...Standing at parade rest behind and to the right of her monarch, with her sword tip down squarely between her feet, Tendra Val’ore used every ounce of discipline in her warrior’s body to still the overwhelming need affecting her sword arm. With just one well-placed blow, the queen would be struck speechless, the district once again at peace, and Tendra back leading her regiment against the insidious Darkson legions surrounding the kingdom, legions that waited eagerly to see how their precious general faired during an amicable supping with the enemy.

“Oh, General Faxon,” Queen Patrilla tittered, fluttering her fan so hard Tendra worried she’d poke out her eye. “I’m so glad you suggested we put aside our differences for a short time. War is so very tiring. And I must say, if more of our Solorian men were as…experienced as you, I’m sure there’d be no need for war. Just time enough to indulge in the pleasures we all crave.” She licked her lips, reminding Tendra of the penned hounds salivating over the gathered supper.

General Roane Faxon, however, narrowed his fathomless black gaze on the queen’s face, nodding to accept the obvious compliment. He watched like a hawk as she drank sensuously from her wine goblet and nibbled at the trenchered sweetmeats sitting between them. Tendra wanted to groan. Even the notorious “Darkson Axe” fell prey to the mercy of his hormones. But to his credit, at least he said nothing to encourage the vain, sex-starved queen.

If only the young woman possessed as much selflessness as she did beauty, the kingdom might not now be in such straights. King Norman, Tendra’s uncle and Patrilla’s father, had done the kingdom a true disservice dying so young—doubly so having died in the arms of his mistress, while his wife passed away giving birth to her still-born son.

“No, truly.” Patrilla leaned closer, her abundant breasts pushing past the stays of her royal gown.

Tendra fought not to roll her eyes as the general reacted predictably.

“All of my men are worthy,” he said quietly, his gaze narrowed on her ample cleavage. He glanced up, catching Tendra’s scathing glare. “And I imagine your warriors are as well.”

“Oh, you mean my Royal Guard?” Patrilla waved, nearly catching Tendra’s ceremonial overdress. The monarch whirled the fan back to her lap and grinned slyly, winking Tendra’s way. “Our captain’s pretty, yet so very deadly. The perfect leader of Solorian security. Practicality is one thing, but in Soloria, beauty always surrounds you. It’s what we prize most here, isn’t it, Tendra?”

Patrilla patted Tendra’s arm as if petting a domestic animal, and Tendra had to fight the urge not to bite her and prove the similarity true. They’d bickered growing up, but when Patrilla had ascended the throne, she’d turned bitchiness up to a whole new level.

The queen looked back to Faxon and smiled, her perfect teeth as white as snow. “I daresay Tendra could best any of your men in combat, or in any other area your men should care to challenge.” Patrilla might as well have cast a gauntlet, and Tendra wondered if the spiteful brunette had an inkling of what she was about. “Come, General, let’s play at war. A harmless little contest.” She stared at him hungrily, but her words had captured his attention.