If I Were an Evil Overlord

A WOMAN’S WORK… by Tanya Huff

It was obvious that the man outside the city wall was a Hero. His plain but serviceable armor-armor that had obviously seen several campaigns-did nothing to hide the breadth of his shoulders, the narrowness of his hips, or the long and muscular length of his legs. His hair gleamed gold under the edges of his helmet and even from her viewing platform on the top of the wall, Queen Arrabel could tell his eyes were a clear sky blue with the direct, unwavering gaze of an honorable man.

Over his left arm, he wore a simple unadorned shield, designed to deflect blows, not to support his ego by announcing his family ties to the world. In his right hand, he carried a sword. It looked like a hand-and-a-half, double-edged broadsword although he was so mighty a warrior he made it seem small. She could just make out a heavy gold ring on the second finger of his right hand. It was the only jewelry he wore.

“Prince Danyel!” He called, his voice clear and carrying. “Come out and face me. Let you and I settle the animosity between our two peoples! There is no need for war; we will fight man to man! He who wins our conflict will decide all!”

The queen raised her own voice enough to be heard by her people standing along the wall. “A gold coin to the archer who puts one in his eye.”

For an instant there was the sound like buzz of a hundred wasps.

Then a sound like a sudden hard rain on a slate roof.

Then silence.

Leaning a little past the battlement to get a better line of sight, the queen smiled. “Nice grouping, archers. Well done. Wallace!”

“Majesty!” Her personal aide leaped forward.

“Go down and check the fletching on those arrows-it looks like we have at least three winners.” Her archers were her pride and joy, even though she knew she shouldn’t have favorites among her extensive armies. “Take a wizard with you to make sure he hasn’t been magically booby-trapped, then strip the body. Bring the armor and the ring to me, have the body cremated.”

“And his horse, Majesty?”

The beautiful black stallion standing just to the right of the gate stared up at her with intelligent eyes.

“Archers!”

“Mother! I wanted that horse!”

Arrabel sighed, turning to her son as the stallion whirled to escape and crashed dead to the ground, looking remarkably like a horse-shaped pincushion. “Horses don’t have intelligent eyes, Danyel. Nor are they able to determine who, in a group of people standing on top of a wall twenty feet over their heads, is in charge.”

Danyel frowned, dark brows almost meeting over his nose. “So the Hero knew I’d win and take his horse and the horse was to kill me later. The horse was enchanted and the Hero was a sacrifice.”

“I suspect the horse was no more than a backup plan. Heroes never think they’re going to lose.”

“I could have taken him.” At nearly twenty he was too old to pout but his tone was distinctly sulky.

She patted his arm as she passed. “Of course you could have. Captain Jurin.”

Almost overcome by adoration, clearly astounded that the queen knew his name, the captain stepped forward and saluted. “Majesty!”

“Send out a couple of patrols to make sure this Hero didn’t leave one of those annoying sidekicks skulking about in the bushes.”

“Yes, Majesty.”

On the way back to the palace, she smiled and waved and noted how pleased everyone her son’s age and younger was to see her. The free schooling she provided for her subjects until the age of twelve was paying off-it was so much easier to teach children how to think than it was to change their minds as adults. A strong apprenticeship program helped too. Idle hands found time for mischief and nothing straightened out a young troublemaker faster than twelve hours of hauling stone. City walls didn’t build themselves, after all.

It pleased her too to see so many babies around. Young men who tried to get out of the responsibilities of fatherhood were sent to the mines and their very fair wages were paid entirely to the mother of their child. Fatherhood seemed a good deal in comparison. And the sort of man that might succeed at rebellion soon thought better of it when he became responsible for the care and feeding of six or seven screaming children-said children guaranteed schooling and employment should the status quo be maintained.

“Mother.”

One child had certainly done his best to sap her energy.

“Mother!”

“What is it, Danyel?”

“There’s a girl standing on your statue.”

“That’s nice, dear.” Arrabel blew a kiss to a strapping young man and smiled to see him blush. “Which statue?”

“The one with your hand on the head of the beggar brat. Mother, you’d better pay attention to this!”

Sighing, she turned and glanced toward the statue in question. “Don’t point, Danyel. It’s common.”

He dropped his arm with a sullen clank of vanbrace against breastplate. “Well, do you see her?”

