At least with the audiences, Vhalla could smile through the necessities knowing that she was working toward strengthening their army. When it came to picking one fabric or another for a dress, Vhalla couldn’t care less. She felt as though it did nothing but take her away from actually being useful.

 It put Vhalla on edge, and her annoyed, frayed nerves didn’t do anyone any favors.

 “What do you mean, we can’t do anything?” She couldn’t stop the words, just like she couldn’t keep herself from glaring at the map before her.

 The continent was covered in multi-colored figures, each representing civilians, military, Victor’s forces, and just about every other factor that could be an influence in the happenings of the world. It reminded her of all the times she had mentally thought of nobility as a game. Well, now the pieces were spread out before her.

 “It simply doesn’t make sense,” a lord answered. Vhalla had forgotten his name already, and she could imagine quite a few colorful titles to fill in the blank.

 “We are to just ignore them? To forfeit? That is no small portion of the East. Victor’s hold will go from a quarter to nearly half.”

 “But they are just farmers; they don’t offer anything with regards to military strength or stalling the false king’s army. They are already lost,” a different major remarked, almost casually. It wasn’t until her sharp inhale and cold stare that he realized where he had just placed his foot.

 “Forgive me, major.” Vhalla tried to keep her voice even. She did not want to sound like a petulant child, but a noble lady. “They are certainly not just farmers.”

 “Lady Yarl, I did not mean to offend you or any of your noble kin.” He gave a small bow of his head.

 Vhalla wanted none of it. His fake sincerity was as valuable to her as coal in the face of diamonds.

 “Very well. Lord Ophain,” Vhalla began boldly, pointing to the West’s border with the South. “If I understand your major’s logic correctly, then these towns should be considered lost.”

 “M-my lady!” the major balked.

 “They are just some mining towns, no?” Vhalla knew the West’s terrain by now like the back of her hand. She could possibly list more cities and towns than even some of the nobles in the room. So she continued, not letting her rhetorical question hang too long. “Do they offer anything to our military strength?” The twenty or so nobles around the table were silent. “Then let us pull back any defense that is currently there.”

 “That is the West!” Another joined the conversation with his impassioned declaration. “The West protects its own. I will not stand for this.”

 “And neither will I.” Vhalla silenced the murmurings of the table, her words quick as a whip. “It’s easier if it is not your own kin; I understand that truth.” Vhalla paused, staring at the map for a long hard moment. “But the real truth is this.”

 She plucked a quill from an inkwell and began to cross out and scribble over the lines on the map between the East, West, South, and North. Vhalla triumphantly retuned the writing instrument to its place. She smiled briefly at the map that the majority of the room now considered ruined.

 “These are your kin.” She motioned to the whole continent. Vhalla looked at the assembled lords and ladies, most of which were twice her age and possibly had three times her experience on the field. Almost all had olive-hued skin and darker Northern tones. She had to speak to her audience and make them understand. “Each of you are part of this Empire. I witnessed every person in this room kneel before our Emperor and swear your lives and your futures to his hand. He is not your Western King, but our Emperor. Your brothers and sisters are here in the West as much as they are in the South, East, and North. If you truly believe that the West looks after its own, then that should extend to all those under the light of Solaris.”

 Vhalla glanced at Aldrik from the corners of her eyes. He’d let her lead through the majority of the exchange, as he had done when it came to anything involving the East. But his expression was difficult to read.

 “I want to assure you that I understand the sacrifices war can, and will, demand of those engaged in the bloody business. I know that not everyone can be saved.” Vhalla tapped on the map. “But I will not stand by and allow lives to be written off carelessly—no matter where those lives are—because it is more convenient when it is not a place that you were born into.”

 “Bleeding heart Easterner,” someone mumbled.

 “Out,” Aldrik snapped suddenly. Given the fiery stare he was giving one particular major, Vhalla suspected he knew the source of the insult.

 “My Emperor, I—”

 “Out.” Aldrik’s voice took on a dangerous quiet that Vhalla knew well. “I will not have you speaking to my intended that way.”

 “Aldrik,” Vhalla interjected. “It’s all right.”

 “Vhalla, he should not be permitted to say such to you.” His eyes darted between her and the major.

 “If he is to say such things, then let him say it where my ears can hear, rather than as a coward behind my back.” Vhalla spoke loudly enough for the table to hear, only pretending to be speaking to Aldrik. “But I want him to stay so that he knows I ask nothing of him that I am not prepared to give myself. I will protect the East, South, West, and North as though they are all my family. I only ask the same of those I fight with.”

 Vhalla appreciated the few nods of approval she received. The man in question had the sense to look at least moderately ashamed by his outburst. Under the table, Vhalla felt long fingers curl around hers in support.

 “Shall we continue?” she prompted the group.

 “The question remains, how to manage our troops?” Another major pointed back to the map.

 “We can send some additional aid to the East; granted, it will weaken our own borders.”

 “If we spread these out here,” Aldrik moved some red soldiers along the West’s southern line, “it should give enough to spare.”

 Vhalla stared at the black figures indicating Victor’s forces. They were fewer, but they were spread wide, and growing. Every time a soldier fell, Victor leveraged the corpse by turning it into a crystal-walking abomination. Vhalla tried to put herself in the mind of the madman: what would he do next?

 “If we move those troops, we can expect at least these two towns to fall.” Another set of hands moved the pieces.

 “We could send some from Norin,” another suggested.

 “No, he will likely make an attempt on the Imperial wedding.” The idea was shot down. “What’s the word on the North?”

 “The North is just now marching. Princess Sehra has moved ahead to show her support for our union, but the main forces will not reach the Crossroads until just before we are set to arrive,” Aldrik answered.

 “We’re keeping troops here for the wedding?” Vhalla thought aloud, her introspective considerations slowing her response.

 “Certainly,” Aldrik responded. “It is a public affair. There should be little doubt that Victor knows of our pending nuptials, and he will use it as an opportunity to strike us down or remove all joy from the people’s symbol of the continuing Empire.”