The reflection of the Queen: Exile

Chapter 12

The rest of the table held their breath, but the general simply said:

"That you know how to shoot down an Ethryn soldier."

"Why would she need to know that?" Rodion interjected in a concerned tone. "Are you going to send Persie to the battlefield?"

Fyodor's expression did not soften as he looked at his son.

"I thought that had already been made clear, Rodion."

"Father, what he learns with Scilla may not be enough to participate in a serious battle. Perhaps some kind of military training should be considered."

For a moment it seemed to me that the general intended to raise his voice, but he chose to laugh as if he had said something funny. Cadmot and Gracelie were quick to imitate him, and Clariess was forced to let out a chuckle.

"Military training? To a woman? That's a good one, son."

"But..."

"A woman doesn't need to know how to handle a sword, Rodion, much less a witch. In case you hadn't heard, her power is only and exclusively for killing."

I almost blushed as I remembered what had happened with Lokih a few days ago.

"I was only saying it for her own safety, father."

"Yes, we've noticed that you care too much about the witch," Cadmot spat. "You care so much that you keep looking at her as if she had broken your heart."

"Queen Furya was especially fond of ripping hearts out of the breasts of her enemies, so I hope that's not the case," Gracelie snorted as she wiped her napkin across her lips.

"Don't talk about such things in the presence of children, Gracelie. And anyway, who would dare to teach her anything?" Fyodor kept joking, keeping the situation under his control. "You?"

Rodion did not respond, but maintained a firm stance and kept his eyes straight ahead, like a soldier. Like the soldier he was. I should have realized long ago that his father had emptied Rodion of everything he did not consider useful, leaving only the insurrectionist captain.

"Well, I'm glad to see that. It's good to be clear about where each of us belongs. Men on the battlefield and women in the homes."

"And which is the one of the witches, my lord?" I hissed, looking up and staring at him. Fyodor's smile faltered and his eyes grew cold.

"Don't worry about it, daughter." His three sons looked at him in astonishment, and I gritted my teeth. I hated every syllable of those words. He wasn't my father, and I didn't want to be his daughter. The one person I would want to be his didn't even exist. WYou need only be a witch until the end of the war."

I couldn't take it anymore. I got up from the table, picking up the hem of my dress skirt. Again, it looked like they had pulled one of Clariess' to give it to me. For a second I was about to pick up my plate and silverware, and had to remind myself that I was no longer a maid.

"Sit down, Persie." Fyodor ordered.

"What for?"

"I'm telling you to sit down."

Again, he flashed that fake affectionate smile.

"I understand that you're not used to the rules of this family, but no one gets up until we're all done."

In my head swirled all the ways to tell him how little I cared about his stupid rules, but instead I sat down and kept quiet. My hatred spread to infect everyone at that table, but some of it was focused on me. I didn't want to be like that. Thanks to the Dream Man I hadn't completely surrendered or become what he wanted, but I had to submit so many times that I feared I was doing it.