The metallic clang of the silver goblet hitting the floor was deafening, a final, embarrassing punctuation mark on my failure. My body was still trembling, but my mind, that cold, familiar human core, was snapping back into place, furiously locking away the raw, primal pain that had betrayed me. Leonidas’s lethal gaze was fixed on me, radiating pure, cold anger. He hadn't seen strength; he had seen the worst political liability: a weeping, frail woman unable to withstand pressure.

"Control ...