August was quiet while she spoke, and he kept his expression carefully neutral, staring out at the trees beyond the road. Her quiet voice sank in, and he was uncomfortable and warm and confused -- until she finished, pressed close against him, essentially calling him a fool.

For a moment he scowled, while something dark bubbled up out of his memories -- the look on his comrades' faces when he struck them down for the sake of appearances, for the sake of taking Dorothea alive. There was blood on his hands that would never wash away. He sighed wearily, glanced back at Sam, and he gave her a small but honest (if saddened) smile. "So what you're saying is I'm a victim of my own ego. Don't need anyone else, I can save us all alone, is that it?" He paused a moment -- then snerked as a thought came to him. "You make it sound like I'm playing the martyr." He paused again, and groaned quietly. "I am, aren't I? Hell. But hey, it's not that simple. You tell me I should trust people, but who would you trust? The queen could have got into the heads of everyone here, and one false word from me could send my head rolling. So all I've got to trust in is you." He flashed her another smile, a bit kinder. "Are you saying that's not enough?"

While Raquelle sat with a prim frown and a puffed chest, Dorothea stuck her tongue out at her half-sister and proceeded to bask in Liam's attentions.

"I'm sure you're right," Raquelle said prettily, with a smile to match. "The poor dear has had such a trial. Did the Marshal say [i]why[/i] he was captured? And how [i]did[/i] those Verinian bandits know about my dear sister's capture? Why, they were on the opposite side of the kingdom! You don't think they were [i]involved[/i], do you?" It was becoming apparent that the Marshal was going to be preoccupied -- and though Raquelle had heard only very little of her mother's plans, she knew enough to be aware that war with Verinia was a very good idea indeed.