Such were the brittle threads of a relationship built not on trust but on a slurry of fear, mutual… — Ian Tregillis

It’s not my fault your makers made you humorless.

“Sergeant,” she said as they mounted the stairs leading to her old apartments, “thank you for treating me like a human being. And, for what it’s worth, I am sorry about how this turned out.”

He grunted. “It can’t be undone,” was all he said.

It isn’t courtly politics if somebody doesn’t get a dagger in the back.