“Thank you, Master.” Her Majesty, the Queen Minul the Second said. “You may leave.”

The Master of knowledge bowed deeply, before turning about on his heel and exiting her private audience chambers. These chambers were not what the civilians thought of when asked where the Queen took her audiences. While, yes, she did have a throne it wasn’t placed on a dais, nor was it encrusted with jewels and inlaid with gold and silver trim.

It was only big enough that it brought attention to her. It was build of sturdy material, with little embellishment, other than a dark stain that brought out the quality of the wood it was made of. More importantly to the Queen, it had a comfortable cushion, and she didn’t feel seven different kinds of pain after sitting in it for an entire day.

Her throne room was lined with red and white. The carpets, uniforms, tapestries, the windows, the throne, her own dress, her crown, her jewelry, the armor on her guards. Everything. She couldn’t say for certain that growing up spending so much time in that hall had given her the loathing for the color scheme she currently had. She was willing to bet on it, however.

Her private audience chamber, in turn, was far different. Instead of the walk to her throne laid in white marble under a red carpet, instead it had a simple dark blue carpet matching the dark gray stone underneath. There was very little in terms of furniture throughout the room. Her throne, a few cleverly hitting chairs for the servants during breaks and the necessary additions to hide those furnishings. She knew what it felt like to be on your feet all day, every day. Just cause she was noble, didn’t mean she was cruel.

That thought twisted her lips into a scowl. With a sigh she got up from the throne. She’d barely taken a few steps before Marks, her water servant, stood next to her pitcher and goblet ready. She grabbed the chalice, staring into the pitiful amount of liquid inside. Barely a mouthful, despite it being full.

She would have to get bigger goblets made, drinking water like this felt ridiculous. Just another thing to add to the list, I suppose. She thought, downing the content in a single swallow and handing it back to Marks.

“More your Majesty?” He asked, though he was already pouring another serving. He’d been serving her for three years and had been a quick study, always ready with water when she needed it. Always on his mark.

“Thank you, Marks.” She muttered, emptying the glass before dismissing him with a wave, ignoring the flush on his cheeks at the use of his nickname. She nodded to her herald, standing next to the door.

He checked through the doors, before returning. “That’s it for today, your Majesty. We’re done.”

Minul didn’t sigh in relief. Her shoulders didn’t slump. She didn’t exclaim her gratitude to be done. That wasn’t her job. She had gone through twelve hours of reports, statistics, advice, revenue, and a thousand other things on the current situation in and around the Capital. And people needed to think she was ready for another twelve. Even if she really wasn’t, and those people were only her servants.

“Dismissed.” She called in reply. “Thank you all for your hard work today. Elusria appreciates you.” She turned nodding to Saif al-Bacchus, as she strode through the door to her private quarters. A few people followed after. Tethered in armor of red and white, who would stand guard at this entrance to her private chambers. Saif al-Bacchus, of course. Marks’ replacement Slip, nicknamed such for once slipping and falling in-between audiences in the throne room, he’d left an entire room teary eyed and panting from laughter. For that he would always have a place in her palace.

Upon entering her private chambers, she waved at Slip. “Leave the water and goblet on stand. Then go take a break.” She gestured, not towards the door they’d come in from, but in further into her suite. It lead to a different entrance, one closer to the maid’s halls that ran the back passages of the palace. Slip was infamously fond of the maids, even if they weren’t as fond of him.

Slip blushed as set down his burden and slipped away.

“Are you sure you should be encouraging that particular fancy?” Saif said, his voice heavily accented.

Minul Elusria rolled her eyes, as she undid the buttons on the back of her gown, before pulling it over her head. It took multiple passes, before the massive deathtrap of fabric fell to the floor. A monstrosity of furs hiding more luxurious fabrics underneath. She was only supposed to look like the barbarian queen, it didn’t work if she actually had to feel like one. Or you know, be able to burst into a light jog.

She shook out her short sleeved shirt from where it bunched around her middle, before kicking her loose skirt once. She always wore real clothes underneath her gowns, so she would never actually be caught between propriety and survival. For her as a warp Cloak, she could easily tear her dress in a few precise moments, without seriously shearing her under clothes.

This chamber was a sitting room, centered around a small circular table that could seat four. There was some plush carpets, so she didn’t have to bother with shoes while walking in her own home. The subdued appearance of the audience chamber was further accentuated in her personal chambers.

“It’s not all bad.” Saif said from one of the chairs. It was quality work she’d had dug out from one of the storage rooms. Either her grandmother, or great-grandmother had them commissioned only to never do anything with them.

Minul finished kicking the heap of fabric into a corner, before turning to her advisor. “You can drop the accent. Slip’s not spying on you.”

“Of course, your Majesty.” Saif’s accent slipped from a heavy thing that weighed every word, to a light flair that left his words with a hint of the exotic and distant lands from which he came. “You don’t suppose you could bring someone in to light the fireplace.” He over exaggerated a shiver, looking at her pleadingly.

“It’s barely autumn.” She rolled her eyes. “You better get used to it, it’s not even beginning to get cold yet.”

A much more real shiver ran through Saif, before he seemingly took a hold of himself. “What are you going to do?”

She poured herself another swallow of water, before slumping into the chair opposite the bastard. “It’s like you said: ‘It’s not all bad’. When you get far enough away from the Capital, the Lords get a lot less ambitious and a lot more self-regulating. And, there’s no Master’s Council to stick meddle with their business.”

“But we’re not very far from the capital at all.” Saif noted.

She nodded drumming her fingers on the table. “We’re not.” She tapped out an anxious rhythm. She caught it, but allowed herself the tell anyway. “At this point it’s looking like we might have to start handing out food during the winter, earlier if these riots gets any worse.”

“They’ve only ruined two markets.”

“Which has disturbed trade in the rest.” Minul gave the older tethered a dry look. Her fingers drummed once more. “If we can’t get the Councils to fall in line, then I hope your nephew can deliver.”

Saif let out a long sigh, as he petulantly slouched in his chair. “I’ve told you already, you’re not supposed to call him my nephew. I’m not even supposed to be acknowledged at all.”

Also because he’s too young to just be your nephew. Minul thought, but didn’t say. No need to antagonize an ally further. And she truly thought Saif thought of himself as an ally. It wasn’t him she doubted, but the rest of Ankiria. Saif despite his seeming inability to take anything seriously, still emanated an honesty that Minul couldn’t help but partake in.

“There’s a constant rumble of gangs running through the streets and the Councils can’t even get their heads far enough out of their asses to see how bad it’s getting.” Minul complained. Again.

“Maybe they’re too entrenched in their mansions and estates to understand what’s actually happening.” Saif advised. Again.

She shot a look towards the decanter full of water. Goddess, she wanted some wine. Some really strong wine. But she had work to do. A new day tomorrow meant she could not be drinking tonight.

“I need to pull them back in line, somehow.” She drew her nail over the old wood of the table, feeling the grooves. “Make them understand.”

Saif hammered his knuckles against the table once. The sound rang out loud in the quiet room. He was bent forwards his eyes glowing with intent, casting a faint tint of orange across the table.

“You’re not the Council. You’re the Queen. They walk your way, or take the Downway.” He knocked the on table once more. Hard enough that it had to hurt. “You’re the Queen. You rule. Do or don’t. Title or Footnote.” He got up from the chair and strode out of the room. “I’ll have a maid come by for your dress.”