“It does not have to be. And who will take such bad people to justice? Thronebearers? What if they’re noble? Maybe…[Knights] protect the people who matter a bit more than the common folk?”

Dalimont froze. Ser Vimel turned red. Cara saw a few people carefully glancing at her, not even going as far as to nod. But she knew they heard something in her words they observed too.

“You go too far, Miss! To impugn our honor—”

“Then why are [Knight] orders made predominantly of the nobility?”

“Not all of them.”

Cara halted, with the second drink at her lips. Ser Dalimont was smiling at last, as with the cat who’d finally caught that damn mouse which had been taunting him all evening.

“You may not know it, Miss Sullivan. But the Thronebearers do accept mostly noble members. Some other knightly orders in Terandria make a point of accepting mostly common-born sons and daughters.

The Order of Seasons in Pheislant, for instance, has an equal split between noble and commoner. Your point seems to only attack Calanfer.”

The other Thronebearers were nodding triumphantly. Cara rolled her eyes.

“So there are unions of people who managed to seize some form of power despite the monarchies holding all of it. Half and half? So you’re telling me half of Pheislant is noble, hm? Because only that would be fair.”

Exasperated, Ser Dalimont went for his drink. Ser Vimel was standing up.

“It seems nothing will convince you, Miss, will it? I only regret that you did not join a knightly order, for your head is harder than any helmet I have ever worn. And your tongue could score Dragon scales!”

He began to stalk off to his table. Cara sneered after him.

“I thought [Knights] didn’t run from challenges?”

Chuckles. Ser Vimel turned. He scowled at Cara and barked.

“Well for you, Miss, that if you should ever be accosted or in danger, I will remember my vows over my personal feelings. For that is what it is to be a [Knight]. The Eternal Throne of Calanfer protects!”

His hand struck his chest. Dalimont copied the gesture, and so did all of the Thronebearers.

“It protects. The crown does protect, Miss Sullivan. You cannot deny that.”

She focused on him. And it was the drink. It was the sting of memory.

She slowly pushed back her mug and plate. And stood. The [Bartender] looked up. The man at the bar, who had been smiling, saw Cara rise.

“It protects, Ser Dalimont? Your crown, your sodding ‘Eternal Throne’ protects only what it chooses to protect. What happens to someone who gets on your [King]’s bad side? Whom he personally despises? I have never known the protection of a crown where I come from. I have only known its wrath. I have only…”

She stared past him. When she looked around, her eyes were suddenly sharp.