Usually, there was a low buzz before court—rustling silk, quiet gossip, last-minute rehearsing of speeches. Today, nothing. Just rows of bowed heads and the sound of her boots on stone.The herald drew breath to announce her.
"Spare me," Heena said. "If they can't recognize the Empress when she walks in, they can go home."
She sat, one leg crossed over the other, elbow on the armrest, cheek resting on her knuckles. Not the delicate, "elegant" pose Celeste used to practice in front of the mirror, but the posture of someone who knew this hall belonged to her and didn't feel like pretending otherwise. [1]
"Begin," she said.
The Minister of Finance stepped forward with a scroll, hands shaking. "Y-Your Majesty, regarding this year's tax—"
"Stop." Heena flicked a glance at another file held by a eunuch. "Three months ago the border garrisons reported shortages. Yet this report claims all supplies are full. Did the gods drop food from the sky?"
