“A Miss Alexandra Smith is here to see you, My Lord.” An assistant informed Octavius. The assistant was a mild-mannered silent girl, with eyes the colour of her hair, pretty in a pedestrian way. Hired by the royal advisor for her ability to mind her own business to a great extent.

“Send her in.” Her boss replied, voice clipped and taut with tension. This entire affair had caused a premature speckle of grey in the advisors dark brown.The advisor’s office was a grand room, second only to the royals that inhabited the castle. The mahogany shelves engraved with folklore and portraits of Octavius’s predecessors dominated the walls. Octavius drew a breath. This would be his one and only chance. If he doesn’t make a good impression, it won’t matter who’s reigning, he’ll be out of the job either way.

The handle began to turn.

The door was as tall as most buildings, sturdy oak that would only collapse with the force of several battering rams, something all the palace doors were equipped with. Still, it swung effortlessly as Alexandra stepped in the office.

Octavius looked her over with an internal contempt. She was a petite girl, a few inches shorter than Princess Eleanor, the shortest of the royal sibling who stood at 5'7, though her heels often made up for it. She had unkempt hair sprouting every which way, starting a dark brown but growing into a caramel hue at the ends, with brown skin and dark freckles speckling her cheeks. Her eyes were a dark honey, flitting around with a curiosity and vigour.

While the advisor was analysing his future queen, the queen in question was returning the favour.

Alexandra studied the man who had been promised to explain her summoning. He was an average man in height and weight, with steel blue eyes and streaks of grey interlaced with dirty blonde hair neatly styled upon his head. His facial hair was tidily trimmed and he wore a pair of gold-plated circular spectacles. His chair was as close to a throne as an advisor would dare to sit in. He had a taste for opulence, with precious stones embedding his shining gold pocket watch and crystal buttons on his waistcoat and fur lining his suit. Overshadowing the embroidered royal crest over his breast.

“Please, sit down.” A carefully bland tone requested, betraying no emotion.

Alexandra stepped forward, feeling like a kid in a principals office and sat down in a guest chair several feet shorter than the advisors.

She cleared her throat. “You brought me this far, can I help you?” She knew she should end that question with a respectful my lord, but she couldn’t bring herself to.

Octavius raised an eyebrow at her disrespectful tone, close to scolding her for speaking so rudely to her superior, then he remembered what exactly she was here for. And grimaced.

“The king is dead.”

Alexandra had taken note of the rebuke on the tip of his tongue which he swallowed. The way his face contorted in a haughty look of superiority and then disappeared in a grimace. She decided to test the waters.

“That’s a shame,” was the deadpan delivery. “Is that why I’m here? Need a replacement?” She knew that last comment could land her in very hot water.

Shock crossed the advisor's face and she prepared for a rebuke, probably a strike. She ridiculed a monarch's death, that could be considered blasphemy, treason even. She braced herself for a hit, it was well within his rights after all. Then after seconds, she realised it wasn’t indignant shock, as his face returned to the solemn expression.

She laughed. This was a joke. He didn’t.

“I’m the replacement?”