Empress of Nilfgaard

Ciri twirled a quill pen between her fingers, folding the feather against her palm before letting it drop to the wooden desk. With a weary sigh she reclined back into the overly decorative chair she sat. She kicked her feet up, pressing them against the large oak desk until the chair leaned back precariously close to tipping over.

The large hearth roared beside her, keeping the room warm and welcoming. Ornate lanterns hung on the walls keeping the room well-lit. It was comfortable, more comfortable than any other place she had ever stayed. But gods was it boring. She leaned further back balancing the chair on the edges of its rear legs.

She was starting to think coming to court had been a mistake. The Emperor, her father, had left the capital the previous week leaving her to her own devices. But there was nothing to do but paperwork and entertaining stuck-up nobles. She hated it. She hated the way she was required to act, the way she was dressed, the way she was meant to think. She looked over at the sheathed sword that leaned in the far corner of the room and let her mind wander to more exciting times when all she needed to worry about was the next contract and what to kill. She was quickly learning that she preferred solving problems with her sword rather than a pen.

She flinched when a loud knock rang against her door. Her eyes left the sword and darted over to the door. Again another round of knocks. She lifted her feet letting the heavy chair crash loudly back onto its front legs.

"Enter," she yelled and momentarily buried her head in her hands and rubbed her eyes before looking up as the door swung open.