The eunuch beside the throne leaned in, whispering into the king's ear. Midas chuckled—low, dark, and hungry.
"She has a sharp tongue. Break it, and she'd be much more pleasant to look at." His gaze crawled over her again. "Tell me, what does Azurverda feed its women? They seem bolder than their men."
Lara met his stare head-on. "Respect" she said simply. "Strength, purpose, freedom of choice." She said with deliberate slowness, accentuating each word.
The king's laugh died in his throat. A vein pulsed at his temple.
"How dare you? You presume to lecture me?" He leaned forward, the gold ornaments of his crown chiming as they shifted. "Here, women serve. They do not speak unless permitted. They certainly do not challenge me in my own hall."
Odin moved a fraction, instinct sharpening his features. Midas noticed—and smiled, cruel and deliberate.
"Your general twitches like a dog," he said. "One command from me, and his head rolls before it hits the floor."
