“Bring in the prisoner!”

Great iron-bound doors swung open at Lord Protector Sandsmark’s command, allowing the baying, bloodthirsty cries of the rebellious mob beyond to be heard in what had once been the King of Arkland’s throne room, ringing off the polished marble floor stones and great columns stripped of their gilded facades. The courtiers and highborn nobles who once crowded the space, eager for the King’s favour, were gone, butchered in the openings moments of the uprising or sent to Blackstone Prison to await their appointment with the guillotine. In their place stood the leaders of the Glorious Revolution, the men who’d plotted to bring down the monarchy and bring Arkland’s nobility to task, proud usurpers of the King’s throne and glory. The inevitable liberation of the people had begun, and now the privileged would pay for their crimes.

Starting with her.

Necks craned throughout the crowd as the prisoner was brought forth, eager to catch a glimpse of the red-haired beauty spoken of in awe throughout the kingdom. The Duchess Miranda du Lac had been one of the sole progressive voices amongst the nobility, her reputation as a scholar, advocate for reform and patron of widows and orphans acknowledged by smallfolk and highborn alike, yet that had earned her no clemency from the revolutionary mob that had stormed the du Lac estate and seized her by force. She was still clad in the long dress of close-fitting dark blue silk in which she’d been taken prisoner, left dirtied by her stay in Blackstone, and every hobbled step was marked by the click of her high-heeled boots and the jangle of the iron chains securing the manacles about her ankles. Another pair of manacles bound her wrists behind her back, the chain threading through the loops of the leather prisoner’s belt about her slim waist as an additional precaution against escape. She went to her judgement with her head held high, long scarlet curls reaching down to the small of her back, uttering not a sound into the rigid muzzle of black leather engulfing the lower half of her face, the cool insouciance in her wide blue eyes never vanishing even as her guards tore away the top of her gown and left her pale, generous breasts open to the inspection of the jeering crowd.

“Duchess du Lac,” Sandsmark began, the list of charges in his hand. “You have been found guilty of crimes against the Glorious Revolution, and will suffer all due punishment for your decadent and selfish ways. At dawn, you will be taken to the city’s main square and there hung by the neck until dead.” A snap of the Lord Protector’s fingers, and the gag was removed, revealing full crimson lips. “Do you have anything to say before you meet your maker?”

“This is your last chance to surrender,” came her cool response, drawing gasps of shock from the crowd. “Release me and throw down your arms, and I will do all in my power to ensure you are treated fairly when my husband returns.”

Sandsmark scoffed at this. “Bold words from a highborn slut. Do you not understand what has happened here? The people have risen en masse, the capital has fallen, and the King himself has fled before our power. What do you honestly believe your husband can do?”

“Destroy you all,” Miranda answered, shaking her head at their foolishness. “You do not know my husband, sir. The Ravenwatch Marches are not so far that he will not hear of what has transpired here. He will come for me, and when he learns how I’ve been treated, he will strike like a hammer with every soldier at his command. Your forces may be eager, but they cannot match the discipline of the Third Army, and your rebellion will shatter like glass when battle comes.”

“Is that a threat?” Sandsmark fumed, face turning red with outrage at her calm defiance.

“Merely a statement of fact. Free me, please, for your own sake if nothing else. Whatever demands you have, this can still be resolved without any further bloodshed. You need not bring our country to civil war.”

Growling angrily, the Lord Protector gestured once more, and Miranda’s muzzle was restored to its proper place, cutting off her pleas. “Should your husband arrive, madam, he will come far too late to save you. Consider that a statement of fact. Take her away!”

Strong, grubby hands seized her pale body, and Miranda found herself being frogmarched back the way she came, the first stirrings of true fear coming over her. Please, Robert, return before dawn. Their threats aren’t idle ones…