A high-stakes, dangerous race on the capital's most prestigious training ground? The Emperor's spies wouldn't just be watching; they would be writing furious, detailed reports about this exact moment. Every single eye in the capital would be glued to this field. Her grandmother's carriage could probably parade out of the capital gates with a marching band right now, and no one would even notice.
Heena smoothly rested her hand on her hip, projecting an aura of supreme, insulting boredom.
"A race over the heavy cavalry track," Heena mused out loud, ensuring her voice carried to the eager crowd. "Very well. I accept your challenge, My Lord. But racing for mere pride is incredibly dull. If we are doing this, we need proper stakes."
The nobleman sneered, confident that his years of training would easily crush a sickly woman. "Name your price, Madam. When I win, you will dismount, kneel in the dirt, and publicly apologize to me in front of every minister present."
