“Your Majesty,” she says quietly, though she still won’t look at her mother.
“Hmm?” Dragonsbane says, yet judging by the way her shoulders tensed, she heard perfectly well.
Artemisia finally looks up to meet her mother’s gaze. “You should call her ‘Your Majesty,’ especially where others can hear you.”
Dragonsbane’s smile is taut as a bowstring ready to snap. “Of course, you’re right,” she says, though the words sound forced. She turns back to me and bows shallowly.
“Your Majesty, your presence is requested in my most humble cabin. Is that better, Artemisia?” she asks.
Artemisia doesn’t answer. Her cheeks are bright red and her gaze drops again.
“It’ll do,” I tell her, diverting Dragonsbane’s attention before she reduces her daughter to a pile of dust.
Dragonsbane frowns at me, then
