"Exactly," Heena nodded seriously, standing back up and pacing in front of the desk. "If you do not have a shoe, you must adapt. Look around this room. The civil court relies on rules. The military relies on the environment. If a corrupt minister attacks you with a thirty-page tax proposal, what do you do?"
The Ninth Prince thought deeply, his tiny brow furrowed. "I... I tell my father?"
"Wrong," Heena snapped her fingers. "You grab that heavy, solid-stone inkwell on your desk, and you hurl it directly at his kneecaps."
The Ninth Prince gasped, a brilliant light of sociopathic enlightenment dawning in his eyes. He slowly reached out and placed his small hands on his heavy inkstone. "I... I aim for the knees?"
"Always the knees," Heena confirmed, nodding approvingly. "Scholars have terrible bone density. Once they are on the floor, you establish absolute psychological dominance."
