Page 90 of Forcing Fate

“Her name is on the roster. Give her a uniform.”

“But ah, sir, we don’t have–”

“Dresses? Skirts? Frilly things with lace? No. No, we don’t. We’re soldiers.”

It was probably my sleep deprived mind that made me respond—at least I blamed it on that. “Begging your pardon, General Rafe, but I’m not wearing anything frilly or anything with lace,” I bit out. “My dresses are practical.”

“Now look here–”

The secretary’s words cut short as the General braced his hands on the table. He pinned me in place with his dark eye, and I clenched my fists.

“Girls are partial to pretty things, impractical things. Are you sure you’re not wearing any?” His gaze traveled down my body, as if he saw straight through the fabric.

I fought the urge to punch his smug face right there in front of everyone. “Do you often question the recruits about their choice of undergarment? What I wear under my clothes is none of your concern,” I snapped. I so wanted to slap that smirk off his face.

“Give her a uniform.” He pushed off the table, still smirking at me. He had riled me and he knew it.

“But, sir–”

“Give her one. She’s a soldier first, girl second. Soldiers wear uniforms.”

The secretary snapped his mouth shut before glaring at me. General Rafe stalked back to the shadows, content to have resolved the issue.

“What size?” He spoke through gritted teeth.

“Pardon?”

“What size tunic and trousers?!”

I studied the piles and frowned. I didn’t know what size I wore in men’s clothing. How would I?

“Smallest.” A hushed whisper off to the side drew my notice.

I glanced over. But the bounty hunter acted as if he was enthralled with the recruit beside him.

“I’ll take the smallest you have, please.”

The secretary grumbled and shifted through the piles. He snatched a tunic and a pair of trousers and stacked them in front of me.

“Fetch your belt and boots.” He jerked his chin to the side as he checked something off his paper.

I took my uniform and headed to the next secretary. Having seen what transpired, he gave the General a forlorn frown before looking up at me.

“Avyanna of Gareth.”

“Yes, yes.”

He shuffled through the belts. He took his time, eyeing my waist as if it was a puzzle he couldn’t solve. Finally, he grabbed the shortest length of leather and held it out.

“This is the smallest I have, though I don’t think it’s quite your size.” He frowned, then leaned over the table to peer at my feet.

I pulled my dress up a fraction and stuck my boot out so he could better see it.

“For the love of all that is–” he muttered, heading to the mess of boots.

I followed, my cheeks burning as I held up the line of recruits. He rifled through the piles, searching for a pair that might fit my small feet.

Finally, General Rafe prowled over, interrupting once again. “Recruit, go get dressed.” I looked at him wide eyed. Was I to go barefoot?

---