"You will leave at dawn," Cordelia snapped.
Voices rose into a sharp chorus around the Golden Hall's carved pillars. Trumpets outside declared a new favor while the light over Clementine all but died.
"Clementine Bradley stands accused of treason by evidence submitted in my name," Cordelia said, smiling like she belonged to the sun. "By order of His Majesty, I accept the title of Grand Concubine and the protections that come with it."
"Bring forward the insignia," Broderick intoned, keeping his voice steady.
"Clementine," Elton said, and there was no warmth in the name. "You will step forward."
Clementine obeyed. Her boots dragged on gilded floor. She held her chin because a woman who drops it is finished in this court.
Cordelia's laugh sounded small in that great room. "Do you remember the day you first knelt at his knee?" she asked, loud enough for the hall to listen. "You begged for a place, your eyes full of hope. I remember. I remember better the way you broke the rules afterward."
"Present the sash," a steward said, and two men carried a silk band stamped with the Emperor's seal.
"These allegations are made on oath," Cordelia went on. "They deserve no house, no title, no influence. An Empress must be beyond reproach. A consort who makes choices that endanger the realm must be removed."
"You speak as if the realm and your appetite are the same thing," someone murmured. The sound died.
Clementine's mouth moved before
