No one answers. But the air fills with clipped complaints, and snappy directions.
“Enough,” Teddy says, his voice barely rising. Not because it’s quiet, but because his voice commands attention.
The army stills.
“War is not about weapons,” he begins, hands clasped behind his back as he strides through the chaotic lines of men and women pretending to be soldiers. “Not at first. War is about strategy, organization, preparation. You will not rise to the occasion. You will fall to the level of your fear. You will perform at the level of your training.”
Frustrations and grumbles ripple through the ranks.
“Training is about knowing how to defend every attack. How to attack every weakness. So that when battle comes, it is forged into the marrow of you. We must train the hesitation from your minds. The fear from your muscles. The indecision from your hearts.”
Teddy’s eyes shoot to Seren, snagging on her before the words have finished leaving his lips.
The indecision from your hearts.
He snaps his eyes away from her, and she knows he hears the hypocrisy in his words.
“War is won before you ever make it to the battlefield. War is won in preparation—by preparing for all possible outcomes.”
The soldiers nod in agreement, though there’s nothing but fear in their eyes.
General Ashborne stops in front of a round-bellied man that Seren recognizes as the baker from Elarion’s main street. “Or would you rather wait until battle is upon you to develop the necessary skills to avoid having your head relieved from your body?”
The man pales under the scrutiny, his thick swallow audible to everyone in the clearing.
This is Therion Ashborne, Zerynthia’s General of War.
And the sight of him leading, choosing, commanding, sends a sharp pang of jealousy through Seren’s gut.
“You’ve learned defensive skills. How to stay on your feet—a skill every person should possess from the age of four or five,” he commands, and the words send a ripple of shame across the soldiers.
“We’ve never needed it here in Nymeris, General,” a man shouts from the back.
Imbecile.
Seren already knows how this will play out.
General Ashborne stalks toward the man, a strategist closing in on a weakness.
He stands too close, towering over the man, and casting a long shadow across his frame.
“A lack of war should not beget a lack of preparation, soldier. And war has a way of breaching every shore at some point. Knowledge of how the world works is not the same as experiencing it,” Teddy challenges.
He doesn’t intend to intimidate, but it happens anyway. All six foot five of him, every honed muscle, every sharp edgestands before the round-bellied man like a reminder of what war looks like in the flesh.
The man’s hands shake in fear, but he clenches his fist as if he can will the tremor away. As if he can contain it. He swallows thickly, but doesn’t back down. Doesn’t look away.
“Knowledge is power, General,” the man counters, voice trembling.
General Ashborne huffs a humorless laugh. “So in addition to no training, you also have no coherent thoughts of your own, only that of your kingdom. Tell me, sir, what will you do with that knowledge when a blade is poised at your throat?”
The clearing fills with sharp inhales.
The man doesn’t answer, but he lifts his chin all the same. Refusing to cower.
“Forgive me, General, I mean no disrespect…” he trails off, waiting for the General to interject, but Teddy only waits—a General listening to his soldiers. The man stands a little straighter. “I do not believe our shores will be breached. Queen Ilyra has made our shores impenetrable, and has given us repeated assurances.”
The General backs away, stalking through the lines, his gait measured, even.A force.
