Rowen von Richter

The study was dim, illuminated only by the light that entered through the heavy curtains. The Empress was reviewing documents, so absorbed in her reading that she didn't hear the two sharp knocks on the door. The Duke waited a moment; when he got no response, he gently opened it and entered silently.

His Majesty, his deep, polite voice filled the air as if he had asked permission even though he was already inside.

She barely raised her gaze, distracted by the ink still running along the margins of the decrees. She didn't dismiss him, nor did she invite him to leave. That was enough.

The duke advanced, taking measured steps across the carpet, until he stood before the desk. He didn't sit. Instead, he bowed his head slightly, a gesture of courtesy… as his body moved too close. A gloved hand rested on the papers, forcing her to stop her quill. The touch wasn't physical, but the proximity seemed so: his shoulder almost brushed hers; his shadow fell over her.

I didn't mean to bother you, Your Majesty, he murmured with the solemn calm of a gentleman. But your worries worry me more than they should.

The silence that followed was strained by his warm breath, too close to her neck. A slight movement was enough to break that exquisite control, but it didn't. He stood there, upright, seemingly obedient, a prisoner of his own devotion.

After a few seconds, he leaned in a little closer, his breath brushing the edge of her cheek.

If you allow it, I will take part of your load, he added, still with that tone of absolute loyalty.

Then he took a step back, just enough to make it all seem like an innocent gesture. Nothing more than the diligence of a servant.

I have already instructed the servants to prepare Her Majesty's room... a warm bath, fresh clothes, and a light meal of whatever pleases her most. And, with your permission, I beg that you leave nothing on your plate... It would be unforgivable for Her Majesty to neglect her well-being.