Her Majesty’s Boredom

“Your Majesty!” Lord Taggart argues. “A rebel has been captured! Something must be done!”

“Oh, I most certainly agree,” I say. “What does my loyal council suggest?”

Shouting breaks out across the room as the stuffy old prats vie for my approval, eager to gain more power and money for themselves. I watch through lidded eyes, thinking of my own plans. Running a kingdom is so dreadfully boring, that is, until you start a war. I’ve already conquered three countries beyond my own Calia in hope of a rebellion. It’s honestly extremely disappointing that it’s taken this long for someone to grow a spine. I raise my hand, an order for silence, and gesture towards the dark-haired beauty, the Lady Fretwell, the only council member to remain level-headed throughout the chaos.

“My queen, I believe that we may have no choice but to… extract… the information we need to control this delicate situation.”

I tilt my head in acknowledgment and cast my gaze around at the rest of the faces in the room. One face, in particular, stands out.

“Lord McDowell, you disagree with the Lady?”

He hesitates slightly before answering, “I think we must consider that the rebel is acting alone and that this is an isolated incident.”

I hope not.

“How are we to know unless we seek the information, my lord?” the Lady retorts. “We cannot guarantee Her Majesty’s safety unless we are willing to hand out punishment for treasonous ideas.”

He dabs his forehead with a silk handkerchief, looking down at the polished mahogany table.

“Is the council of one mind in this decision?” I question, heads nodding in answer, some more slowly than others.

“Bring in the prisoner,” I order.

The game is finally beginning. All but Lady Fretwell, whose eyes gleam with interest, flinch when they spy my grin.