“What?” Scratch yelped, causing a few heads to turn their way. She grinned tightly back at them until her audience was properly convinced there was nothing to see. “How? She’s more protected than a holy relic.”

“She’s had nearly eighteen years to figure out how to lose the guards, Scratch. What did you think she was doing all that time? Needlepoint?”

Luckily she was spared having to admit that, yes, needlepoint sounded about right, by the scrape of a chair on flagstone commanding their attention. The king rose.

“Oh shit, it’s happening,” she hissed. “James, shut up.”

“I’m not saying any—”

“Shh. Shut up.”

“People of Ivinscont.” King Ingomar raised his arms. Under the flames of torches, his crimson garments glowed like lizard eyes in moonlight. “Tonight, we celebrate victory!”

A hundred flagons slammed on wood tabletops, the racket nearly as loud as the pounding of Scratch’s heartbeat in her own ears.

“Every inch of land we gain, our country grows stronger,” he continued. “Our nation grows prouder. The colors of our flag become known far and wide as a symbol of unshakable might! Only five years ago, we were a small country. A modest country. And now, thanks to the valiant efforts of our armies, we have grown ever larger, ever stronger!”

Again, the flagons beat a rhythmless tattoo on the oak boards while a storm of voices shook the rafters with cheers. Scratch gave a halfhearted “Woo!” James gave a wholehearted “Fuck yeah!”

“And to whom do we owe this victory?”

Flagons, tables, cheers. Scratch trembled like a baby chick fallen from the hen house, peeping into the cold night. It was now. Around her waist, the pants tightened nearly unbearably, her stomach roiling underneath. Now. Now.

“To Lord High Commander Elwyn, of course!” King Ingomar grinned, cheeks turned to orbs of splotches and veins. He raised a meaty hand in acknowledgment of the Lord High Commander, who lifted a skeletal, shaking digit in return. “His planning is the reason that we have returned from the Western Wilds without any losses! His implementation of the great octagon, the clever maneuver that trapped the fighters in their own clearing, allowed for the most decisive victory in the history of our land. West, west, west to the ocean, Ivinscont! Further to the sky.”

Her stomach sank. Okay. It hadn’t been then. But there was still time. It wasn’t over. Still, he could still say something . . .

“Thirty years ago, the Koravians tried to claim our lands. They burned up half our nation before we beat those brutes back. Well, look at us now, eh? Larger and greater than ever before. If the Koravians come again, we’ll send them back weeping. Now, be merry. Long live Ivinscont!” the king declared, and sat.

The room fell silent.