My adored queen

25

Fatigue covered the surface of my head. The attempt to return to business was crowned with a wave of irritation. I slammed my fist on the papers again with all my might, cursing my high status.

"Ouch, it hurts," I hissed, addressing either myself, or the guards, or just the cosmos, giving the heavens the unused energy that I would gladly spend on tirelessly hissing curses under my breath, addressed to everyone in the world. I leaned my elbows on the table, plunged my musical fingers into my thick hair, and leaned my head on my palms, closing my eyes. The queen is dead. Who's next in line? Oriane, brother, go ahead! The position is vacant!

"Drink," a pleasant baritone sounded, and the quiet creak of the wooden bench, on which I was sitting, by the way, was heard next to me. No need to cal