The march back to camp was silent, save for the occasional murmurs among the knights and the heavy, uneven footsteps of Baron Godfrey as he was dragged along. Valeria walked at the front, her gaze fixed ahead, thoughts already shifting away from the conquered fortress behind her.
She could have stayed there. It would have been the logical choice, the practical one. Most commanders, when overtaking a stronghold, would claim the facilities for their own—at least temporarily. The halls were built to house lords, the food stores stocked to sustain an army, and the walls designed to shield them from the elements.
But Valeria had never done that.
Not with Baron Relmar. Not with Baron Varrin. Not with Estrel, nor with any of the other criminals she had unseated. And certainly not with Godfrey.
She would not take their homes.
Because they were not hers to take.
