Orla turned fully from the window. Her eyes brushed over Arihan briefly and landed on Alora. She studied her granddaughter with those piercing eyes that had cowed ambassadors and kings. But Alora met her grandmother's gaze steadily, neither challenging nor backing down – simply certain.
"The heir to the crown," Orla began carefully, "cannot be risked in a border conflict."
"The heir to the crown," Alora countered, "cannot hide in the palace while asking others to fight her battles. Not if she expects to be worthy of that crown one day."
The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken arguments. Lothar, Zander, and Arihan watched as three generations of royal women measured each other, measured the weight of duty against the pull of protection, of love against necessity.
