The Queen reclined in a steaming bath, the morning sun filtering through the latticework of her chamber windows. Her laughter rippled through the air as her maidens busied themselves around her. The water was perfumed with crushed flowers and exotic oils, a luxury she insisted upon even in the shadow of war.

Her attendants were a mix of the young and the seasoned, their chatter punctuated by occasional bursts of nervous laughter. Among them was a red-haired maid with freckles that dusted her nose like cinnamon, her eyes full of curiosity. A butcher’s daughter, the girl’s hands moved briskly from years of hard labour, though her shy glances toward the Queen betrayed her inexperience in courtly life.

“Your Grace,” she ventured.

“Forgive my boldness, but the tales of your stepsons—do they hold truth?”

“Tales?”

The maid’s cheeks flushed pink.

“That they are… striking men, Your Grace. Fearsome on the field, but…” She hesitated. “Gentle in other ways?”

The Queen leaned back as she traced her fingers across the water’s surface. “Striking? Yes, they are handsome, each in their way. Ronan is a storm, all fire and fury, while Korrin has that unruly charm. And Valtor…” 

The red-haired maid perked up. “Valtor, Your Grace?”

The Queen noticed the sudden interest.

“Valtor?”

The girl looked down. “I was only asking.”

A few of the other maids laughed.

“Of course you were.” The Queen smiled. “He’s handsome. Charming. And unfortunately, he knows both.”

The girl’s cheeks reddened.

“I’d be careful with that one.”

The red-haired maid looked down, trying to hide her embarrassment. Before she could answer, another maid—a lanky girl with a gap-toothed smile—interjected.

“And Prince Korrin?” she asked, earning a ripple of stifled laughter. “Why is he so… angry all the time?”

“Angry?” the Queen repeated.

“Aye, always scowling, and he smells like… like…”

“Ale and dirty taverns,” the red-haired maid finished.

The Queen laughed. “Korrin has his faults, but he’s as loyal as a dog.”

Before more could be said, a knock at the chamber door interrupted them.

One of the older maids moved to answer. She opened the door to reveal a warrior standing rigidly in the doorway, his gaze fixed determinedly on the floor. 

“Forgive me, Your Grace, but I bring word—King Tharok sends for you.”

The Queen rose from the bath as her maids hurried forward with a silken robe. His face flushed, and he quickly averted his eyes, fumbling for words that did not come.

“Leave us,” the Queen said to her maids. They obeyed swiftly, though not without casting the warrior a mixture of sympathetic and amused glances as they exited.

When the door closed, the Queen stepped forward, the silken robe falling away from her shoulders. The warrior’s breath hitched.

“Y-Your Grace, I… I didn’t mean… Forgive me…”

Her bare feet moved silently over the stone floor as she approached, taking the letter from his trembling fingers.

“What is your name?”

“R-Rael, Your Grace.”

“Rael,” she repeated. “Thank you for delivering this.”

He nodded mutely, his eyes darting everywhere but at her. She smiled—a knowing, teasing curve of her lips. “Tell me, Rael,” she said, lowering herself to sit upon the edge of the bath, the steam coiling around her, “have you ever been in a queen’s chambers before?”

The question made his throat bob as he swallowed hard. “N-no, Your Grace.”

“Pity. It’s an experience not easily forgotten.”

She dismissed him with a wave. Rael stumbled through another apology before hurrying from the chamber. The Queen watched the door close behind him, her fingers idly tracing the rim of the bath.

Once alone, she tossed the letter onto a nearby table and gazed at her reflection in the mirror.

The sound of boots echoing faintly down the corridor drew her thoughts away from the mirror. As she stepped into the hallway, her robe trailing loosely behind her, she nearly collided with Ronan.

He caught her by the arm before she stumbled.

“Careful, Your Grace.”

The Queen steadied herself against him and looked up.

“Do you have this effect on all the ladies?”

Ronan held her a second longer than necessary before releasing her.

“Who knows?”

The Queen smiled. “So what brings you to my door?”

“Just passing by.”

“Is that what you’re calling it now?”

Before Ronan could answer, hurried footsteps sounded farther down the corridor.

They moved apart.

The red-haired maid came around the corner with a bundle of dirty linen gathered against her chest. She slowed when she saw them standing together.

Neither Ronan nor the Queen said a word.

The maid lowered her head as she passed.

“My Prince.”

Ronan gave her a small nod.

Her eyes moved to the Queen.

“Your Grace.”

The Queen acknowledged her with a faint smile.

The maid continued down the corridor, her footsteps growing quieter until she disappeared around the corner.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Ronan looked back at the Queen. His eyes drifted down to the thin robe wrapped around her, still damp in places from the bath.

“Is this how you’ll be spending your day?”

The Queen glanced down at herself.

Then back at him.

“Is this how you would want me to spend my day?”

A smile crept across Ronan’s face.

He stepped towards her.

The Queen remained where she was, watching him come closer.

“Ronan...”

He caught her by the waist and pushed the chamber door open behind her.

The Queen backed into the room, taking him with her.

The door closed behind them. Outside the chamber, boots passed.

Voices echoed.

A servant paused.

Then hurried on.