“What was this place called again?” Raea asked Cian, picking at her teeth as they walked along the road.

  “The Crown Lands. Used to be called something else, back when the Empire of Vera ruled this land, and it had another name before they had ever arrived,” Cian answered. “But no one has called it anything other than The Crown Lands, because this is the land of the Emperor of Olica.”

  “Are they as powerful as the High Father?” Raea questioned.

  “Hm, more or less,” Cian voiced, thinking on his answer. “It varies from Emperor to Emperor and High Father to High Father, but I would say that they stand equal as the most powerful people on the continent.”

  That conversation was the only real indication to Raea that they had left the Duchy of Chavol behind. Everything else, the people, the land, the weather, were different between the Duchy and the Crown Lands only by degrees. There was a little more rain, a little less warmth, a few more trees, marginally fewer vineyards, a few more humble hovels of the masses for every grand mansion of the elite. But these changes were so gradual and in some ways so minuscule that they did not seem to be different places but different parts of the same continuum.

  “So what’s the next town?” Raea asked, picking at her nails as she walked.

  “I wouldn’t call it a town,” Cian replied.

  “What is it then?” Raea responded. “Don’t tell me it’s another city. I really hate cities.”

  “Give it a chance, you’ve only been to two cities,” Cian said.

  “Sure,” Raea replied sarcastically. She looked behind them at the forested path they were traveling. Just out of sight was a patch of farmland that they had passed through, a few families working it. Looking to her right a stream was rolling along quietly, their path laid out beside it. That path turned left, the stream disappearing behind a tree-covered rise.

  “We’re almost there,” Cian said.

  Raea looked up at the Varathian, then back to their right. Coming into view was a large river from around the rise that the stream had disappeared behind. Raea looked behind them, uncertain of where they met. The river was wide but the flow was so quiet that she hadn’t heard it before she had seen it.

  “The Whisperwater,” Cian said, staring at the water for a moment.

  “The river?” Raea asked the old warrior.

  “Yep,” Cian replied, turning his attention back to the road, “look ahead, there she is. Trone.”

  Raea looked forward, her eyes following the meandering path of the river to the coast visible in the distance. At the river’s mouth was a massive urban sprawl.

  Cian continued on the path following along the river’s left bank. Looking ahead into the city Raea could see that, like in Sinclair, there were separate districts of the city that were clearly visible from a distance, in this case marked by the river that flowed through the city.

  Also like Sinclair the two districts were marked by their architecture. The left bank was clearly home to Trone’s wonders, with cathedrals, monasteries, and other public buildings. They were similar to those of Sinclair and Vera though far more numerous and varied than in those cities and unlike the palace in the former or the latter’s White-Gold Square, these were distinct only in their design. They were made from the same dark grey stone that their more humble counterparts on the other bank and the bridges that connected them were made of.

  On the far end of the city was an island, sitting at the river’s mouth. Its sole resident was a castle. The walls were older, more worn, but the keep they protected within rose high, looking more like a palace, newer and more grandiose.

  “See that?” Cian asked, pointing at the castle as they continued along the left bank. “That’s the Bastion, the seat of the Empress of Olica.”

  “Uh huh,” Raea replied. “What about over there?” she asked, looking over at the other side of the river at the residential quarters. “Is that where we’ll be going?”

  “I think so,” Cian answered. “For once I’d like to keep out of the halls of power, at least without having you trip into them first.”

  “Hey, Shield Bearer wasn’t my fault,” Raea whined.

  “Hmph, so it wasn’t,” Cian commented.

  Entering into the city itself, Cian and Raea approached the first bridge and the market that it hosted. A scantily clad woman was dancing on a makeshift wooden platform, attracting the attention of a small group of men, a common sight. The woman, seeing Cian, blew a kiss in his direction and waved seductively. Cian responded with a smile and a quick nod.

  “I really hope ye don’t wander off again,” Raea said, irritated.

