Still burdened with a headache, her stomach uneasy, Belka stumbled out into the harsh morning light. “What?” She asked, blinking. “Who?” Someone had been knocking.
A pair of soldiers with sheathed swords and the royal insignia painted on their breastplates stood on the landing outside of her apartment. “Are you Belka…?” Trying to read her last name from the sheet of paper in his left hand.
“Yeah, that’s me.”
“You are hereby placed under arrest,” the leftmost soldier said.
