An old friend’s anger puts a young captain in the Royal Guard in an impossible position, forcing her to make a terrible choice.
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The gauntlet lay palm up on the stone floor, having bounced awkwardly. The plate joints of the fingers gleamed in the faint light coming from the high windows of the palace antechamber.
Had he had the gauntlet polished before he came here to throw it at her feet?
The loud clatter had been enough to draw the attention of a number of the lords, knights and servant staff that lingered, passed through or otherwise occupied the vast hall. There would be no pretending it hadn’t happened.
There it lay. A squat, ugly appendage as unappealing as the choices Vitalia now faced.