Q ᴜ ᴇ ᴇ ɴ

N O N - L I É

T A G |

L O C A T I O N | Dragonne Palace, Hall Principal
W E A R I N G | {x}
Dragonne Palace had been alive with the hum of polite society for several hours now. Lord and Ladies alike had gathered in the grand halls to share in a rare moment of relaxation with their monarchs. There were no sessions planned, no lengthy meetings or gatherings in the throne room. Just fine food, drinks, and dancing. It was a chance for the people to get to know the Queen-to-be on a personal basis.
Once dinner had been eaten the party moved to the gardens. It had been decorated accordingly. Strings of softly glowing lights had been tangled up in the fauna. A long table, topped with delicacies and wine, had been pushed against the edge of a courtyard dominated in green vines and brightly coloured flowers. A quartet of musicians plucked away at string instruments, blending the music perfectly into the heavily scented air.
Saraya was a patient woman.
Normally.
However, her brief handful of dealings with nobles in her lifetime had left her extremely ill-prepared for it. She could handle the never-ending jargon and the ostentatious ideas, but they were dull. So incredibly dull. Saraya couldn’t help but wonder how Adron had managed to all these years. When the two of them talked of Illyria in their private rooms, when they talked of bettering it, it was exhilarating. They had the whole weight of a planet and its people resting on their shoulders. Instead of that being overbearing and frightening, he made it seem like an adventure.
Yet somehow, despite being in a similar position, these Lords and Ladies made it seem boring. They droned. On and on. Endlessly. Just when one was finished, another appeared. To talk about trade, commerce, treaties, stats, deadlines. Fortunately for them, when Saraya’s patience ran out, her practice overtook. She smiled politely, nodded at their ideas, asked the appropriate questions. She even managed to appear interested in what they had to say. In time, no doubt, they would become invaluable to her. As she would to them. She would just have to stomach their tedious conversation for the meanwhile.
At some point, between one Viscount and the next, Saraya cast her emerald gaze to her fiancé. He stood just a few feet away, likely engaged in a conversation equally as dull. She raised her glass of wine at him, with an expression on her face that he would have likely recognised. It spoke of what she would have sacrificed at that moment to return to Salle Des Rois. To be alone with him. To shut out the rest of the world behind a locked door. Another dreary voice greeted her, stealing her attention away once more.
I am a patient woman.
The words echoed in her head as the lord began to dive into the merits of agricultural droids.
I am a patient woman.
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