It was hard to miss her. “Andrew, stop the coach.” As the six archers in her escort moved into new defensive positions, the queen shifted over to stare out Danyel’s window.

The girl had a head of flaming red hair and stood with one booted foot on the beggar child’s stone head and the other tucked into the queen’s bent elbow. Gesturing dramatically, she pitched her voice to carry over the ambient noise of the streets and shrieked that the queen cared nothing for her subjects.

“That would go farther if she wasn’t standing in front of the hospital you had built,” Danyel muttered.

The people loved the hospital. Arrabel loved it more. With all healers working for the crown at salaries too good to walk away from, the crown controlled who got healed and how.

“The queen has turned you into mindless drones in her glittering hive!”

People who might not have noticed the girl noticed the queen and the crowds began to quiet, half their attention on the flamboyant redhead and half on the royal coach.

“The queen has taken away your freedoms!” The last word fell into a nearly perfect silence and the girl’s eyes widened as she stared over the heads of the crowd and realized who was in her audience.

“Like their freedom to starve?” Arrabel asked. “Do go on with what you were saying,” she added, adjusting her paisley shawl more securely around her shoulders. “But I’m afraid I can’t stay to listen, I have a country to run.”

The crowd roared its approval as she gestured for her driver to go on. Had they not been well aware of her opinion on wasting food, she felt sure the girl would have been wearing a variety of produce in short order.

“It’s weird how those types keep showing up,” Danyel snorted, settling back into the velvet upholstery. “Each of them more ridiculous than the last. No one even listens to them anymore.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” She already knew it.

“Still…” He scratched under the edge of his vanbrace until he caught sight of her expression then he stopped. “This one seemed to really believe what she was saying.”

“Did she? I didn’t notice.” Mirroring her son’s position, minus the scratching, Arrabel made a mental note to have Wallace arrange a “tour of the provinces” for the young actress when she showed up at the palace to be paid. If even Danyel had noticed a certain conviction in her performance, the girl had become a liability. The last thing Arrabel wanted was for the people to start thinking.

Wallace was waiting for her in her private receiving room, the Hero’s armor and ring on the table.

“The wizards have checked it thoroughly, Your Majesty. It’s nothing more than the well-made armor it appears.”

“And the ring?”

“Also free of magical taint.” He picked it up and handed it to her with a slight bow. “It bears the eagle crest of Mecada.”

It was heavy and so pure a gold she could almost mark it with her thumbnail. “A gift to the Hero from King Giorge?”

“It seems likely, Majesty.”

“He’s really beginning to annoy me. This is what, the third attempt at myself or my son this month? Send this to the mint,” she continued tossing the ring back to her adviser before he could respond. “It’ll just cover what I paid those three archers to kill him.”

It was only chance that a fortnight later the queen was inspecting new recruits in the outer courtyard near enough to the palace gate to hear a voice raised in protest.

“Oh come on, mate, what I get for this here load’s gonna feed my family this coming cold. You’re not after burning up the food in my family’s mouths are you?”

In the courtyard, Arrabel smiled at the twenty young men and women who had just been congratulated on having passed the stringent physical and mental tests required to wear the Queen’s Tabard, reminded them to write their mothers weekly, and then dismissed them into the care of her Captain of Recruits. He was a genius with young people. Once he got their training well under way, they’d protect her with their lives. By the time he finished, even death wouldn’t stop them.

Moving quickly, her escort falling into place around her, she arrived at the gate in time to hear a second protest.

“But I’m from all the way out in New Bella! How would I have heard that Her Majesty wants all hay delivered in tight bales?”

“Are you suggesting that my word has not reached New Bella?” she asked in turn, stepping out of the shadows. “Because if that’s the case, I can repeat it more emphatically.”

Very early on in her rule, she’d discovered that nothing spoke with quite so much emphasis as a troop of light cavalry armed primarily with torches and accelerant.

The carter paled as the pair of gate guards clanged to attention. “I’m sure I was the only one who didn’t hear, Majesty!”

“Good. Unharness your…” She raised a brow at the animal, which rolled its eyes so that the whites showed all the way around and fought the reins trying to shy away from her.

“Mule, Majesty.”

“Is it? Well, get it away from the cart, I’d hate for it to be injured.”

To his credit, the carter had the mule away from the cart in record time.

“Burn it.”

