YOU SHOULD SEE ME IN A CROWWWWWN

"Oh, no, heaven forbid. Kvanne would never allow that."

Trita rolls her eyes but there's a lingering smug look to them like a child with a secret.

"And since when do I ever go against Kvanne?"

Of course, she brings visiting dignitaries here whenever she gets the chance. She's dug up more dirt on those people than any advisor could ever hope to get through years of intense research. Learning about other culture is fun but, in those specific situations, it's all about the information she can get. She was a spy before she was The Empress. She knows how valuable information is.

"Oh, the things I could share about some people, things you would never guess. Well, I suppose you'll actually get that experience since you'll be following me around now. We'll have to figure out a way to make you seem less intimidating or my tactics won't work on people in the same room as you... Then again, maybe we're learning now that wine is the trick, hm?"

She leans over and taps the rim of his glass, having to stretch and little further than she thought, but the reaction of seeing him jump a little is priceless.

"And I suppose you aren't entirely wrong with your guess about what I gain from this room. That's the purer reason, if you're taking the information dealing out of the picture. But I think you've only scratched the surface as to why I like people to have that homey feeling. The general enjoying people feeling safe is also nice since everyone under the sun seems to be under my care and this is the place I can see that I'm doing something right. But, there's more."

Her own glass of wine is back to her lips so she can finish off her second glass and put it back down on her personal table, humming through the last sip happily. It really is her favorite, Lance wasn't wrong. The taste lingers and makes her relax, slouching a bit instead of sitting up so straight and rigid, letting her eyes slip closed to savor it just a moment longer.

"The deeper reason is something you'll have to figure out on your own, Mr. Commander. I'm not about to tell you. If I have to hunt for your reason then you have to hunt for mine."

Little taunt over, her eyes open and drag over to him, looking more at the curve of his spine and set of his shoulders, sweeping over the contours for a moment to read them. For most people, that's the body language of being guarded, or closing oneself off, but, for him, it seems like that may actually be the opposite. He nearly seems relaxed like that.

"Are you uncomfortable in here? Or do you feel a sense of belonging? What would you change to feel like this room belongs to you and you alone?"

“Well it’s not like I️ was going to lead with saying to your face that you like it because it puts you in control. Because that much is obvious.”

He hates that he’s gone and said it anyway, but the wine again. And that’s another piece of proof for his conclusion, anyway. She wants to know things, wants to get people down to their most unguarded forms, strip away their walls, so that she can learn and know. And to know is to have power.

Strange, she’s already the most powerful person in the empire. Well, maybe not so strange.

“Guess it’s easy to feel powerless in a role like this. You have all the power in name, but the power weighs too much for it to feel like true free power. So you find comfort in gaining power through knowledge when people are unguarded. You’d make a good interrogator. Well... then again, I’m sure you have at some point.”

Dolan finds himself stretching a little, craning his neck some, trying to get some lingering feelings of tension out of his bones. Still, his body isn’t used to this. To not laying in sand under a tarp for hours.

“Why... why would I️ want it to belong to me?”

The question is quiet and comes after a few moments of silence as he thinks. It’s not designed to be coy, he really doesn’t know the answer himself. He tries to imagine what she’s asked- how the room would have to change for him to be completely comfortable. Then it dawns on him that he cant remember a time he’s ever felt that way. It’s practically his job to feel uncomfortable all the time.

“It’s in my personality to be uncomfortable. I️ dont think even your favorite white is going to completely change that. Ma’am.”

Dolan’s keenly aware of the fact that he’s never quite been in a place where he felt he belonged. The army was thrust onto him and he’d come to accept that, but had he ever completely belonged there? Kvanne had always said that Dolan had too many deeply seated authority issues, granted ones he ignores often and well, to really belong in the military. Dolan thinks he does pretty well to fool the average person, but maybe not the Empress.

That’s an unnerving thought. So this woman he’s going to be following practically 24/7 is out to uncover whatever secrets she thinks he has, figure him out down to bare bones in a way maybe Dolan had never had the courage to figure himself out. Maybe Dolan was wrong- maybe this will turn out to be the hardest job he’s ever had.

