One of the younger Guardsman went positively green with nausea. Wilson maintained his salute, his lip twitching, his pink skin flushing, as if he’d forgotten how to move. “Do you have the queen’s written order?”

“I just left a meeting with her,” Una said. Then, with practiced condescension, she asked, “Are you questioning Her Majesty’s judgment?”

“N-no,” he stammered. “It’s just…”

“Just what?”

“W-well, it’s only that she always communicates by written order. DCMJ article eighty-seven (a) s-says … any person who abandons their post for any reason can be court-martialed.”

With the certainty of rules behind him, the familiar rhythms of recitation, he found a new steadiness to his voice. He sounded devout, as if he’d been entrusted with some divine purpose. Wren pitied him as much as she envied him. Her life would be much easier if she had such respect for authority.

“Major Herman told me this was a special mission, and I was not to leave under any circumstances,” he added. “With such a high-profile charge, I can’t trust anyone.”

Una’s smile sharpened. “Are you accusing me of something?”

“What?” He blanched. “No! I mean—no, ma’am. Never.”

“Then need I remind you that, according to DCMJ article seventy-six, any person who willfully disobeys the lawful order of a commissioned officer or who behaves with disrespectful deportment will be court-martialed? So what will it be, Sergeant? A court-martial for insubordination or for abandoning your post?”

At this, the rest of his unit muttered anxiously behind him. Wren watched the gears turn behind the sheen of Wilson’s glasses and saw the very moment he came to the realization that no protocol existed for this situation. He looked utterly despondent.

Una made a show of surveying his uniform and clucked her tongue at a single missing button on his tunic. “Just who is your commanding officer? Major Herman, you said? I ought to tell her she needs to run a tighter ship. You wouldn’t pass snuff under my command with that out-of-regulation uniform.”

Wilson clapped a hand over the offending empty space. “I was going to get it sewn tomorrow! I swear.”

“And what do you suppose Major Herman will do when she hears that her subordinate not only disobeyed his superior’s orders, but also did it as a slovenly embarrassment to her unit?”

A sheen of sweat broke out on Wilson’s upper lip, a wet twin to his patchy blond wisp of a mustache.

“I respect you, Wilson,” Una said with a calculated lilt. “You follow policy as religiously as the Goddess’s decrees. That’s rare these days. It would be a shame to see you disciplined for such a tiny mistake.”

His throat bobbed. His face sagged. Then, with great resignation, he said, “Thank you, Captain. I’m so sorry for the miscommunication.”

“Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

He saluted as if that were an order. “Yes, ma’am. We will.”