One of the gate guards dropped a lit torch into the hay, which burst into flames and ejected a medium-size nondescript man who leaped toward her, smoldering slightly. The six arrows that suddenly pounded into his torso knocked him back into the fire.

“Mercy, Majesty!” The carter dropped to his knees at her feet and laced rough, work-reddened fingers together. “He threatened my family, said he’d slit their throats in the dark if I didn’t help him.”

The queen sighed, ignoring the screaming as the wounded assassin burned. “How could he slit their throats if he was hiding in the back of your cart?”

“Majesty?”

“Once you took him away from your family, he couldn’t slit their throats and all you had to do was drive up to anyone in a Queen’s Tabard and tell them what you had hidden in the hay. Since you didn’t do that, I can only assume one of two situations apply. The first is that you were delivering him of your own free will. The second is that you are too stupid to live.” Twitching her skirts aside, she raised her hand. “Since the end result is the same for either,” she told the body as it fell, bristling with arrows. “It’s not particularly relevant which applies. Now then…” She turned to the gate guards. “… this is exactly why we don’t allow carts filled with loose hay into the city. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Majesty!”

“I’m pleased to hear that. We’ll let this incident stand as an object lesson…” The assassin had finally stopped screaming, “… but I’m disappointed in both of you-a rule is a rule and although you didn’t allow the cart through the palace gate, you did let the carter argue. That might have given the assassin time to slip inside and then how would you have felt?”

“Terrible, Majesty,” admitted the guard on the left.

“Terrible,” agreed the guard on the right, his eyes watering a little from the smoke.

“I certainly hope so. If you want to make it up to me, you can find out who let this cart into the city because I’m very disappointed in them. Wallace!”

“Majesty!” Her aide stepped over a bit of burning wheel.

“I don’t imagine there’s enough left of the body to identify but check his weapons. Let me know as soon as you have something. Oh, and Wallace?” Arrabel paused, her escort pausing in perfect formation with her. “See that the mule is given a good home. Something about it reminds me of my late husband.”

“His knives are Mecadain, Majesty.” Wallace laid all four blades in a row on the table. “As were what was left of his boots.”

There was no point in asking if he were sure. He wouldn’t have told her if he wasn’t. “King Giorge again.”

“Yes, Majesty.”

“I was planning to invade Mecada next spring.”

“I think that’s why he was trying to remove you, Majesty.”

“Yes, well, you’d think that someone who didn’t want me to invade would put a little more effort into making friends and a little less effort into annoying me.” The queen walked around the table slowly, her heels rapping out a piqued beat against the parquet floor. She stared down at the knives and shook her head. “When I look at these, I’m very annoyed.” A slight, almost inaudible sound drew her attention to her aide. “Oh, not at you, Wallace. At King Giorge. Tell General Palatat that I’d like to see him and his senior staff. And then find me a few bards who wouldn’t mind a new wardrobe and an all expense paid trip to Mecada.”

“A new wardrobe, Majesty?”

“I think we should let the people of Mecada know what their king has gotten them into and the bards will be able to reach more people if they’re not so obviously mine.”

Arrabel was the sole patron of the Bardic College. It was amazing how many bards preferred to sing warm and well-fed, permitted to travel freely about the land wearing the queen’s colors. Of course, there were always a few who insisted on suffering for art’s sake-so Arrabel saw to it that they did.

The queen accompanied her army into Mecada, turned a captured border town into a well fortified command center, and stayed there.

“You won’t be riding at the front of your army, Mother?”

“No, Danyel. When the ruler rides at the front of the army, she only gets in the way.”

“And there is also the great danger you would be in, Majesty!”

She glanced across the war room at Captain Jurin standing amid a group of staff officers and sighed. “Thank you for considering that, Captain.”

He blushed.

“I’m not afraid,” Danyel declared.

Arrabel settled her shawl more securely around her shoulders and stared at her son for a long moment. He squared his shoulders and raised his chin. “I’m sure you aren’t,” she said at last. “Chose then whether you stay here or ride into battle.”

“I will ride into battle!”

She sighed again. “You’re beginning to remind me so much of your father. You’ll be treated as nothing more than a junior officer, say…” Her eyes fell on Captain Jurin, “… a captain. Wallace.”

“Majesty?”

“Have a captain’s uniform made for my son.”

“Yes, Majesty.”

Danyel stared at her, appalled “But-”

“Billy goats butt, dear. You’ll obey your commanders because their orders come from General Palatat-”

“But, Mother, I’m a prince!”

