Seven -
Steven Brust's 'Dragaera' Series, Norathar
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"Mm," Morrolan said, not bothering to look up from his book.

"I could find a better host in the shack of a Teckla!"

Morrolan turned a page. "Mm."

Norathar stared at Morrolan for a long moment, then slapped her hand on Morrolan's desk. "Either you are not paying the slightest bit of attention to me, or you are a coward who wears yellow under his black and silver, or both."

"I assure you I am paying you exactly as much attention as you warrant," Morrolan said.

Norathar reddened and put her hand meaningfully on the hilt of her broadsword. "Perhaps you are a coward, e'Drien, but I assure you that I am not, and I take that as an insult! I ask you for satisfaction!"

Morrolan sighed and marked his place with a finger, then looked up at Norathar. "If it's satisfaction you require of me, I am, of course, honor-bound to provide either a duel or an apology." He paused, then touched his free hand to his chest and bowed over it. "My lady Norathar, I am deeply and profoundly sorry for the insult I have given you, and I beg your forgiveness, even though I am unworthy of it."

Norathar deflated. Morrolan went peacefully back to his book. "Coward," Norathar muttered, and spun around to glare at the door.

"I am not a coward," Morrolan said, his voice almost absent, and Norathar whirled around to face him again. "I am also not a fool, and I know very well what you are trying to do. You are trying to goad me into duelling you, Lady Norathar. Furthermore, I suspect that should I be so foolhardy as to duel you, you would use your own not-inconsiderable skills with the sword to ensure that I damaged you in such a way that you could not be revivified, thereby both removing from you the onus of having to serve as Empress and providing your heirs and vassals with an excuse to make war on me. Reasonably clever, as far as e'Lanya go."

By the time Morrolan was done with this little speech, Norathar was nearly purple, save for her fingers, which were white on the hilt of her blade. Morrolan paused, to see if she would say anything; her breath hissed in and out through her teeth, but otherwise she was silent. Once he had determined that she had nothing to say, Morrolan continued, "However, there are three very good reasons why your plan will not succeed, Lady Norathar."

"Oh?" Norathar spat.

"Item the first." Morrolan held up a single finger. "I am aware of your scheme and will, therefore, do everything in my power to prevent it, even should it prove nominally damaging to my pride."

"And?"

Morrolan did not actually seem to move. One moment he was sitting in his desk chair with a book open before him; the next moment Blackwand crashed to the desk with a sound like thunder, half its blade out of the scabbard so that its clamor reached every mind in the room, and he was looming over it and glaring at Norathar with burning black eyes. "Item the second," he said, two fingers extending over Blackwand's black scabbard. "If you are foolish enough to duel me I will draw your soul into Blackwand and have your body preserved in ways that you cannot begin to comprehend, and I assure you that my skills are such that no matter what condition your mortal remains may be in, you will awaken in your body upon the day of your coronation, and you will go on to become Empress."

Norathar was white. Morrolan eased Blackwand back into its scabbard and hung it from his belt again, then sat back down and picked up his klava, apparently considering the matter done. Norathar, however, finally collected herself enough to ask "... and the third?"

"Hm? Ah." Morrolan extended three fingers around the edge of his cup of klava. "Item the third: should I kill you, Aliera would once again become the Dragon Heir, and she would proceed to make my life miserable."

"I see," Norathar said, and without another word she spun on her heel and left the library.