  “Oh, I won’t,” Cian replied, “merely…curious.”

  The woman, having seen Cian, stepped down from her platform, apologizing to her audience. She then left, disappearing across the bridge, another girl taking her place.

  “Hm, ah well,” the Varathian commented. “Come on, I know of a good inn just off one of these bridges.”

  There were many bridges in Trone. The river divided the city by its two banks, but the bridges served as its center. They were numerous, some newer and some older, most made of the same stone as the rest of the city with a few small walkways of wood. Regardless of their size or makeup each was host to two markets, one on either end. However, each market was a temporary thing, simple stalls and carts that could be broken down and wheeled away without much effort — save for one.

  It was the biggest bridge, sitting in the middle of the city. On the right bank, opposite of Cian and Raea, was a square that housed the market there. Cian changed course to cross the bridge, Raea following after.

  “Here we are,” Cian said, gesturing to a building on the far side of the square.

  “This is the inn?” Raea asked.

  “Indeed it is,” Cian answered. “Go on in, grab yourself something to eat.”

  Raea held her hand out to the Varathian.

  “You’ve got your own money,” Cian stated, brow raised.

  “Ye paid for my food before,” Raea retorted.

  “Now I’m not,” Cian replied.

  The two stood there, Raea holding her hand out, Cian keeping his arms folded against his chest, and neither budging from their position.

  In the midst of their standoff a young boy appeared between the pair, holding a slip of paper over his head. “Excuse me, sir,” he said by way of greeting. “I’ve got a message for you.”

  “Um, oh, thank you,” Cian replied, taking a moment to disengage his mind from his and Raea’s mutual stubbornness before taking the paper in hand. The boy’s own hand took on the same gesture as Raea, asking for pay.

  “Here you go,” Cian said, reaching into his coin pouch and pulling out a single crown to give to the boy. “Off with you now.”

  The messenger bit on the crown and studied it for a second. “Thank you, sir,” he said, before turning around and leaving.

  Cian unfurled the message and read it, silently nodding to himself.

  “Change of plans then,” he said, tearing up the small paper and scattering the pieces on the ground. “We’ll be heading to the halls of power after all.”  “I thought we weren’t,” Raea responded, brow raised.

  “Just don’t trip on the way in,” Cian quipped.

  ***

  The Bastion, as Raea had earlier observed, was one part ancient fortification and another new palace. While the walls, running near the river’s edge, were made of the same stone as the rest of Trone, the Palace was constructed from some other material. It was not marble, like the White-Gold Square or the Ducal Palace in Sinclair. Instead it was made of a white limestone speckled with pale green and it was from this same material that the pathways leading into the palace were laid in.

  This path began at the bridges connecting the Bastion to the rest of the city, converging and passing through a gate in the outer walls. Half a dozen sentries stood around the entrance, talking amongst themselves, with the gates standing open behind them. As Cian and Raea approached one of them looked up and noticed them. He nudged one of his fellows, who approached the duo, pike in hand.

  “Who the fuck are you?” the soldier asked, blocking their approach.

  “That’s no way to treat a guest,” Cian replied.

  Beyond the gate Raea could see a large fountain and perfectly trimmed knee high hedges emanating out in patterns from it. The mixed sounds of music, laughter, and numerous conversations could be heard.

  “How do I know that you’re a guest?” the guard asked.

  “You seem to have plenty already,” the Varathian replied, making a show of peering around the guard into the courtyard beyond the gates.

  “Keep it up with the lip and I’ll make you a guest in a prison cell,” the warning came, the glower in the guard’s voice as unsubtle as the words he used.

  “Hm,” Cian responded in a tone of pseudo-contemplation. “Try and maybe I’ll make your death so quick that you won’t feel the embarrassment from your friends over there.”

  “Let him through,” a low pitched, dignified voice said. Standing in the gateway was a man, tall and clean shaven. His dour expression emphasized his aged face and the gray, close cut hair on his head. Those features were contrasted by his colorful clothes, a bright red dress coat embroidered with cloth-of-gold, a yellow shirt beneath, and a bright blue sash over both. He approached the new arrivals, hands held firmly together behind his back.