“-and General Palatat,” Arrabel continued mildly, “speaks for me.” She took his silence for assent and smiled. “Don’t grind your teeth, dear. Of course you’ll keep the lines of communication open between the battle and this command center,” she told the general. “But I trust you and your staff to do their job.” Which went without saying really because they wouldn’t have their jobs if she didn’t.

Queen Arrabel’s army had the advantage of numbers, training, and motivation. King Giorge’s people, invaded only because they were next on the list, had only the moral high ground.

“Free bread and beer, Mother?” Danyel, back in full royal regalia, rubbed at a smudge on his vanbrace as he rode beside his mother through the conquered capital.

“It doesn’t take much to make the people like you, dear. It’s worth making a bit of an effort.”

“But you just conquered them.”

“Most people don’t care who’s in charge just as long as someone is.”

“And the people who do care?”

“Are easy enough to replace.” Arrabel stared out at the city-many of its buildings damaged by her siege engines during the final battle-and began working out the amount of stone it would take to rebuild it. And, of course, there were schools to be built. Some of the more recalcitrant nobility could start hauling blocks in as soon as possible.

She let Danyel emerge first at the palace, waiting until her escort was in place before she stepped out of the carriage. She wore her usual neat clothing over sensible shoes and was well aware that next to her more flamboyant son she looked like a sparrow next to a peacock.

People tended not to shoot at sparrows.

“Mother, why didn’t you wear your crown?” Danyel asked her as they stepped carefully over the shattered remains of the palace gate.

“Everyone who needs to know who I am, knows.” Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she stopped in the outer courtyard and glanced over at a group of Mecadian soldiers-prisoners now-huddled next to the smoking ruin of what had probably been a stable.

“Wallace.”

“Majesty?”

“Make sure they let their mothers know they survived.”

“Yes, Majesty. And the ones who didn’t survive?”

“Well, they’ll hardly be able to write home now, will they?”

General Palatat met them outside King Giorge’s throne room in front of the enormous brass-bound doors. “The door’s been spelled, Majesty, we can’t break it down. But they’re still in there-King Giorge, Queen Fleya, both princes, both princesses.”

“Personal guards?”

“They died out here, Majesty, covering the royal family’s retreat.”

“All of them?” She glanced over at the liveried bodies piled out of the way. “My, that was short-sighted.”

“Yes, Majesty. One of the princesses has been talking through the keyhole. She says her brothers want to negotiate a surrender but they’ll only speak to you. Royal to royal as it were.”

“They could speak to me,” Danyel muttered.

His mother ignored him. “Do you think the princes will negotiate in good faith?”

“They are considered to be honorable men,” the general told her. “They will do what they feel is right regardless of the consequences.”

“They take after their father then.” The queen stared at the door to the throne room. The smart thing for King Giorge to have done would have been to get his family out of the country when it became obvious he’d lost-which would have been about half an hour after the first battle had been joined. Arrabel assumed he’d refused to leave his people or some such nonsense. “Well, tell them I’m here.”

At the general’s signal, one of the Queen’s Tabards banged on the door with a spear butt.

“Is she there?” Interestingly, the girl sounded more annoyed than distressed.

“I am.”

“There’s a secret exit at the end of the hall, by a statue of my father. Do you see it?”

“The statue?” There were ankles on a plinth and rather a lot of rubble. A bit of the rubble seemed to be wearing a stone crown. “No but I can see where it was.”

“My brothers will come out, stripped to their breeches so you can see they’re weaponless. You approach them alone and they’ll give you our father’s terms of surrender.”

“I’m to approach alone?” A raised hand cut off the general’s protest. “At two to one odds?”

“We know you have archers with you. You always have archers with you!”

“True enough. Very well, given that I have archers, I will meet you at the end of the hall.” She sighed and smoothed a wrinkle out of her skirt. “Wallace?”

“Yes, Majesty?”

“Am I getting predictable?

“Only in the best of all possible ways, Majesty.”

Arrabel glanced over at him and when he bowed, she smiled but before she could compliment his answer, a section of the wall at the end of the hall slid back and a half-naked young man emerged. And then a second.

