Kiara walked across the scarred training ground with measured steps, and when she stopped before Serestia, she did not raise her voice, nor did she point an accusing finger, yet the calm in her tone carried a weight heavier than a shouted rebuke.
"Princess Serestia," she said, folding her arms across her chest, "His Majesty was gracious enough to lend this place to me, but generosity is not the same as surrender. If a man hands you the key to his house, it does not mean you are free to tear down his walls and call it gratitude."
Serestia lowered her eyes.
The blood at the corner of her lips had begun to dry, and a thin crimson streak marked the curve of her chin, making her appear less like a royal princess and more like a stubborn young warrior who had pushed herself beyond her limits and now stood in the uncomfortable silence that always follows pride.
Kiara continued, her voice even and unhurried.
