Winter awoke to the soft sound of shuffling paper, and opened her eyes to find soft morning light filtering through the canvas of her tent.

“Sorry,” Jane said. “I was looking for a drink.”

“S’alright.” Winter yawned and rolled sideways on her narrow sleeping pallet, which seemed much larger without another person crammed in beside her. Her body still felt warm and shivery from Jane’s meticulous attentions, and the slight breeze from the tent flap was chilly. She pulled the thin sheet a bit tighter around herself. “It must be past dawn. Go ahead and light the lamp.”

The flare of a match brightened the dimness of the tent for a moment, followed by the warmer glow of an oil lamp. Winter’s eyes fixed on Jane, gloriously nude against the light, head tipped back as she drained a canteen. When it was empty, she tossed it aside and came back to the pallet, stepping carefully over the pile of papers she’d toppled. Winter lifted the blanket so she could wriggle underneath it, reveling in the warmth of Jane’s skin pressing against her own. Jane kissed her, lips still wet.

“What is all that?” Jane said, prodding the fallen stack with one finger. “I thought Cyte was supposed to take care of the paperwork for you.”

Winter sighed. “Official complaints. Have to be signed by the commander to show that she’s seen them, then sent back to the archives.”

“Complaints? From who?”

“Take a wild guess.”

“The Royals.”

“The Royals” was how everyone in the Girls’ Own referred to the former Second Battalion of the Eighteenth Regiment of the Royal Army of Vordan, now the Second Battalion of the Third Regiment of the Line of the Army of the East and Winter’s personal headache. Captain Sevran, their commander, had been relatively cooperative, but some of his subordinates were less willing.

“Specifically, Lieutenant Novus, the senior staff officer.”

“Let me guess,” Jane said. “He’s the scion of a great and noble family.”

“More or less.”

Lieutenants in the Royal Army came in two flavors. Some were commoners who’d been recommended for aptitude to the War College and spent several years training there; captains like Marcus d’Ivoire did a tour as a junior officer before returning for further training. Others were granted their commissions on the spot by the Crown, either in recognition of their illustrious family names or in return for significant financial contributions to the royal coffers.

The revolution and the war had upset all that, of course, and Janus was upsetting it further, promoting commoners to the unheard-of rank of colonel based on nothing more than his personal judgment. But some people are always willing to pretend nothing has changed.

“What is he complaining about?” Jane said.

“Today? That the Second Battalion, in spite of its storied history, is placed behind the First in the marching order.”

“Do the Royals really have a storied history?”