The priesthood in Madra didn’t worship a higher power. They spent their lives in contemplation of the past. They wrote laws in their halls before bringing them to the king. They fashioned themselves the protector of Madran tradition, Madran soul. And apparently, revealing the face of a princess before her betrothal would tarnish that soul.

They also controlled the Madran prisons.

Helena had never developed the faith in the priesthood her father had.

“Sire,” Edmund’s voice snapped her back to the matter at hand. “I really think you can pull your forces from the interior of Bela. Just leave the few stationed at the Draconian border. The others are needed elsewhere.”

Where were they needed? Home. The thought came unbidden to her mind. The soldiers were needed at home. Some of them had been away for years. Their wives and children needed them now. The Madran fields and granaries needed them.

She’d never understood her father’s constant wars or his acceptance of everything they cost the kingdom.

“No.” The king shook his head. “Bela has magic. We must keep our presence there.”

“With all due respect, your Majesty.” Edmund’s voice grew louder. “The Draconian war ended years ago. I know because I was there. I fought alongside your Madran forces and we were grateful for your aid, but your treasury cannot afford to continue keeping an eye on us. You can trust Queen Persinette. Gaule’s fear of magic nearly destroyed them, don’t make the same mistake.”

“We aren’t Gaule.”

“No,” Edmund agreed. “Because it’s not too late for you. Your people are suffering because your treasury runs dry, and the men who work the fields are off with the army. You have units in Bela, Gaule, Andes, and Cana.”

“We are aiding those kingdoms.”

A new voice piped in, one that made her stomach roil. “Maybe you should aid your own kingdom.”

Helena’s eyes snapped to the speaker.

“Ian,” a harsher voice hissed.

The king lifted his eyes. “Young Tenyson, please, tell me what you really think.”

Ian opened his mouth again, but an older woman gripped his arm.

“Let me apologize for my son, your Majesty. This is his first meeting of the war council.”

The king raised one brow. “We invited you here to observe, boy. Let those with more experience speak.”

Ian’s jaw clenched, a look Helena had seen before.

He wasn’t any younger than Stev, but Stev had been raised for these duties and his voice carried more weight. He also had the good sense to know when not to speak.