The King of Yarzat had long ago discovered a peculiar secret: whenever his queen was truly irate the tip of her sharp nose would wriggle exactly like a freshly dug potato. It was, however, profoundly difficult to get a proper glimpse of it today to verify her level of irascibility.
Provided, of course, that the two small, and yet surprisingly strong hands currently rattling his neck back and forth like a loose tavern sign were not proof enough.
It was a queer thing to reflect upon, Alpheo thought as his teeth clicked together with each shake. For all the supreme, bloody evils mankind was capable of executing on the battlefield, the thing men universally found most terrifying was a woman's fury. And when that woman happened to be a mother defending her cub, the terror was absolute.