  “Ah, Basil, I see you’re looking older,” Cian stated. “Still the butler?”

  “Castellan, thank you,” Basil replied flatly, “and you’re looking as old as ever.” He turned to the guard. “Let the man through, Her Imperial Majesty has seen fit to bring him in for the ball, for reasons beyond my comprehension.”

  The guard looked back and forth between the Varathian and the Castellan, seeming very surprised. “Um, sure,” he said before leaving to return to his fellows.

  “Very good,” Cian replied with a performative wiping of his hands. “Will you show us in?” he asked Basil.

  The aged Castellan frowned back at Cian. “I have my own tasks to see too, I’m sure you know the way,” he said in a very tired voice before leaving on his own.

  Cian shrugged at this before moving further into the palace grounds, gesturing for Raea to follow. The girl followed after the Varathian.

  Passing through the gates, Raea left behind the practical grey stone of the city. The outer wall was the only thing on the island made of the stuff and its interior was covered with a layer of the same limestone that the palace was constructed from.

  The fountain that Raea had seen through the gate was but one of many in the courtyard, all identical and appearing at regular intervals as they slowly made their way around the central palace complex. As with the first, mazes of hedges encircled each fountain before merging with the hedges of another, forming patterns that Raea was sure would form some kind of image if one were to view them from above.

  In each fountain a pair of lions sat back, gold gilded with sapphires for eyes and gaping mouths. From these jaws the fountains’ water flowed like a languid waterfall. In one of the fountains a man was standing ankle deep in water as he stuck his head into a lion’s mouth, laughing drunkenly all the while. A pair of women stood at the water’s edge, giggling as they held fans to their mouths. Suddenly a third nozzle flared up between the lions, as they did on all the fountains, spraying water up in various shapes, such as a fan or an umbrella, that then fell into the fountain. The merrymakers screamed shrilly, running away from the fountain’s spray.

  The entrance to the palace was an imperial staircase, two flights of symmetrical stairs with gold railings and blue carpets on the steps. A young man was walking down one of the stairs, a younger woman hanging onto his arm. He stopped and stared at Cian as he approached, seemingly perplexed, as his female companion talked happily into his ear, oblivious to the fact that his attention was elsewhere. Sudden realization washed over his face and, disengaging himself from the woman, he walked down the stairs as fast as one could without calling it anything other than a walk.

  “You must be Sir Cian!” the man exclaimed, stopping in front of the Varathian. “The Hero of the Whisperwater!”

  Raea looked up at Cian, brow raised. The old warrior glanced back at her and shrugged as a means of response.

  “Yes, that’s me,” Cian answered the man. “Is there something you need?”

  “Who is this, my dear beau?” the lady asked as she caught up, moving as quickly as her dress would allow her to.

  Raea stared at the dress and its oddity. It was deep red in color, a muted maroon really, and laced up nearly to her chin, with long sleeves and gloves, leaving no flesh below the neck visible. The dress was tight enough to give some idea of her slender form, or at least her slender form above the waist. The skirt of the dress was stiff, ballooning out from her waist towards the ground, obscuring the shape of her body from that point down, the cloth stiff and unreactive to her movements and the breeze in a manner that one would not expect of cloth. It gave her the appearance of a torso floating on a bubble and she would almost certainly be incapable of sitting in it or even putting it on without help.

  “This is Sir Cian, hero of the Battle of the Whisperwater,” the man said with a smile. “The man who ended the rebellion with a single stroke of his blade, killing the usurper Aldric Blachard in battle. Why, he changed the course of history just upstream from here. Who knows how different the empire would have been under Emperor Aldric.”

  “As much as I love to…reminisce,” Cian interrupted. “Do I know you?”

