>>5739963>>5739965>>5739969>>5739971>>5739974>>5739998>>5740012>>5740198“Yesss,” you say, a bit angrily. “Obviousssly! Come, men and women of Hawksssong… Tell me, which of you hass NEVER lied or hidden anything from yoru ssspouse? Can ANY of you ssay thiss, truthfully? If tehre was a ‘Zone of Truth’ presssent, could you sstill? Should we TESSST thiss, after all, becaussse the PALADINSSS—warrior monks who do not marry—do not udnersstand the concept of a ‘little white lie’?”
The room shifts with dismcofmort, nobody willing to take you up on such a challenge. You look to Ekaterine, attempting to convey a touch of apology. She frowns, but says nothing, and you see a tinge of what you take for guilt creep across her features. Yes… Even sweet Ekaterine, you recognize, keeps secrets and tells lies… Even to you.
“Iss thiss to be an interrogation after all, my Queen?” you ask her.
She shakes her head quickly, her forehead creasing, and she turns to Marzineo.
“I will remind you, GOOD SIR, to watch your tongue. Matters of MY marriage are NOT a matter for an… An INQUISITION, surely?!”
There she is: your surprisingly-fiery mammalian mate, ready to defend. You, too, face Marzineo with no small smugness. “You have heard your Queen”
The youngest of the paladins opens his mouth, and you can almost hear the words unspoken: ‘She is not yet Queen,.’ And yet, having been so recently overawed by your Human Queen’s aura, the words must seem like a lie. He shuts his mouth, and your grin widens.
“Mind your mannersss, and your placce. If my wife doessn’t throw you out, I might be forcced to take meassuress of my own, Paladin. My oathss ALSSSO demand that I respond to challengesss to be my honour, you ssee.”
You see a flash of irritation cross the Youthful Paladin’s placid countenance at being so foiled. He’d obviously been angling to reveal those darkest suspicions they hold of you, in their allegedly-hallowed halls. They suspect you (wrongly) in the death of their Paladin King and (rightly) in the death of his favoured heir. Instead, you have made them into petty moralizers.
“Please,” Eka says, as the room settles again, “Let us continue.”
You nod.
“Tell us all, truthfully, what is this plague? Who began it, and what was… Was YOUR hand in it?”
“My hand in--?” you stop, and catch the glint of wounded pride in her eyes, and of doubt.
You bow your head in apology, and say: “I am sssorry, there wasss no time to tell you. But thiss plague isss NOT my doing. I sswear it.”
Ekaterine looks into your eyes for a time and then, satisfied, exhales, closes her eyes, and nods. You are forgiven, to your relief.
