Winter nodded. There were two distinct classes of officer in the old Royal Army—those who’d bought or inherited their commissions like de Ferre, and those who’d come out of the War College like Captain Marcus d’Ivoire. The former sort held the positions of command, but it was the latter who made the army work.

“Who’ll command the new regiments?” she said, wondering what sort of new commanding officer she’d be saddled with.

“Whoever’s most competent, regular or volunteer.” He tapped the pile of papers again. “I’m giving you the Second Battalion of the Eighteenth Regiment, under Captain Sevran.”

“I—you’re—what, sir?”

“Your new unit will be designated the Third Regiment of the Line. You’ll be bumped up to colonel, obviously.”

“This is ridiculous,” Winter said. “I’m a captain only because we needed someone to take charge of all girls who wanted to join up, and now—”

“You don’t think you’re up to the job?”

“Of course not!” Colonels were lords, often counts or their sons, men of power and consequence. You couldn’t just become one, at the touch of a magic wand.

“Then our opinions differ on the subject. But, as this is an order, your options are either to obey it or to resign.” Janus cocked his head. “Do you wish to resign?”

Winter pushed down the turmoil in her gut. “I . . . no, sir.”

“Very good. Do you have any thoughts on who should command the Girls’ Own?”

There was only one possible choice. “Lieutenant Verity, sir.”

“Excellent. Please inform the lieutenant that she is hereby promoted to captain, and that she may have a free hand with her own junior officers. Under your supervision, of course.”

“Sir . . .” Winter took a deep breath. “The Royals. This Captain Sevran. What if they won’t obey my orders?” The idea of her, Winter Ihernglass, a girl run away from a home for unwanted children, giving orders to the proud regulars of Her Majesty’s Royal Army seemed ridiculous on its face. “I’m not sure . . .”

Janus’ expression darkened. “If they refuse to obey your orders, then you are within your rights to hang them for insubordination and treason. Senior officers on an active campaign are permitted to make summary judgments on such affairs. I guarantee it will not take many examples to make your point.”

“You’re serious.”

“Of course. Anyone who will not accept the chain of command is, at the root, failing to acknowledge my authority. I will not tolerate it.”

“Yes, sir.” Winter felt numb. “Understood.”

“Official orders will be read to the entire camp tomorrow. Please keep this between you and your officers until then.”

“Yes, sir.”

“One more thing.” Janus fixed her with his bottomless gray gaze. “My reports say that you were in the thick of the fighting today.”

“I . . . yes, sir. I suppose I was.”