  “Oh, I apologize,” the man replied with a bow. “Just an admirer. My father is Count Arther of the Barrier Islands, he served with you during the war and I was raised on tales of your exploits. I suppose that bred an unearned familiarity.”

  “So you say,” Cian said, his eyes looking up at the entrance. “I assume the Empress is present.”

  “Oh, yes,” the young admirer answered. “It is only natural, Her Imperial Majesty is the hostess of the ball. I can only assume that you are here on her invitation.” He leaned in to whisper to Cian. “I must warn you that Grand Duke Zacharie is also in attendance. I am sure that he will not think of you fondly being that you slew his brother.”

  “Thank you,” Cian replied, nodding before stepping around the man. “You have a nice night.”  Raea followed Cian’s lead as the man took his companion by the hand and led her out of the Bastion. Out the pair went into the night of the city, while Cian and Raea climbed up the stairs, entering the palace itself.

  Raea looked up at the high, vaulted ceilings. Her sight then fell to the far side of the room, centering on the throne and the handful of smaller chairs arranged next to it, all sitting on a raised platform so that they were visible even above the crowd. The walls were made from the same limestone as the exterior of the palace, while the floor and throne were marble.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Looking to her right, Raea saw a group of musicians sat in wooden chairs, playing music that reverberated throughout the hall. Above them a single large tapestry hung, dozens of images sewn into it, showing a succession of emperors at the moment of their coronation. The last section in this tapestry was dominated by two images.

  The first featured a very large man with a mane of white hair, driving a sword into the heart of an armored knight. Raea found herself glancing over her shoulder at Cian, noticing that he looked just like the image in the tapestry, save for his bald head. After the white-haired warrior killing the knight there was the coronation of a woman, with pale skin and dark hair, the first female to feature in any of the coronation scenes. Between each image was a sigil on a field of pale green, depicting a large yew tree with a crown encircling its uppermost branches.

  Everywhere there were people dancing, most as couples, a few in groups of three or four. All of the women wore the same impractical dress as the one outside, merely gliding across the floor, guided along by their partners, who could only do so at an arm’s length away.

  In one corner a group of people were standing in a circle, clapping and laughing. A man danced alone within the circle, bouncing from foot to foot, wearing a colorful patchwork outfit. In his hands he juggled a ball of light. As his audience grew louder his movements became more theatrical, spinning on his toes and catching the ball behind his back. With one last great flourish he threw the ball high into the air and attempted a backflip. He managed to almost complete it before the feat of gymnastics went awry. With a startled yelp he fell face first onto the floor. The ball landed on his back, where it dissipated into nothing. The crowd around him exploded into raucous laughter. Nearby people who had not been involved up to this point joined in, even those across the room who could not possibly have witnessed the scene, all laughing at this fool laying pitifully on the ground, his feet up in the air.

  “See that?” Cian asked Raea, nudging her. “That is all that is left of what once ruled the world. A thousand years ago that fool might have been sitting on that throne, and all these nobles might have been cowering before him. The feared mage, reduced to cheap entertainment for pampered nobles.”

  “I wasn’t expecting to hear such poignant historical commentary from the Hero of the Whisperwater,” a man said, approaching the pair of new arrivals. “However, I highly doubt that Louch, even with his magical abilities, could have ever achieved anything approaching that.” The man, underneath the expensive and ornate clothing like that worn by all the noblemen there, seemed completely and utterly average. He was unremarkable in height and build, with a plain face that was neither ugly nor handsome, a voice that didn’t speak with authority or power but also not lacking in poise or strength.

  “I’ve a growing suspicion that I’m going to be referred to exclusively as the ‘Hero of the Whisperwater’ for as long as I’m here,” Cian said wearily.

  “You must forgive them, Sir Cian,” the man replied. “Many of these people know you as nothing more than the man who killed my brother and for some of us that is all we need to know. Something like that will earn you notoriety, love, and hate in equal measure.”

