"We are yours to command, Princess," the armsman closest to her said reverently.

Still trembling, Kiara swallowed, then grasped the sword firmly with both hands and lifted it high overhead as a rallying point. It seemed weightless in her hands, still tingling with power, more a relic than a weapon. "In the name of the Goddess, we'll drive back the invaders'." she swore, feeling the sword alive with supernatural fire. A soldier raised the flag aloft as two more came to bear the injured monarch away, and yet another brought Kiara a battle steed. And then they were cheering, shouting the name of the Goddess, chanting Kiara's name...

"Your Highness," the voice said again, more insistently. "Please, wake up."

Kiara Sharsequin found herself in a tangle of sweat-soaked bedclothes under the worried eyes of Malae, her lady-in-waiting. "I'm awake, I'm awake," she managed, still blinking at the light and attempting to convince herself that the memories of the dream were long in the past.

"You must get ready," Malae repeated. "The ambassador will be here within the hour."

With a groan, Kiara nodded, blinked a few more times, and then rolled groggily to her feet. "I can't believe they're sending an ambassador over this," she said, shaking her head. As if in agreement, Jae rasped and hissed animatedly, then hopped onto her wrist and gurgled contentedly as she stroked his scales.

"He's going to be downstairs sooner than you'd like," Malae scolded gently, steering the princess toward a bowl of warmed water and letting her splash the sleep from her eyes as Jae hopped from Kiara's arm to the washstand rail.

"How is father?" Kiara asked as she straightened and reached for a towel.

"The same as ever," Males replied sadly. "Every morning you ask and every day the answer stays the same."

"I know," Kiara replied, setting the towel aside and walking to the wardrobe. "But every morning, I still keep hoping you'll tell me something different."

She flung open the wardrobe doors. "Hmm. I wonder," she said, pondering her choices. "What does one wear when one doesn't want to marry the ambassador's king?" She reached for one gown, shook her head, started to reach for another than changed her mind and ended up planting her hands on her hips once more. From his perch on the washstand, Jae hissed his opinion.

"Perhaps something somber," Malae suggested, reaching for a gray gown that was never one of Kiara's favorites. "Like this. It is not your most flattering gown."

Kiara brightened. "Perfect. We'll make my hair a bit more severe and skip the rouge. We'll play up all his fears of what 'warrior princesses' should be." She sighed. "With any luck, I'll look less appealing than their stories led them to believe."

Malae chuckled. "I'm not sure it's possible to ruin your appeal so easily, Your Highness," she said, helping Kiara remove the gray dress from the wardrobe. "But perhaps we can forestall them once again."

Kiara sighed as she removed her nightgown. "We've got to do more than stall them, Malae," she said, staring at the gown. "I want them to go away altogether."

"I know, Your Highness," Malae replied, offering the princess a robe and leading her to a chair. Malae picked up a brush and began to work on the princess's long auburn hair. "If only King Jared were a more honorable man."

Kiara gave a decidedly un-princesslike snort. "Honorable? Jared? The words don't go together. Not after what our spies tell us."

"Is there any chance that the spies were mistaken?" Malae offered hopefully.

"None. And I know exactly why he's interested. He wants Isencroft. He could raid what's left in the treasury and draw on our men and boys to raise a larger army," she said bitterly. "Plus our crop land, in a good year, could provision a massive army. Absorbing Isencroft would solve their problems."

"You must admit, Your Highness, that it would solve a few of Isencroft's, as well," Malae said gently.

Kiara slumped. "Yes, I know. There's not enough left in the treasury to make it worth raiding. And after three poor harvests, our men and boys might want to leave home for greater adventures."

"I don't think it has reached quite that point," Malae reproved gently. "But still, you must keep him from suspecting how bad things have been here if you wish to avoid his offer."

"And I've got to keep him thinking that father is well," Kiara added as Malae began to braid and twist her hair. "That's the hardest part. If he realizes I've been running the kingdom myself since father took sick, he'll bring an army to take me to Margolan."

"You underestimate yourself, Your Highness," Malae said, her hands flying as she worked Kiara's hair. "And you dismiss the loyalty of this kingdom. You are Goddess Blessed. Chenne came to you. Our army would follow you anywhere, and so would our people."

It was true, Kiara knew. Ever since that day on the battleground a year ago, when she had seen the Avenger Goddess and rallied Isencroft's failing troops, she had been a legend. While the reverence the peasants showed her was mortifying, even many of the nobles treated her with a respect that bordered on awe. It certainly helped over the course of her father's illness, since there was never a question from the nobility about her fitness to rule in his stead until he could recover—if he recovered. Ordinary illnesses were bad enough, but magic ones were worse. First the war, then bad harvests. Donelan was a king with nearly empty coffers, and no likelihood of raising funds from his impoverished people. Even if he recovered, Kiara knew, Isencroft's future was in peril.

"How will you turn him away, Your Highness?" Malae asked, pinning up Kiara's hair.

"I'll think of something," Kiara said, watching Malae slide the ornate hairpins into place. "Although I'm running out of excuses. If it wouldn't compromise my ability to rule, I'd have told him I was entering the service of the Goddess."

Malae chuckled. "That would be a loss for the kingdom, Your Highness. And I doubt the Goddess needs your vows. She's claimed you as her own already."

Whatever that means, Kiara thought gloomily. She looked at herself in the mirror. Six months of hiding her father's illness, taking on the burden of kingship in secret, had taken a toll. To her estimation, her reflection looked tired and worn.

Kiara sighed. "I guess I'm ready," she announced as Jae fluttered to her shoulder. "How long until the ambassador arrives?"

Malae glanced out the window at the courtyard. "That's his coach now," she said, letting the curtain fall close. "He should be announcing his arrival within minutes."

Kiara nodded in thought. "We'll keep him waiting a candlemark," she said. "It won't do to look as if I were waiting for him. And I shall do my best to appear bossy and solemn, as I presume Jared would like it best to have an empty-headed little doxy to follow him around like a lapdog." She grinned wickedly. "At least, that's the plan for starters."

Malae adjusted Kiara's gown. "I'm sure you'll be quite convincing."

Kiara met her eyes. "I hope so, Malae," she said wistfully, staring toward the window. "I hope so."

The dreaded hour came too quickly. Steeling herself, Kiara gathered her skirts and headed for the stairway, preceded by an entourage hand-picked by Malae for its impressiveness. Kiara paced in the back hallway above the stair as she heard the seneschal announce her with as many formal titles as he could apply. Jae fretted on her shoulder. When the time finally came to make her entrance, Kiara lifted her head, squared her shoulders, and reminded herself to appear somber and bossy, then began the descent to the chamber where Jared's emissaries waited.

She took her time, using the long flight of stairs as a pretext to examine the ambassadors. One man was thick set and coarse looking, more like a strongman than a diplomat. His companion looked more the part. He was a distinguished gentleman of perhaps sixty summers, white haired, slender and fine boned. Despite his polish, he seemed nervous, and for an instant, Kiara had a pang of conscience about the ruse she must now play out. She wondered if failure would cost the ambassador his life, and guessed, from the concern she saw in his blue eyes when she met them, that it might indeed. I have no choice, she thought as she inclined her head in greeting. And neither does he. Princess or liegeman, we're both pawns. The seneschal stepped up to announce her.