Serika Vael sat on the highest parapet of the royal palace of Vraven with one boot swinging over a hundred-meter drop, watching human nobility try to remember how to walk.
The trial was over. So were the coronation and the vassalage. The seat of the nation had finally begun spitting its peerage out into the night, and the show below was tremendous.
Their man had gone the other way, deeper into the palace, toward a private study with the old king and a river of clerks. The girls had taken one look at that particular door and reached a unanimous verdict.
"Let's spend some quality time together, shall we?" Serika had asked, and led the retreat. Many followed, knowing they'd just crowd the small room.
Now five of the most dangerous women alive lounged along the royal roofline with a liberated bottle of Thornhollow moonwine, and nobody below had any idea the new liege lord's family was rating them.
"Look at that one," Kitsara purred, pointing with a tail.