  “Ah, I see, you must be Grand Duke Zacharie,” Cian said. “I would say, ‘now I have come to finish my work,’ but I already have, unfortunately. It was an honor to fight a man as talented as Aldric, more so than it would be to cut you down now.”

  “It is alright,” the Grand Duke responded, smiling placidly. “I loved my brother, but he was a traitor. Just because my uncle died with but a single daughter does not mean that she was not his heir. Aldric was wrong to press his claim. Besides, things have turned out well under our Empress, may the Prophet Carag bless her.”

  Suddenly a trumpet sounded, causing Raea to jump in surprise. Cian looked down at her and chuckled softly.

  “Speak of the devil,” Duke Zacharie said, looking towards the throne. “Or so the saying goes,” he added, turning back to Cian and shrugging.

  All at once the music stopped and people stopped dancing and paying attention to Louch the fool. All the nobles started to push themselves against the walls of the throne room, creating a pathway between them, connecting the throne to the main entrance. Only Cian and Raea were left standing in that space.

  A man appeared, walking in front of the throne. Coming to a stop he yelled out in a clear voice. “All hail Her Imperial Majesty, Empress Marie I of House Blachard, ruler of Olica and all her realms.”

  Empress Marie stepped out in front of the throne, appearing much like the woman in the tapestry, with pale white skin and dark hair. Her arrival was accompanied by gasps from nearly every other lady in the room. Unlike the tightly laced, conservative, and bulbous form of fashion that every other woman wore, the Empress showed her slender arms and a generous amount of cleavage, her large pale bust giving her plenty more to demonstrate than what she already displayed, while her skirt fell naturally from her waist, strips of semitransparent cloth showing glimpses of the bare, voluptuous legs beneath. The colors were bright and lively, a pure white dashed with crimson around the shoulders, neck, and waist.

  Many of the younger women around began to sob loudly, while even older ones looked on solemnly. One lady took a knife from a nearby servant and used it to cut away at her own dress, revealing both her leggings and the metal wires that had kept its bulbous shape. The Empress descended the stairs from her throne, smiling at the loving nobles as she walked along the path they had made for her.

  If Doretta the Sinclair prostitute had been impossibly pretty, then Marie was impossibly beautiful. The way her dark hair and eyes contrasted with the paleness of her skin, the way her figure curved in an hourglass shape, the form of her lips and face, the perfect smoothness of her skin, it was all almost a wonder of the world unto itself. She approached Cian and Raea, appearing as some sort of living goddess.

  “Oh, Sir Cian, how good of you to come,” she said. “It is always wonderful to see friends from days gone by. Approach.” The Empress stopped, beckoning to the Varathian.

  Cian looked down at Raea, brow raised. He then shrugged and began slowly walking across the throne room to meet with the Empress. Raea remained behind, suddenly very aware of where and who she was.

  Cian stopped in front of the Empress and bowed his head towards her. “Good to see you as well, Marie, I see you’ve grown.” He leaned over to look past the Empress to the throne. “And that you haven’t set up the consort’s seat. Still unmarried then?”

  Marie curtsied in response as everyone else in the room murmured amongst themselves. “Perceptive as always, Sir Cian. I’ve yet to find anyone remarkable enough to be my husband but…” she glanced over at Raea. “I can’t help but notice you have a new hanger on. Is she your new apprentice? If she is, she must be a remarkable young lady.” She gestured to the young girl, adding, “child, come here.”

  Raea nervously shuffled her way over to the Empress, stopping behind Cian.

  “Come on, girl,” Marie ordered. “Let me see you.”

  With a deep breath, Raea stepped out in front of the sovereign, desperately attempting to stand up as straight as she possibly could.

  “What an adorable child!” the Empress squealed, kneeling down and squeezing Raea’s check, which blushed deeply. “Oh, and your hair, such a lovely and unusual shade of red! You’ll grow up to be a beauty, I’m sure. Oh, I must simply have you! Basil!”

  “Yes, your majesty,” the Castellan answered drearily, stepping out from the crowd.

