Rosalyn longed for the simple comfort of facing down a hundred screaming barbarians charging at her with swords drawn. Or marching through the Direwood Forest, black as night even at the highest noon, a brigand behind every tree. Anything to avoid spending another minute listening to these selfish old windbags and their small, petty desires.
"No, absolutely not," was her response to the latest scheme. Once again Lord William, Duke of Ambrose, badgered her for more men and resources. A full detachment, this time.
"Come now lass," he said, "even you must realize that the mills need to be protected."
This had been Rosalyn Emory's dream. Ever since she was a little girl. Ah, to sit on the Council of Arms. The greatest warriors in all the realm, nobly fighting for the safety of all the realm. What a joke. This 'noble gathering' was nothing more than doddering idiots and the self centered fools that thought to prey on them.
"Is that supposed to be a joke?" Rose snarled. She instantly regretted it. Already the frowns began appearing. Scowls of disapproval from her fellow councilors. That hadn't come out the way she'd meant. The mills and granaries were important, no question about it. Yet not six months had passed since the Duke forced her to pull troops away from the estates of Count Layland. Sure enough, they'd been burnt to the ground while she was out on patrol, too even for retaliation before they escaped.
"Don't be silly. Of course they're important," he chose to take her words the wrong way. Intentionally, she could see it in his eyes, but the others were swayed.
"After all, what will our people eat if raiders carry off all our grain. Again."
"That wasn't our fault. I mean, you shouldn't blame us for it. I mean-"
"Are the Border Guards no longer responsible for guarding the borders? Oh dear me. I must have missed that meeting." Rose flushed at the chuckles. She'd meant to point out that it was his machinations that had lost them those resources. The blame lay at his feet, not hers. The words just refused to come out right. She had them all mapped out in her head, arguments lined up perfectly. Yet when it came time to speak, her composure slipped and all that escaped were shallow retorts.
"Now, now, Will," said the king, "the Lady Emory has been a fine marshal so far."
Duke Ambrose's expression slipped for a moment, but he composed himself so quickly that Rose doubted anyone else noticed.
"Of course, your majesty. I have nothing against the good marshal. Indeed, her talent on the battlefield is miracle enough. It was... most unkind of me to hope that she also grasp the finer points of strategy."
There were murmurs of agreement, and the king looked pleased by the backhanded apology. Had any man dared speak that way to her father, all would have felt a duel justified. Yet even her supporters would condemn the slightest challenge as "emotional overreaction".
Though she'd earned her position by right of inheritance and proven her fitness on the battlefield, many still cried out against a woman marshal. The king's support had only moved that criticism behind closed doors. Even the king had misgivings. His support had come as much in memory of her father as for her own sake. Some of her critics had his ear, and none more Duke Ambrose.
"See. Isn't that better," said the king. "You are right, though. It's hard enough keeping the army supplied. We can't afford to lose those mills."
Rosalyn seethed. Those mills were almost thirty miles from the border. What of the towns and estates that lie closer? Were they any less vulnerable? Better to meet the threat at the border and be done with it. Were she free from the meddling interference of this very council, she could defend them easily.
Yet she was not free of that meddling, and apparently never would be. The king had spoken. No matter how ill conceived this notion was, the king's word was law. She had failed.
"Thank you, your majesty. A wise decision, as always." Duke Ambrose said, delivering a bow towards the king. His head, however, turned just slightly towards Rose, making sure she saw his smirk.
"Good, good. I'm glad we got all that nonsense taken care of. Off with you now. Meeting adjourned. Wouldn't want to be late to my hunt, after all."
The councilors started to disperse. Some stayed to mingle, but most left for other business. Or pleasure. A good number of them were invited to the king's hunt. Rosalyn started to leave as well, but a hand caught her by the elbow.
"A word, marshal," said Duke Ambrose. The last person she wanted to speak with.
"What do you want," she said, doing little to hide her distaste.
He towered over her, his hand seemed massive as it gripped her elbow. Huge next to her own.
She twisted from his grip. Large or not, her hands were enough to hold a sword. Enough to skewer the raiders he was practically inviting. Still, it rankled her that she had to look up in order to meet his eye.
