platters of roasted meat. She unloads everything onto the table between us.

“Eat.” Rhen pushes a platter in my direction. “Please.”

It’s the please that gets me. There isn’t much Rhen says that isn’t a command. I gingerly pick at the food, which reminds me of a chicken stew, though slightly different. Instead of savory, there’s a bit of sweetness on my tongue.

A young woman approaches the table, and Grey is on his feet in one quick, fluid motion. The girl stops short. She wears braids down to her waist and a red dress that looks striking against her warm brown skin.

Her dark, worried eyes glance from Grey to Rhen, and she offers a low curtsy. “Forgive me, Your Highness. I am Zo, apprentice to the Master of Song for Silvermoon. I wished to request an audience with you.”

Rhen nods. “It’s all right, Commander.”

Zo says, “The king always opened an evening’s dancing. I would ask if you and the princess might care to do the same.”

Rhen looks at me. “Would you care to dance, my lady?”

He must be kidding.

“No,” I say tightly. “Thank you.”

Rhen gives me a long look, then turns back to the girl. “Another time, perhaps.”

She hesitates before turning away. “Is it true that the Royal Guard is once again accepting applicants?”

“Yes,” says Rhen. “If you know of someone—”

“I am asking for myself.”

Rhen inhales to speak. I have no idea what he’s going to say, but I remember how he reacted to Jamison, much less a girl my size. I’m already irritated, so I say, “Yes. Come to the castle to apply.”

Her face lights with a smile, and she offers a curtsy before dashing away.

I take another bite of the stew and keep my eyes on my plate. My shoulders are rigid for an entirely new reason. We eat in silence for the longest time. Men and women begin moving toward the back part of the Commons, gathering in the open space that must be reserved for dancing.

Eventually, Rhen looks to Jamison and Grey. “Leave us.”

They do, moving away to stand at a short distance.

I still don’t look at Rhen.

“You seem displeased,” he says, and his voice carries enough edge that I think he’s the one who’s displeased.

“Why would you ask me to dance?” I demand. “We just killed people. It’s inappropriate.”

“People attacked us and lost their lives. We did not randomly slaughter people in the streets. We cannot afford to appear weak, my lady.”

I wonder if that’s a dig about the man I allowed to live—or a dig about the girl I just invited to apply for the Royal Guard. Grey was right about limits. I have no idea where mine are. I have no idea where Rhen’s are, for that matter.

“Fine,” I say. “Even if it were appropriate, I can barely walk without limping. You think I can glide around a dance floor? I’ve got the mark of one failure on my cheek. I don’t need to give anyone more evidence.”

Rhen’s eyes narrow slightly. “You believe I asked you as some form of … humiliation?”

“I have no idea. But are you even thinking about what you’re asking? You think the people are going to see me as a fierce warrior queen when I fall on my face?”

“Enough.” His tone is sharp. “You can ride a horse. You faced down a swordsman to save Freya’s family. You faced down another at the inn. Still yet another attack this very morning.” He leans in against the table. His eyes have turned dark and angry. “You asked Grey to teach you how to throw knives, and you asked me to show you how to handle a bow. You have convinced my people that you rule a neighboring nation, and I don’t think you understand the magnitude of how very impressive that is.”