  “Prepare two rooms for our guests,” Marie said, “and Briana.”

  “Yes, your majesty,” a brown haired elf woman said, walking up beside the throne.

  “Look over the girl’s education personally, Briana,” the Empress ordered. “I would see her become the most remarkable woman she can be.”

  Raea looked around her in surprise, only to find Basil grabbing her by the arm and walking her towards the throne, where Briana ushered them through a door behind it and up a flight of stairs.

  “What a joyous occasion!” the Empress’ voice echoed from the throne room. “We must celebrate it with another ball next week!” There was a thunderous round of applause that followed.

  “It never ends,” Basil complained with a defeated sigh.

  ***

  “When you address or refer to the Empress you are to call her either by her title of Empress or by the phrase ‘Her Imperial Majesty,’” Briana said, pacing before Raea as the girl sat in a tub. A pair of maids scrubbed at her dirty skin with vigor, causing Raea to wince.

  “What about the old man?” she asked, glaring at one of the maids. “He doesn’t do that.”

  “The Empress affords Sir Cian that luxury due to his status as a Varathian and because of their shared history together,” Briana answered. “You, on the other hand, are expected to abide by these customs.”

  “Whatever ye say,” Raea replied, relaxing as the maid softened her approach.

  Briana walked around the tub, moving directly behind Raea. The girl tried to turn her gaze to follow, but one of the maids grabbed her head and forced her to look forward.

  “The Empress has ordered me to have you educated and I shall,” the she-elf said. “But if you are to be a member of her court, especially with the public way in which you were introduced to it, then you must first meet certain standards. Which you currently fail to meet. Miserably.”

  She reached forward and ran her fingers through Raea’s hair, retracting her hand when they could not work further through the tangled locks, and frowned at the dirt and grime the experience left on her hand.

  “Firstly, you must bathe, daily, preferably, but once every two days will suffice in the event you find yourself preoccupied with other matters. The maids will draw water for you should you ask it of them, or if I order them to do it for you.”

  The elf walked over to a nearby table, where the maids had left Raea’s clothes after they had removed them from her person before her bath. Briana began picking at them, tugging at the edges and putting her fingers through the holes.

  “You will also be expected to wear dresses in public, though you are free to wear or not wear whatever you want within your own quarters. The clothes will likely be modeled after those worn by the Empress, the seamstresses tend to mimic whatever choices she makes.”

  Raea looked at Briana and her attire. She was wearing a dress very similar to the one the Empress wore at the ball, though showing less cleavage, granted as it was that the she-elf was less gifted in that area than her sovereign, while exchanging the semi-transparent cloth in the skirt in favor of normal silk.

  “Now, it must go without saying that…rags such as these are wholly frowned upon here,” Briana said, gripping the collar of Raea’s tunic with both hands. She then tore at it, pulling it asunder down to the bottom of the garment.

  Raea stared wide-eyed at the now ruined shirt. One by one Briana grabbed Raea’s other garments, tearing them apart as well. The elf stepped away, holding the ruined rags away from her, regarding them with a certain measure of disdain.

  “Be prepared to draw more water,” Briana ordered as she approached the fireplace in the corner of the room. “You may need to run her through twice.” She then tossed Raea’s ruined rags into the fire, where she watched them burn away.

  Once the rags were nothing more than ashes, Briana walked back towards the tub until she stood half a dozen paces from it.

  “You should tell me at what time you have your moon-blood,” the older woman said. “Then I can instruct you on how to deal with it like a proper lady.”

  “My what?” Raea asked, confused.

  “Your…moon-blood,” Briana replied, equally confused. “…when a woman bleeds from her…jewel, her…vagina. Once every month.”

  “What?” Raea repeated, blinking rapidly as she considered the proposition.

  “Her, um…socket,” Briana searched for another term.

  Raea looked down at her crotch, eying it strangely. “Never had it,” she replied, looking back up.

