Footsteps echoed from behind them, and the small man’s smug expression faltered. Hadrian turned and saw the farm girl he had once known as Thrace walking up, flanked by an armed guard. Her dress was faded and frayed, just as Amilia had said, but the young woman stood tall, straight, and unabashed. She motioned to the guard to wait as she moved to the front of the line to face the clerk.

“Lady Amilia speaks with my authority. Please do as she has requested,” Thrace said.

The clerk looked confused. His bright eyes flickered nervously between the two.

Thrace continued, “I’m sure you do not wish to refuse an order from your empress, do you?”

The scribe lowered his voice, but his irritation still carried as he addressed Amilia. “If you think I’m going to kneel before your trained dog, you’re mistaken. She’s as insane as rumored. I’m not as ignorant as the castle staff, and I’m not going to be toyed with by common trash. Get out of here, both of you. I don’t have time for foolishness this morning.”

Amilia cringed openly, but Thrace did not waver. “Tell me, Quail, do you think the palace guards share your opinions of me?” She looked back at the soldier. “If I were to call him over and accuse you of … let’s see … being a traitor, and then … let me think … order him to execute you right here, what do you think he would do?”

The clerk looked suspiciously at Thrace, as if trying to see behind a mask. “You wouldn’t dare,” he said, his eyes shifting between the two women.

“No? Why not?” Thrace replied. “You just said yourself that I’m insane. There’s no telling what I might do, or why. From now on, you’ll treat Lady Amilia with respect and obey her orders as if they come from the highest authority. Do you understand?”

The clerk nodded slowly.

As Thrace turned to leave, she caught sight of Hadrian and stopped as if she had run into an invisible wall. Her eyes locked on his and she staggered a step and stood, wavering.

Amilia reached out to support her. “Modina, what’s wrong?”

Thrace said nothing. She continued to stare at him—her eyes filling with tears, her lips trembling.

The door to the main office opened.

“I don’t want to hear another word about it!” Ethelred thundered as he, Saldur, and Archibald Ballentyne entered the anteroom together. Hadrian looked toward the hall window, estimating the number of steps it would take to reach it.

The old cleric focused on Thrace. “What’s going on here?”

“I’m taking Her Eminence back to her room,” Amilia replied. “I don’t think she’s feeling well.”

“They were requesting material for a new dress,” the clerk announced with an accusing tone.

“Well, obviously she needs one. Why is she still wearing that rag?” Saldur asked.