“What did you say?”

Brea tried to keep her voice calm, but her insides seethed with anger. Her hands burned underneath the bandages, scars leftover from another fight.

A fight she intended to finish.

“You’re not going to be fighting, Brea. You’re far too important for that.” Dariel repeated himself, but slowly, as if he were speaking to a child. It infuriated her, how he was always calm and polished.

She swallowed her rising anger and pushed forward. “But I’m the last Progeny. I’m the one destined to put a sword through the King’s heart.”

“Of course, of course. Once the King has been apprehended, you will avenge your fallen brethren at last. It will be a glorious end of an era.”

“Dariel, you’re not listening to me. I don’t want to an executioner. I want to lead the charge.”

“And as I’ve TOLD you, Brea, there’s too much risk if you engage in battle. The King will be delivered to you bound and shackled. You can satisfy your bloodlust then.”

There was no stopping it now. “So that’s it?! I just sit on my golden throne and wait? Watch from afar as the people who trusted me fall like plants? I haven’t come this far to WAIT, Dariel. I need to BE there!!”

“Brea, stop acting childish. You don’t need to be in every fight. People have been waiting their whole lives to fight for you.”

“I’VE been waiting my whole life for this! This is what I was made for, my purpose! And now you just want me to sit still like some useless doll?!”

“I WANT you to remain safe and well-protected in a secure location! Having you in the fray will produce too many variables.”

She let the silence drape across the room. Without speaking, she crossed over so she stood toe-to-toe with Dariel. “I have lived hundreds of your lifetimes in ‘safety’, Dariel. I have sat and waited for far too long to be denied now. If you somehow believe you can convince me to stay here, know this: I am NOT one of you followers. I am not a doll, and I am not a toy to be used by the likes of you. I am the last Progeny, and YOU answer to ME. So when I say I will be leading the charge, I expect a sword to be delivered to my tent by this evening. Am I understood?”

Dariel stared up at her with the full spectrum of shock and indignation. Anger flared in his eyes, but his mouth remained quiet. Casting his eyes downwards, he fixed himself into an elegant bow. “Of course, my Progeny. I will have the finest artillery brought to you for inspection.” Dariel deftly walked towards the exit, returning to his usual propriety. Brea refused to acknowledge his exit, fuming with still unspoken anger.

Her arms still burned. Maybe the bandages needed to be changed again.