  Briana looked at the maids, who merely shrugged in response before returning to their work.

  “…How old are you, child?” Briana finally asked.

  “I’m not a child, I’m 14,” the girl answered.

  “Right,” Briana replied. “Well, perhaps you simply have not had your first yet, it is a late age for it but maybe that isn’t unheard of among you humans. Though there may be some rare case of having no moon-blood that I’m not aware of. Regardless, should it happen, please inform me.”

  “O…K,” Raea responded, unsure what to make of it.

  “Move your arm, please” one of the maids requested of Raea. The girl hesitantly removed her arm from her breasts and lifted it above her head, allowing the maid better access. She then looked over at Briana, staring at her as the elf was staring at Raea.

  The maids continued their work, scrubbing at Raea and the dirt and grim on her body. The girl allowed them to contort her body as was necessary for them to do their work. When the water became too muddied to be of any use they removed Raea from it, taking the tub and emptying it out the window. Refilling it with water and soap they sat the girl back in it, who laid calmly against the side, letting the servants wash her hair and whatever else they felt was necessary. She merely hummed contently, letting her arms lay beside her as she continued to watch Briana watch her.

  With a sigh Raea waited to see what else the elf woman had in store for her.

  ***

  “This sucks,” Raea stated, tugging at her new dress, or more specifically the corset underneath it. On most women the tight undergarment would have exaggerated the bust and flattened the stomach but on Raea, thin and petite as she was, it served only to provide discomfort.

  Briana stood behind Raea, studying her new charge from behind and in the mirror. “I’ll have to tell the seamstresses to make the next set smaller,” she said, running her fingers along Raea’s back.

  Raea fought back a yelp as Briana pinched her around the hips.

  “Or maybe fatten you up a bit,” the elf said. “You’re thinner than I thought.”

  “We’ll need to cut your hair as well,” she continued. Said red locks had been artfully and precariously done up so that the girl’s hair didn’t fall below the shoulder, washed and straightened as much as they could be.

  “I guess this will have to do,” Briana concluded, stepping in front of Raea. “Do you know how to curtsy?”

  “I don’t know what the fuck that is,” Raea answered.

  Briana shook her head in annoyance. “Of everything she could have possibly given me…,” she remarked, looking out towards the window. “Regardless, you’re as good as I’m going to get you right now. Come.”

  Through the mirror Raea watched the she-elf walk to the center of the room and beckon to her. The girl turned and carefully stepped down from her platform.

  “How do you walk in this?” Raea asked as she batted at her skirt, feeling the fabric rub against her legs in ways that she was unaccustomed to.

  “Same way as always,” Briana replied. She slapped Raea on the wrist as the girl neared her, still fussing with her dress. Raea recoiled and glared at the elf but kept her hands at her side.

  “Enough,” Briana commanded. “The Empress will be here soon.”

  Raea watched as the elf straightened her back and began watching the door, waiting. The girl eyed her curiously for a moment before a sudden knocking prompted her to adopt the same stance in a hurried fashion.

  “Are you ladies ready in there?” a male voice called out.

  “We are,” Briana answered.

  Basil the castellan opened the door, holding it as the Empress stepped through. She wore a dress similar to the one she had worn at the ball, though lacking the more risqué elements of it, mirroring Briana’s and now Raea’s attire. Cian followed the Empress in, looking no different from his usual self. Briana curtsied to Marie as she entered. Raea bowed her head much as she had seen Cian do in the throne room.

  The Empress returned Briana’s curtsy as Basil closed the door. He approached Raea, studying her. “She still needs work,” he said to Briana.

  “That she does,” the elf agreed.

  “Well, I think you have made a marvelous start,” Marie stated. “What do you think, Sir Cian?”

  “It’s all well and good, but I would prefer it if you didn’t sink your claws too deeply into her,” the Varathian said. “We ought to be leaving sooner rather than later.”

