The Tyrant's Queen

15: etiquettes of a soldier

"Your Majesty!"

Thalia's eyes flew open to the blinding strike of sunlight through her open bedroom windows.

There was a slight pant in Matia's voice, as she peered down at Thalia, her hands on her hips. It evidently wasn't the first time Matia was calling her.

"Mmm- hmm, yes I'm...I'm awake," Thalia croaked, yawning.

Having Matia and a few maids in her room when she just awoke- hair bedraggled and eyes bleary- had been mildly mortifying the first few days.

Now, she simply buried her face into the pillow and snuggled under the sheets, seeking some respite from the biting gust of wind.

The ever astute and professional Matia would've seen the bruises on Thalia's neck- but she wasn't asking any questions.

Was this why Lucien seemed to be so comfortable with Matia?

"Your Majesty, I will summon the girls to help you with washing and getting ready for the day's schedule."

The phrasing was 'the girls', but for the past few days, Thalia had never seen a familiar face of the maids who served her from morning to night. They had been changing, every single day.

"I'd like to have two of them helping me from now on. I believe their names are Viva and Ulla." Cracking and rolling her aching limbs, Thalia hauled herself up to a sitting position.

The fever from last night was gone, but traces of the shivering and aches still plagued her body.

Attempting to catch something from Matia's facial expressions- other than the occasional utter dismay or horror- was something Thalia had given up on long ago.

Even at the explicit mention of two maids' names, not a single muscle twitched on the woman's face.

"His Majesty has ordered for the maids waiting on you to be changed frequently, Your Majesty. It is to ensure security of information."

Oh gods of Aesna! Thalia inwardly snorted.

It was so that she would not develop close relations with the maids, benefitting from sustained communication.

Slipping her icy feet into her slippers, Thalia smiled at Matia.

"I understand. But His Majesty, last night, did say I could choose the maids, for my company. He worries I'll be lonely when he's occupied with the affairs of the court."

At least publicly, Thalia was the woman Lucien had violently, passionately fallen in love with, enough to marry with bewildering haste.

It mattered not if the perceptive Matia suspected anything- from the lack of Lucien's summoning of Thalia to his chambers at night- or from the bruises on her neck.

As long as Thalia uttered these words, at least publicly, Matia would not be given much choice.

"Yes, Your Majesty. I will have the girls wait on you from now on."

Matia might acquiesce now, but there was no knowing if the twins would be allowed to stay with Thalia once word got into Lucien's ears.

That didn't matter- even a scrap more of information from them Thalia could gain, would be valuable.

Ulla and Viva were proficient at gathering information (and gossiping), but not so at hiding their expressions.

Summoned to Thalia's chambers, it was clear from their ashen faces they still feared the consequences of their conversation last night.

"Ulla, please take this black coat to the laundry maids for washing. I'd like to have it dried by today. Viva, please help me get dressed."

Of all terms of speech of the royal court, what came from her lips with the greatest ungainliness and discomfort, were not the still-clumsily spoken "Your Majesty", "sire" and the like, but orders.