"Report, Sir Lucas," Kaelus commanded, his voice tight.
Lucas had paused, spat onto the dirt near Kaelus's boots, and continued sharpening. "Perimeter is secure, Your Grace. No anomalies. No threats. The only emotional trauma inflicted upon the camp last night came from the inside."
Kaelus felt a vein in his forehead throb.
He opened his mouth to reprimand the commander for his insolence, but a sharp pang of genuine guilt paralyzed his vocal cords.
Lucas was right.
He had made her cry.
He had been a cowardly, emotionally stunted fool.
So, the terrifying warlord had clamped his jaw shut and walked away, absorbing the insubordination like a whipped dog.
And that had opened the floodgates.
Once the knights realized that the Duke was too incapacitated by his own fatherly guilt to execute them for treason, the passive-aggression escalated into a military-grade campaign of pettiness.
