Queen Mathilda

"Oh my dear, the fun you'll have in this room!" Your mother giggles, hugging you close.

The woman who until earlier tonight was the ruler of Ithera fondly looks around.

"I'll never forget the night I spent in here with the Al-Anashab ambassador." She mentions. "Do you think his people really shared their knowledge of crossbow warfare with us because of my brilliant diplomatic skills? No, like so many things in life, it came down to how well I sucked his cock!"

"Mother, please." You roll your eyes. You've lost count of how many times your mother has regaled you with her sexual exploits.

"And now you can entertain guests of your own in here. Perhaps your little witch friend?"

"Mother, Lillian is a mage, not a witch."

"They're all the same to me, pet. Witch doctors shouting spells in the dark." Marissa shrugs.

Doing your best to phase your mother's eccentric prattle out, you check your appearance in the wardrobe mirror.

You're a pale, slender young woman of exactly eighteen winters. You have the same silky black hair and cold blue eyes as your mother. You're still not sure if it's a good thing you have her beauty, or a bad thing you look so little like your father, the short-reigning King Bryce. Only time will tell.

"We make quite a pair." Your mother jokes, joining you to gaze at her reflection. Her words have merit. Despite giving birth to you nearly two decades ago, and on the verge of her fortieth winter, Marissa has barely aged a day. Some would even argue the barely. In fact, given your strong resemblance, and your mother's youthful appearance, it might have been possible for the two of you to be confused for siblings, were you not two generations of the kingdom's ruling family.

"Perhaps you should get some sleep, my dear." Your mother advises, making for the door. "You've a long day ahead of you tomorrow. A crown to wear, a kingdom to rule. Witches to court..."

"Mother!" You scowl, for what feels like the millionth time in your short life.

"I still haven't recieved so much as a thank you for appointing young Leslie as the kingdom's Magical Advisor. It was gratifying to send Lady Vella out on her fat, old arse, but I didn't raise an ungrateful child."

You barely raised me at all, you grumble mentally, though politeness prevents you from voicing your opinion.

"Thank you, mother." You say tersely, as she departs your chambers.

"It's all your problem now, love!" She giggles, making for her new, smaller quarters.

Exhausted from your coronation, the subsequent feast, and dealing with your dotty mother, you wearily undress and climb into bed.

You worry about your upcoming reign. It will be difficult and demanding. You pray that you're up to the task. At the very least, you're sure you can be a more effective ruler than Marissa was. One bright spot is you'll be able to see Lillian tomorrow.

It's not long before sleep claims you.