Both princes were in their mid-twenties, not quite two years apart in age, and, given that very little was left to the imagination, in obviously fine condition. Muscles rippled everywhere muscles could ripple. One wore his golden hair loose, the other tied his darker hair back, but except for that they could have been twins. That she had an appreciation for handsome men was no secret so she suspected Giorge had sent out his sons because he expected they’d get better terms.

“Mother, I could take them.”

“Not now dear, Mother’s going to go negotiate.” She walked purposefully forward and stopped a body length and an equal distance from both princes. “Well?”

The blond cocked his head, gray eyes narrowed. “You don’t look like I imagined.”

“Is there any reason I should?”

Before he could respond, the brunet charged at her, screaming.

At least one, maybe two of the arrows passed so close she felt the breeze. As the prince hit the floor, she rolled her eyes. “That was stupid.”

“No,” the other prince snarled. “That was a sacrifice. Your archers cannot save you now; my brother’s death has disarmed them. For what you have done to my people, I will kill you with my bare hands and yes, I expect to die just after but…” He stopped and stared in astonishment at the half dozen arrows suddenly protruding from his chest, one of them adorned with a small piece of fabric. “But…”

“My archers can reload, aim, and fire in under seven seconds,” Arrabel told him as he dropped heavily to his knees. “Never pause to gloat, dear,” she added, patting his cheek as he sagged back.

“Mother! Are you all right?”

“Of course I am.”

“But what if he’d grabbed you and used you as a shield?” Danyel grabbed her arm to illustrate and a long, thin knife slid out from under her neat, lace-trimmed cuff, scoring a line along the enamel on his vanbrace.

“Then I’d have dealt with it myself,” she said, pulling free of his slackened grip. “Although I’m just as glad I didn’t have to.” The knife disappeared. “I’m quite fond of this dress and I’d hate to have gotten blood all over it. And speaking of this dress…” she turned to face her archers, brandishing the hole in her full skirt. “Who took the shot that went through here?”

A very pale young man stumbled forward and dropped to one knee. He was shaking so hard it sounded as though he was tapping his bow against the floor.

“Conner Burd isn’t it? Your mother runs a small dairy on the outside of the capital.”

The young archer managed part of a nod.

“Let that be a lesson to you all, if my life is in danger, don’t worry about my clothing and don’t feel you’re redundant just because another five arrows are heading for the target. Those arrows could miss. Good shot, Conner. General Palatat.”

“Majesty!”

“Stop trying to break through the door and go through the wall.”

“Majesty?”

“No one ever thinks to have a wizard spell more than the door. Get a few strapping young men up here with sledgehammers and go through the wall.” Her tone suggested she’d better not have to repeat herself a third time.

The queen was not the first to step through the breach in the wall. The queen was the sixteenth to enter, after fourteen soldiers, General Palatat, and her son. The first soldier through the breech took a tapestry pole to the back of the head.

The throne room was empty except for the royal family. King Giorge sat slumped in his throne, head on his chest. Queen Fleya sat at his feet, sobbing. One of the princesses, her hair a mass of tangled mahogany curls and showing just a little too much cleavage for the situation, stood snarling by her father’s side, the tapestry pole having been taken away from her with only minor damage. The other princess, blond hair neatly tied back, arms folded over her sensible cardigan, stood just behind her sister, frowning slightly.

“You can’t touch him now,” Queen Fleya cried as Arrabel approached the throne. “He’s gone beyond your control!”

Arrabel cocked her head and studied the king, his lips and eyelids were a pale blue-green. “Took poison, has he?”

Eyes red with weeping, Fleya’s lip curled. “He knew he could expect no mercy!”

“It’s hardly practical to leave live enemies behind me now, is it?” she answered switching her attention to the queen. “I wonder what he thought I’d do with you.”

“You will force me into exile with my daughters and the body of my dead husband and we will live out our lives torn from the country we love.” She wiped her eyes and straightened her shoulders. “It’s what is done.”

“Really? The upholstery on the throne-it’s expensive is it?”

Fleya looked up at the embroidered gold velvet under her husband and back at Arrabel, confused. “Yes but-”

“Hard to keep clean?”

“I expect so but-”

“General Palatat.”

“Majesty.”

“There’s no reason to make things more difficult than we have to for the staff. Have King Giorge’s body dragged down to the floor then behead him.”

The queen and the dark-haired princess screamed out versions of, “You can’t!”

The second princess said nothing at all.

