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She waited until Zevon was out of earshot to say, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make him angry. I thought it was a reasonable question.”
“You did more than ask a question,” Noratu pointed out. “You argued with the president of the Citadel, basically called him petty and vengeful.”
She placed her hands on her hips, incensed by their ridiculous response to the president’s overreaction. “I’m not allowed to voice my opinion?”
Draven’s brows drew together and his lips pressed into a disapproving line. “You made it seem as if we had not prepared you for this conflict. You were told about the shipyard and why we must prevent it from going online. We have kept nothing from you.”
Heads were turning as their voices grew louder, but Flora didn’t care. “Oh, yes, you provide me with information, but when have you ever asked my opinion on anything? Maybe I don’t want to go on this mission at all. Did you ever consider that?”
“Calm down, right now,” Draven warned, his expression thunderous.
“Screw. You! All of your scowling and growling is just making me angrier.”
“It is unwise to challenge me. You know this, mate.”
Rather than continue the argument in public, she spun on the ball of her foot and headed for the door. Someone grabbed her arm and spun her back around. She gasped when she realized it was Noratu and not Draven.
“Your attitude and behavior reflects on us.” Noratu shook his head, a muscle twitching in his cheek. “Are you trying to embarrass us?”
She understood why Draven was pissed, but she hadn’t done anything to reflect badly on Noratu. “I said I was sorry. On Earth there is this thing called free speech.” It didn’t seem to matter how many of their rules she accepted, there were always more. “I’m more than just a body for you to fuck! I have thoughts and ambitions, concerns and—”
Noratu dragged her from the training room, his gaze gleaming like molten gold.
Flora dug in her heels and tugged against his hold. She didn’t mind being disciplined when she’d done something wrong. She’d asked one fucking question! Why was that worth all this drama? Not wanting to make things worse, she remained quiet until they reached their apartment. Then she let them have it.
“This isn’t fair!” she yelled as soon as the door shut behind them. “The president gave me permission to ask my question.”
Draven ignored her outburst and took over custody of her arm. He dragged her to the dining area and pulled out one of the chairs. “I know more about Earth than you know about Altor.” He urged her onto the chair and stood directly in front of her. “Free speech is not available in every country and not in every situation. Earth’s militaries all have a chain of command. Is that not so?”
She stared straight ahead and clenched her jaw.
“Answer me,” he snapped.
“Yes, but this is not a military.” She forced calm into her tone even though her emotions were still raging.
“It is very much a military. Power triads are weapons. You were aware of this from the start. We are at war with Torret and you have spent the past few weeks catching things on fire. What portion of that led you to believe that this is anything but a military organization?”
Glancing up at him, she licked her lips before explaining, “Nadis stressed that our primary objective is to keep the peace. Even Azar said triads were created to avoid wars, not win them.”
“Even peace keeping forces must fight when they are attacked. Correct?”
She didn’t know much about the events since, but she knew how the war had started. Torret had attacked an outpost, forcing Altorians to defend themselves. “Yes, Master D,” she admitted with a sigh of frustration.
“Then is the Citadel a military outpost?”
“Yes, Master D.” She looked away from him, then back, needing to ascertain his emotions. His mind was still heavily shielded and his expression was unreadable. He wanted her focused on herself. On what she’d done wrong—as usual.
“And what happens when a trainee openly challenges the decisions of an experienced general?”
Anger, frustration, and regret combined in a potent cocktail. He always made it seem like the punishment was her fault, like she intentionally set out to misbehave.
“I asked you a question,” he reminded, his dark gaze boring into hers.
She shifted her gaze to a spot on the wall behind him before she doomed herself to more pain. “They are disciplined.” She was tired of being punished, tired of her instinctive reactions being wrong.
He ran his index finger along her jawline and gently tilted her chin until she looked at him again. “Were you disrespectful to the president?”
“I did not mean to be, but I see now that I was.”