"I thought we could meet over dinner tonight, to discuss how we might fulfill his majesty's order." Rosalyn felt like murder. The nerve of that man, to come gloating so soon. She was about to tell him exactly what he could do with his invitation, but he spoke first.
"Of course, if the task is too difficult for you, I would understand completely. It is rather complicated, after all. I would be more than happy to take care of all the-"
"No," she said. There was no way she would give him any excuse to go an inch beyond the king's order.
"No, dinner will be fine."
He smiled, reaching out to take her hand. He started to lift it, as though to deliver a kiss to its back. None of that now, she thought as she pulled it down. He didn't let go.
"Excellent my dear," he said, "I'm sure it will be a most... productive discussion."
The room spun for a minute. Rose looked into the Duke's eyes, which almost seemed to grow. They snapped into focus, almost as though she were looking through her spyglass.
Rosalyn blinked, snapping back to the present. The Duke still held her hand, his thumb gently tracing circles along the back. What had she been about to say? Oh right, dinner.
"Of course, my lord," she said, "I'm sure it will be. But if you'll excuse me, I have other business to attend to."
Perhaps this wasn't a total lost cause, she thought as she walked away. The order was given, true, and there was nothing she could do to change that. Still, there was always room for negotiation. Perhaps there was still time to outmaneuver him, if she was clever enough.
It would take all her cunning and stratagem.
---
"Draw up a bath," she told the servant when she swept into her chambers. The girl hurried to comply. Time was short, and there was much to do. This could be her last chance, and she had to be prepared.
Rosalyn was up to her neck in maps, supply routes, and quartermaster reports when the servant announced that the bath was ready. Rose thanked her and stood with a sigh. Though she hadn't been at it long, she was glad for the distraction. It was probably just her fatigue from the vexing council meeting, but the papers were starting to give her a headache.
Everything felt better as she sank into the warm, perfumed water. Like the dirt and grime, her cares melted away into the water.
After idly soaping herself for a few minutes, Rosalyn caught herself paying particular attention to her more personal areas. Well, why not? She rarely had the opportunity to indulge. Might as well enjoy it while it lasts.
"Milady. The hairdresser will be arriving shortly."
Rosalyn snapped to attention. The water was lukewarm. Had she been bathing so long? The girl left the room, and Rose turned bright red when she realized where her hands were. For a minute, Rose was tempted to continue. Though her explorations had been pleasant, relaxation had sapped all urgency. The deed was still incomplete, and all she had accomplished was to leave herself more on edge, more sensitive.
So be it. Nothing she could do about it now. Too much time had been wasted on that bath, and she still had to get ready.
Wrapped in her towel, Rosalyn pulled open the doors of her wardrobe. Though she normally preferred uniforms of a more military cut, that wasn't what she would wear tonight. No, her usual tactics wouldn't work here. Fortunately, Rosalyn had a plan, and that plan called for a gown.
She knew exactly which one, too. It was new, something she'd commissioned to placate her dear old mother.
Mother had always been difficult, though Rose suspected she would say the same of her. Mother had always wanted a little girl. By all accounts she'd been overjoyed when, after two sons, one finally came. She'd never forgiven Rose for preferring swords to dolls, or trousers to dresses. Nor her father for indulging it.
Then again, her mother would hardly have approved of this gown. It wasn't the sort to please a mother.
The dress was expensive, made from sheer imported silk. The material was thin, for all its finery. Not quite transparent, but suggested much about what wasn't shown. When the chambermaids finished lacing her in, the gown fit like a second skin, clinging tightly and highlighting her body's every curve.
It was a good body, one Rosalyn took pride in. Not so curvy as was fashionable in court, but at least she needed no constraining corset to maintain her slim figure.
The men had certainly been interested. Not so long ago she'd had many suitors. Important ones too, even though she was a younger child with little chance at a meaningful inheritance. It wasn't that she'd been uninterested in the prospect of marriage, either, but few persisted once she made it clear that she would abandon the battlefield for no man.
