The kingdom of Rheaveth had left the dark ages three generations ago with the rise of the Belsant family, who claimed a throne carved out of horse bone and many broken lances. Rheaveth had been under the oppressive thumb of a marauding band of nomads who had decided to stay in the lush grasslands for the sake of their steeds. As the rest of the  world around them expanded their knowledge and explored the boundless seas, the people of Rheaveth, once proud and mighty, tilled the soil for their horse-riding lords and overseers. Until a headstrong concubine of one of the lords of the eastern plains inspired a revolution by making her former master kneel before her and the dormant pride of  the Rheaveth people. Helga Belsant took back her country, one brutal battle at a time. Each victory she wrought awoke blood of her countrymen. Traditionalist art loved to depict her in gowns of gore, surrounded by fallen horses and men, as often as it loved to show the regal woman commanding her court.<br/><br/>Helga created the throne. Her daughter would enforce its power, driving the horsemen from their borders once and for all. Glenda Belsant brought the knowledge of the world, the world they had been cut off from for so long, back to Rheaveth. Infrastructure, industry, and a strong sense of nationalism was brought to Rheaveth under Glenda. And they used it all to hunt their former oppressors into near extinction.<br/><br/>And now, the granddaughter of Helga, Sophia Belsant is not content to have her kingdom be just a country. The proud, hardy people of Rheaveth, the ones who clawed their way up to modern times within a few decades, could not be content with their grasslands and rolling hills. Rheaveth would be an Empire under her and she, now queen, would be an Empress.<br/><br/>But this isn't a story about Sophia. This is a story about a marksman that, if she so wished, may have taken the kingdom from the Belsant Queen. If court life suited this marksman, which it didn't--she could never see herself tied down so utterly. They, as lovers, agreed that the intricacies, read tedium, required to rule was better suited to Sophia. While she would help with the more direct forms of administrations.<br/><br/><hr/>Yunalesca  Braska, recently named Commandant General of Alkenstar, had been assigned the task to keep the order in the recently captured city on the border between Rheaveth and its neighbor Shalastan, a largely desert and mountain nation known for its rich mineral deposits, including the mana-infused crystals that served as fuel for much of the world's modern vehicles: manatite.<br/><br/>Alkenstar was, keyword was, an independent citystate made up of a mixed population of Rheavetians and Shalans. The political situation of the city was always a mess to sort through for outsides, but Rehavetians outnumbered the Shalans with a majority of sixty percent. This often made the citystate, through its appointed officials, lean toward Rheaveth. Favoritism led to protests, protests to accidentally riots. Which led to Rheaveth marching into the city to protect its countrymen. As so was the pretense.<br/><br/>Yuna's job was to keep the peace by locating and nipping insurgents. Officially that was why she was there. But the first month would prove that coordinating the military police would leave her more free time than expected to attend to a rather personal goal for being in Alkenstar.<br/><br/>The former governor's mansion had been given to Yuna for her use, whether that be personal, business or a mix of both, the mansion could accommodate both. A mix of both would what three of Yuna's four lieutenants would discover one morning.<br/><br/>"This is getting ridiculous," Lieutenant Grashe complained. She stood a head above the two other woman climbing up the stairs of the manor. Out of the lieutenants she had the longest legs and a specifically tailored jacket for her assets. Only the Commandant outclassed her. "This is nothing new! Reports every morning on the first, third and fifth days of the week and its been a month since we've arrived. She's never been on time to a single one!"<br/><br/>"Grashe. The rest of us have accepted that Commandant Braska is...eccentric. You should too for the sake of your blood pressure," said Lieutenant Kovacs, the one with puffiest lips and cutest face--if others didn't vouch for her, there was no way people would believe that she was in her 30s and not barely an adult.<br/><br/>"We're part of her highness' royal-fucking-army," Grashe snapped. "We're the heads of the occupying force and she's<em>the</em>head. A little punctuality is the least to ask for! And stow it, Tolkov, I know what you're going to say and I don't want to hear it."<br/><br/>Tolkov, the curviest of the Lieutenants, opened and promptly closed her mouth. The three of them, red, brunette and blond respectively, reached the doors to the master bedroom. Grashe, didn't think she owed the Commandant a warning as she threw the doors wide open and entered with Kovacs and Tolkov.