"Sir Rhona, I know you have been somewhat in limbo lately. After your commander betrayed the Iron Empire, we needed to assess whether his heretical perspective infiltrated into his ranks," Lord General Kerrigan said to Rhona as he walked around the table toward her.

"As we move to apprehend the former commander, we must also assess how you, and the other soldiers that had reported to Commander Hugo, will be reassigned moving forward." Lord General Kerrigan didn't pace or fidget with his hands; he stood in front of Rhona and spoke with an air of command. The light from the window behind him glinted off the small pin on his doublet with the Iron Empire's sigil on it, the only mark he wore that signified his station. Even out of his armor and without a crown on his brow, Lord General Kerrigan was every inch a leader. "Your role in the uprising and your continued work protecting the capital has been invaluable to the Iron Empire, and I have been watching you...I see your loyalty where others have faltered. We will be facing a shift soon and wanted to ensure you knew your time was coming—but also advise you to exercise patience as I determine the next steps for the Iron Retinue knights affected."

"Thank you, Lord General," Rhona answered, trying not to let the spark of hope that rose within her tinge her words. She'd been waiting for this, stuck in Astrad, the country's capital, for three years. Her first tour after the uprising with Commander Hugo had been too short, and then he'd been recalled to the capital to work directly with Lord General Kerrigan. Rhona remembered that fateful first night of the new empire, when she'd fought her way through the castle side by side with her fellow rebels, and then hunted witches alongside them for months afterward, only to be placed on...guard duty. The noble houses had once needed invitations to roam the castle, but those who had sided with the Iron Empire during the uprising now had free rein to do as they pleased within palace walls. Rhona had spent the last two years babysitting nobility as they walked and gossiped and drank, and she was tired of it. But this made it sound like something bigger was coming for her. A shiver of anticipation trickled down her spine.

"May the iron in your blood strengthen the iron in your sword, Sir Rhona. You are dismissed."

"May the iron in your blood strengthen the iron in your sword," Rhona responded, saluting before she headed out of the lord general's office.

Rhona rode out to the garden gates, passing lords and ladies with parasols making the short walk from the palace grounds to the gardens for their daily gossip sessions—or their daily courting sessions. Rhona didn't think about romance in her own life. She'd fought through starvation and loneliness to get away from it before the Iron Retinue took her under its wing.

Rhona loathed gossiping but couldn't deny the power of listening in on those who did gossip around her, and the number of lords and ladies who spilled information they shouldn't around her had only escalated the longer she'd been guarding these vapid royals. Being a knight was an easy way to ensure that the nobility around you didn't see you as a person who could spread the misdeeds of others, although they were correct in this case. Rhona never would.

The gardens were a mix of well-manicured hedges that were curated by the best botanists in the realm and well-placed handrails that kept the garden's visitors safe. The cliffs, though? The cliffs made them the most beautiful gardens in all of the Iron Empire.

Not that Rhona had seen much of the glorious country in the past few years.

Claridge Castle sat on the precipice of a three-hundred-foot cliffside that led down to the Dark Sea, a roiling body of water that few sailed because of its tumultuous and unforgiving waters. The gardens also sat on that precipice, the expanse of the horizon and cliff path both in perfect view if you stood in one specific spot, which was exactly where Rhona headed as soon as she crossed into the gardens.

Rhona stood beside the cliffside walkway, watching to make sure no one attacked the nobility that traipsed the gardens, and also to protect them from their own stumbling feet. She'd grabbed many lords and ladies who had taken a wayward step and almost fallen off the cliffside, always reassuring them that they weren't alone in their stumbling, protecting their egos as much as their lives.

This wasn't quite what Rhona had expected when she dreamed of being a knight as a child in her family's tiny farmhouse in a speck of a town in Astra, but it would do for now. She had envisioned glory on the battlefield and saving ladies from danger, but protecting them from an untimely death by falling could be honorable too, she supposed. Rhona felt guilt whenever she wished for a more violent Astra.

"Good morning, Sir Rhona," a light voice said to her, startling Rhona out of her thoughts.

"Oh," Rhona responded, a blush creeping onto her cheeks, "I didn't notice your approach, my lady."

She looked to see Lady Maeve Heathecote standing beside her, her ruffled pink dress and matching parasol in her hand a stark contrast to the iron plate Rhona wore.

"I didn't mean to startle you. You just almost always greet me when I promenade, and I felt like you might be upset with me for something." Her rich brown eyes, which matched her gleaming skin, crinkled at the corners as she spoke.