Allow me to extend my deepest condolences for not meeting your expectations of diplomatic propriety. I fear I have never been exposed to Velmaran customs on the matter of emissaries, as my last and only meaningful encounter with your kingdom was the war between our two peoples. While I do meet with your father the King on occasion as required by the Forum of Royals, I confess those to be unhappy affairs in which the conventions of ambassador relations have never been discussed. When I agreed to this arrangement with His Majesty King Mazus, there were no terms set out regarding my attentiveness. I am highly doubtful that your father meets regularly with my emissary in Velmara. Nevertheless, I will agree to a meeting with you, if only to demonstrate to you my commitment to upholding the spirit of this agreement. When you write to your father, I expect I will see assurances of your happiness in Thayaria when I review such correspondence. My advisors will arrange our audience. In the meantime, please do feel free to alert me if the tediousness of ambassador work proves to be too much for you, and I shall direct my advisors to keep you entertained with more pleasurable activities.

Yours truly,

Her Majesty, Queen Laurel of Thayaria

I fold the parchment, address it to the Velmaran Ambassador—not the Prince—then seal it with my signet. I place the envelope in the bin reserved for outgoing messages and push the haughty prince from my mind.

Two days later, I’ve selected a black flowing dress that dips low between my breasts, revealing cleavage and the soft skin of my stomach. It’s low in the back as well, gathering at my waist with a velvet sash that lays delicately over the semi-transparent black gossamer that trails the floor. My thick thighs are on full display through the gauzy material, and I’ve sheathed a ceremonial dagger on my thigh, visible through the dress. The velvet bodice is embroidered with thayar flowers in deep mahogany, and the thin straps that go over my shoulders resemble twisting black vines. It borders on improper, and I’d never wear something like this to hold court, but for an appearance as the Witch Queen, it will do nicely. The Shining Prince will learn he should be careful what he asks for.

I’ve even allowed attendants to do my hair, and the auburn locks flow in waves down my back under the laurel and thayar crown. My eyes are lined in thick kohl, and I wear maroon lip paint. The female staring back at me in the mirror looks feral, and my lips turn up in a simpering smirk. I even wear a ring that is sharp enough to pierce skin, hoping his eyes are keen enough to see it and assume I use it to draw blood for my spells.

Let him think me the Witch Queen, blood mage and terrifying sorceress.