Seraphina sat perfectly straight, balancing a small paper boat on her head to practice posture. "And what if they insult Papa Duke?"
Gallahan's golden eyes flashed with sudden, intense, fanatical devotion. "If they insult His Grace, don't draw your throwing knife. You must deploy a high-tier verbal riposte. You smile warmly, take a slow sip of tea, and subtly remind them that their husband's regional garrison is entirely dependent on Bastion mythril subsidies to keep from being eaten by trolls. It is an emotional decapitation!"
"Emotional decapitation," Seraphina repeated solemnly, nodding so hard the paper boat fell off her head. "I like it. It's very clean."
"Brilliant!" Gallahan cheered, clapping his gauntleted hands. "She is a political prodigy! She will conquer the Capital in a week!"
From the doorway of the command tent, Kaelus leaned casually against the mythril support pillar, his arms crossed over his chest, watching the unhinged domesticity of his vanguard.
