“You have until light leaves the sky.”

Gorm had slithered into the depths with those words an hour ago, and already the sun was sinking. Now the Queen watched from her bedchamber as Therys marched along the lake, checking the peasants’ bindings and shouting orders to the armed guards looking on.

“121 is ten times usual!” Juno had told Gorm, only to be met with a snigger and an aloof explanation:

“It’s a power thing.”

Of course, she understood now. At first, Gorm’s choice had seemed so clear, so easy. But now, observing from safety as the innocents she had sworn to serve awaited their deaths…

Who am I to decide?

As tears ran down the young, lonely ruler’s face, she remembered, from somewhere, the words of her father – a flawed King, but righteous in the face of sacrifice:

“When things get tough, it’s always a numbers game.”

And so it would be again.

Juno stood, composed herself, and set off for the gardens, her mind uneasy, but nonetheless made up.

At sunset, Gorm would get his feed:

Therys.