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“I accepted three months of supplies for Lowtown. The contract is the price attached to them.”

“You understand that the marriage is permanent.”

“I understand that your king ordered you to marry and you selected a woman with fewer rights than your lowest dark elf servant.”

Several attendants pretend not to hear.

I study her. “Some of my servants are human.”

“That does not improve the comparison.”

“No. It makes your statement inaccurate.”

“My freedom appears absent in either version.”

Her respectful address has disappeared, though her tone remains controlled. She is not careless. Every word has been chosen to establish that compliance will not resemble gratitude.

I expected anger. Reports documenting repeated disputes with overseers made that likely.

I did not expect discipline.

“Come,” I say.

I lead her from the receiving hall into the adjoining council chamber. Sarveth follows. The guards remain outside after closing the doors.

The marriage contract waits upon a narrow table beneath the Arbiter’s silver scales. Two signature lines appear at its end.

Mine is filled.

Hers remains empty.

Fiona approaches the table but does not touch the parchment.

“The supplies left before your arrival,” I say.

“I saw the first wagons.”

“All three allocations have been released.”

“Who controls their distribution?”

“The Lowtown storekeeper under supervision from my quartermaster.”

“Your quartermaster will favor households serving the keep.”

“He will follow the registered allotments.”

“Will you punish him if he refuses?”

“Yes.”

She looks at me again.

The question is a test. My answer appears to satisfy one narrow concern without changing her opinion of the larger arrangement.

“The clerk is preparing a copy of the distribution list for you,” I add.

“I am permitted to see it?”