When Giorge’s head came off enough blood gushed from the stump of his neck to partially obscure an impressive mosaic map of the kingdom set into the throne-room floor. Released by the soldier who held her, Queen Fleya ran to her husband’s side.

Danyel said, “But Mother, he was already dead.”

“Dead men don’t bleed like that, Danyel.” Arrabel stepped back as the blood spread. “The poison only feigned death. After the three of them reached exile it would wear off and Giorge would rise from his supposed grave to seek vengeance.”

“But how did you know?”

“It’s what I would have done, dear. Wallace.”

“Majesty?”

“Make sure he’s cremated.”

“Nooooooooooooo!” Fleya’s wailed protest drew everyone’s attention. Sitting on the floor, her silk skirts soaking up the king’s blood, she held his headless body clasped tight in her arms. “You will not take him from me! I will not go into exile without my Giorge!”

Arrabel sighed. “Of course you won’t.” She raised her hand. Because of the late king’s body, four of the arrows went into Fleya’s upper torso, the other two went one into each eye. “All right, who risked the eye shots?” When two of the archers admitted as much, she smiled at them and pointed a teasing finger. “There’s no need to show off, I know how good you are. Now then…” Lifting her skirts, she walked around the growing puddle. “This is taking far too long. You.” The same finger pointed at the dark-haired princess, held struggling between two Tabards. “You’ll marry my son, giving his claim to rule this kingdom validity.”

“Never!”

She raised a hand. “I expected as much,” she sighed as the body hit the floor and pointed at the second princess. “You’ll marry my son and give his claim to rule this kingdom validity.”

The girl stared into Arrabel face for a moment then shrugged. “All right.”

“Don’t shrug, dear. It’s common.” A slight frown as recognition dawned. “That was your voice at the door.”

“Yes.”

“The poison was your plan.”

“Yes.”

“And your brothers’ attempt?”

“My plan.”

“Really? What’s your name?”

“Mailynne.”

“How old are you, Mailynne?”

“Seventeen.”

“I imagine you have some ideas about how the kingdom should be run.”

Mailynne’s gray eyes narrowed. “Yes.”

“Good.”

“Mother, I don’t want to be married.” Danyel reached to grab her arm, noticed the gouge on his vanbrace and thought better of it.

Arrabel and Mailynne turned together. “That’s not really relevant, dear.”

“But…” He paused, mouth open. “Wait. I’m to rule this kingdom?”

“Under my guidance.”

“But you’ll be at home?”

“Yes.”

Dark brows drew in. “And I’ll be here?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” His smile showed perfect teeth and an enchanting dimple. “Well, that’s different then.”

His mother placed her hand in the center of the princess’ back and gently pushed her forward. The girl was wearing some kind of harness under her sweater that probably held at least one weapon. “You will rule Mecada with Mailynne at your side.”

“As you say, Mother.” Danyel bent and kissed the princess’ hand. “I want an enormous wedding,” he announced when he straightened.

“Don’t be ridiculous, dear. You don’t bankrupt a county that’s recently lost a war just so you can have a party. Wallace.”

“Majesty?”

“We’ll need someplace central with good security but high visibility.”

“And somewhere we can release a hundred white doves!”

“Doves aren’t really relevant right now, Danyel.”

“The surviving nobility that served my father should be there,” Mailynne suggested as her future husband pouted.

Arrabel turned a maternal smile on the girl. “That’s not really relevant either, dear.”

The wedding was short but beautiful. As a wedding present, Arrabel left a regiment of the Queen’s Tabards in Mecada to help keep the peace. Her new daughter-in-law narrowed her eyes but accepted the gift graciously.

Because there was correspondence to go over, Wallace rode with her in the carriage on the way home.

“Wallace?”

“Yes, Majesty?”

“How long do you figure Danyel will last?”

“Majesty?”

“I expect she’ll keep him around until she has an heir. And I expect that will happen as soon as possible.”

“But Majesty…”

“As much as he adored me, he was becoming a distraction. Mother this and Mother that and eventually he’d distract me at a bad time. This girl was a good choice, Wallace, I won’t live forever and I’d like to think-on that very distant day-that I was leaving my people in good hands. Hands that wouldn’t undo all the work I’ve done.”

“She does remind me a little of you, Majesty.”

“Yes.” Arrabel picked up the wrapped slice of wedding cake from the seat beside her and tossed it out the window. “She does, doesn’t she?”