The fourth laid draped across a chaise lounge, the kind that's designed for one person and more or less a waste of space in a regular living room. In this room, though, it acted as a centerpiece, drawing the eye inexorably towards the woman sitting in it, with her sunset-colored dress, porcelain skin, inhuman silver eyes, and raven hair. A crown rested on her head, in the shape of curving golden antlers.

The Queen.

She looked up from a slender book as I came in, her expression one of assessment. I had no reason to sneer at her; she'd had no part in Dain's ugly behavior. With a smile, I picked up my skirts and curtsied. It wasn't the best showing, but I hoped that my inexperience with high society manners would be overlooked in favor of my attempt to be polite, or at least chalked up to me being a human being instead of fae.

"So you're the girl that the crown prince decided was worth a battle," she said with a tone of curiosity. "You don't look like much, Petitioner. Who are you, in your world?"

I flushed, not loving being inspected like a mouse the cat dragged in, or being in the position of having to petition the Queen for the ability to wander the palace. The confirmation that I was in a different world entirely didn't feel great, either.

"I serve my government in the defense of my country, your majesty." That seemed like a good way to frame working for a defense contractor. I suspected that being dismissed as useless would make it harder for me to make the necessary connections to get out of here. Winning the political support of the Queen seemed like a worthwhile endeavor.

The Queen set down her book and sat up, swinging her feet down to rest on the floor. "Then you are a soldier?"

"No, your majesty," I said, thinking quickly. I doubted the fae had much of an idea of what programming missile defense systems entailed. "I design and build long-range war machines that can counter other long-range war machines, to protect our land and our ships. I'm not a soldier."

"Interesting," she said, smiling. I could see where Dain had gotten his sharp features. The Queen had the same narrow, vulpine face, with long-fingered hands and a quality of motion that reminded me of the way he moved. Her eyes gleamed. "So, Dain's soulmate. What do you think of my son?"

"I think I'd prefer to be called Leah," I said with care, not sure where Dain's mom fell on the scale of getting him dead.

She laughed, a musical sound. "Delightful girl," she crooned. "What a political response to a troubling question. You need not hold your tongue with me when it comes to his failings. The gods have plagued me with him, and it is no secret that I would give much to be rid of him."