The shirt was the first battle of the day.
It was a fine garment of white linen, embroidered with the Ironclad crest, scavenged from the wardrobe the Duke had left behind. It was elegant, formal, and to Kael, it was a straightjacket.
"It itches," Kael grumbled, standing in the middle of the kitchen while Valeria buttoned the cuffs. His massive frame seemed to expand against the fabric, threatening to pop the seams with every breath.
"It is civilization," Valeria corrected, smoothing the fabric over his biceps. "And it covers the tattoos. If Voss sees the bronze markings of the Sun-King dynasty on your skin, he won't think you are a Gamekeeper. He will think you are a pagan idol."
Kael tugged at the collar. "I should just kill him. It would be faster."
"He is a High Inquisitor," Valeria said, tightening his belt. "If you kill him, the Church sends a Crusade. We survive this by being boring, Kael. Boring, pious, and human."