  “Oh, Sir Cian, we’re not the beasts you normally deal with,” the Empress responded with a gentle smile and a giggle. “Ladies don’t have claws, just their charms. Though Basil may be a different matter altogether.”

  “Har, har, har,” the man laughed in a slow, mocking tone.

  Cian shook his head as Raea watched him expectantly. “This is why I was hoping to slip by unnoticed.”

  “Yes, yes, but you’d never refuse a direct summons from me,” Marie responded. “Besides, there’s a reason that I asked you here, not just nostalgia. Looking for some advice on military matters, you might say.” She grasped Cian’s sword hand and held it in her own, looking at him expectedly.

  “Very well,” the Varathian conceded, sighing. He looked over at Raea. “Is there anything you’d like to say to the Empress?”

  Raea looked at Cian, then at Basil and Briana, all watching her. The girl did her best approximation of a curtsy, saying as she rose from it, “thank ye…yer Imperial Majesty.”

  The Empress let go of Cian’s hand and fixed her eyes on Raea with the strangest of looks. She kneeled down until she was almost face to face with the girl. “You,” she stated.

  “What?” Raea questioned.

  “It’s pronounced you,” Marie clarified. “Only southern yokels say ye. Now say it properly.”

  “Ye…” Raea began before stopping, the Empress staring at her disapprovingly. “Yoo-you,” she finally said with some effort.

  Marie stood up and looked at Briana. “Prioritize proper pronunciation in her classes,” she said before turning around, accompanied by Cian.

  “Now, about the matter I wished to discuss with you,” she began, starting to walk to the door.

  She was interrupted by the door opening, a Caragian priest in white robes standing on the threshold.

  “Ah, Your Imperial Majesty, I was hoping you’d be here,” the holy man said.

  “I am, Father Clement,” Marie replied. “I didn’t ask for my Chaplain to be here, so why are you?”

  The priest scowled at the comment before composing himself. “A messenger just arrived. Duke Julien de Vigneron is planning on coming to court with his daughter, hoping to find her a husband.”

  Raea’s brow raised at this. She glanced at Cian, who looked over his shoulder at her and shrugged.

  “Very well, thank you for telling me,” Marie stated. “Does the good Duke have lodging for his time here?”

  “I believe Grand Duke Zacherie has offered him a suite at his estate,” Father Clement answered.

  “All seems well then,” the Empress stated. “Shall we go, Sir Cian?”

  “You go ahead,” the Varathian replied. “I wish to speak to Astraea for a moment. Alone.”

  “You may,” Marie said with a nod. “The rest of you, come. We have other business to attend to today.”

  The Empress walked out of the room, stepping briskly past Father Clement. Briana and Basil followed her lead. The Court Chaplain studied Cian for a moment before closing the door, leaving Cian and Raea alone.

  “What are you going to do about him?” Raea asked.

  “The Duke, you mean?” Cian asked. Raea nodded in response.

  “Nothing,” the Varathian continued. “He told us to stay out of his business and I intend to. So should you.”

  “But…” Raea protested.

  “But nothing,” Cian interrupted. “You’ve caused me enough trouble as it is.”

  “So what am I supposed to do, sit around and look pretty?” Raea asked.

  “This is a chance to learn,” Cian responded. “If you can do that while sitting around and looking pretty, consider it a bonus.”

  “Learn what, how to curtsy and wear useless stuff?” Raea questioned, tugging at the skirt of her dress.

  “That’s an annoyance, I agree,” Cian said. “But you will learn things I can’t teach you as easily. Things like reading, speaking, etiquette. Those will be as or perhaps even more useful to you than swordsmanship and swimming.”

  Raea pouted at this, staring back at Cian. “Fine,” she finally said, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “Good,” Cian stated, fussing with Raea’s hair, upsetting the carefully arranged curls that the maids had put so much effort into sculpting.

  “Hey!” Raea exclaimed, batting away Cian’s hand.

  “What, I thought you didn’t want to look pretty?” the Varathian replied.

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