Plead with Phaedra

The Amazon, her face a blotchy bruise, her eyes blood-red, her neck marked horribly from the failed hanging, advances on you with her arms raised, one hand and one stump.

"Phaedra, you survived!" you say. "I need allies, Phaedra. Be my general, be my champion! I need someone to help **** me on the lords who took my crown!"

Phaedra's hands shake. She grits her teeth and stares at you. Then her shoulders shake. She bows her head. Tears stream down her face and drip from her chin and cheeks. She drops her arms to her side and sobs, her voice a hoarse croak.

"Rex?" Flora says from the door. "Phaedra, you're alive!"

Flora waddles over to the Amazon, leading with the belly of her advanced pregnancy, and wraps her arms around Phaedra.

"Phaedra, sister, you survived!" Flora says. "It's all right, it's all right now. Let's get you a bath, you're filthy!"

Flora takes on her role as Mistress of Quarters of the Phoenix Company of the King's Own, numbering two...no, three, counting yourself. Rex, Flora, and Phaedra. It's a start.

You put yourself under Flora's orders as she arranges a bath for Phaedra. Under house arrest, you only have one sleepy chambermaid to help out tonight. The maid draws the bath as Flora speaks soothingly to Phaedra. You and Flora undress the Amazon. When you see Phaedra stripped bare, bruised and scraped with the marks of the hanging on her, you can't help but cry. You try to hide it but Flora notices.

"Show her your tears, Rex," Flora says.

Phaedra watches you, watches Bryce, reigning King of Itheria, cry at the grievous injuries visited on a fierce, loyal woman who never spoke or acted treachery against him or the kingdom. Her steely stare melts, and she cries again. Flora sniffles and sobs. Soon the three of you are embracing in a circle, crying together at today's terrible loss.

Your stomach twists to recall that you're more than half the author of this day. Pinch. Merrimay. Pippa. All of them, hanged and discarded.

When your sobs abate, Flora takes charge again. You and Flora sponge Phaedra gently over her scratched, scraped, smeared and befouled skin. Thirty minutes and thirteen flannel rags gone, Flora pronounces Phaedra ready for the bath.

With the fight gone out of Phaedra, you and Flora have to support her as she staggers over to the bathtub. One of the few luxuries you have is a hot water vessel that's kept constantly stoked, to Flora's solace. She bathes every day now, sometimes twice, and always seems to have a cup of tea at hand.

You dismiss the sleepy chambermaid back to her bed.

After the bath, Flora directs you as you dry Phaedra off. She's exhausted now, too weak to walk. For once, it's your turn to be strong. You lift the naked, injured Amazon in your arms and carry her to your bed.

Flora comforts Phaedra, offering Phaedra her swelling breast to suck as the exhausted Amazon, warrior and survivor, falls asleep in the center of your bed.

You reign, yet, but you barely rule your household, and the Regency Council wants to marry you off, safely, and get heirs from you who will be more pliable, biddable, dutiful.

You'll need more allies if this so-called seven-year regency is to end with you as the ruling King. Maybe there's something in the marriage you could turn to your advantage.

Merrimay might know, but she's gone. You blink your eyes into the darkness. Perhaps your old teacher in history, Lady Annette, the Court Secretary who wept at your fall. She's a herald, and she knows the families of Itheria like her ink-spotted fingers. Phaedra will be your general, your planner in this long, quiet war, and Annette your expert on the ground of battle. If you could get the two of them together somehow...?

Even with Phaedra's gurgling, wounded snores, you drift off to sleep.

Your dreams are a whirling, violent chaos, but they never quite wake you.