"Your Majesty…" A veteran guard, a gruff man with a scar running through his grey beard who had been among the most skeptical, approached her with a bowl. "Thank you. For the warmth."
Eris looked at him, surprised by the lack of fear in his eyes. "It's nothing," she said, her voice habitually defensive.
"It's not nothing," the guard corrected firmly, his voice respectful. "In this cold, a man's blood can turn to slush before he even knows he's dying. You're keeping us alive, Ma'am."
He gave a sharp, appreciative nod and sat down nearby, joining the others in a low-voiced conversation about past hunts. Eris sat among them, the firelight dancing in her eyes, feeling a strange, new sensation: acceptance.
Not just the commoners this time, but the very strengths of the Emperor.