"That's another reason. So, you have making people feel safe and also having control. Both good, true reasons but there's something else. Something no one alive would know or guess. Probably."

The words seem to come across as a challenge to him because his brow knits at it and she can see his wheels turning, trying to push past the buzz to connect pieces. But he doesn't have the pieces to connect. Trita shakes her head at him in a gentle, quiet way to tell him to calm down and stop.

"You won't get it and maybe never will. But, hey, you got two out of the three reasons. That's not so bad, I'd say. Be content with that for now."

Shifting, she turns so her back is to him, body stretched out fully on her chaise, gazing a bit longingly at the fireplace in front of her again.

"And I don't believe it's in your personality to never feel comfortable. Everyone wants a sense of belonging, some of us have just learned to ignore the desire thanks to painful life lessons. You're not different. I'd say you're a unique man, Commander Fox, but you're still a man at the end of the day."

Her hands lazily play with the fabric of her suit, pressing out some wrinkles absentmindedly. Soft snoring comes from the other side of the room. Per usual, Lance has curled up and fallen asleep as if this is his room. Her eyes shift to his sleeping form, face relaxed, muscles twitching every now and then as he dreams.

He does this often and it's a bit relaxing to see. To know someone is comfortable enough in your presence that they feel safe falling asleep, that you were able to provide such a warm space that everything else faded from their minds.

"See? You're really no different than Advisor Killian. Sure, he smiles more than you do but, when it comes down to it, you both search for something to make you feel secure. He just seems to find things to hold him over more than you do. It's a wonder, really. You'd think with everything he's been through, he'd have just as rough of a time but, somehow, he's learned to push past that and live day-to-day. It's remarkable in its own way."

Trita tilts her head back so she can look at Dolan once again, though upside down this time.

"I'm going to figure out what exactly it is that would give you that sense of ease and belonging. I have no doubt it'll be a challenge, you don't have to tell me that. But it seems like a challenge that will keep me watching and learning for a good while. I'm excited just thinking about it."

The fireplace cracks as a log splits from burning, sending embers up the chimney, the pleasant scent of warmth washing out into the room in a more condensed wave now. The flame flickers brightly now that it's the only source of light in the room, the light from the hidden windows gone with the setting sun. It's now the focal point, demanding attention, attention Trita feels keen to give it right now.

"Would you like to have dinner in here again or would you prefer to wait outside tomorrow night? Maybe even eat in a dining hall completely separate from me? I wouldn't rat you out to anyone if that's what you wanted, but I also couldn't promise that I could make either of those situations happen currently. I'm simply curious if this room repulses you."

“Repulses me?”

A low snort comes from his throat, almost a laugh but a choked back one.

“I️ don’t think that’s in my personality either, ma’am.”

He himself knows that’s not quite the truth, so he’s sure she will, too. But there’s a grain of truth in it. With all the things he’s done, all the things he should regret, why would a simple room repulse him? With the things that keep him up at night, a room like this is... is like comparing apples to oranges.

“This is just a room. Neutral. Not good or bad, just. Existing.”

He shrugs again, looks around for something that could make him retract that statement, but finds nothing.

“You sure are invested in your little room.”

It comes out murmured, a little deadened by the weight he’s starting to feel in his head. Sleepy, maybe. He can get sleepy. But tired? He so very rarely feels truly tired. Especially mentally. If ones brain never slows its running down enough to feel, it can never truly get tired, can it? At least, that’s been Dolan’s perspective.

So he feels tired, and he doesn’t like it. Tired makes mistakes and messes and is imprecise and imperfect in everything. Not to mention what tired means for a night of dreams he doesn’t want to have.

“Well. I️ truly do wish you the best of luck. If there’s anything to find, I️ hope you do find it.”

He holds his arms out for only a moment, referring to her attempts to pin him down. He’s not being facetious, he truly means it. And he truly thinks there’s nothing there for her to find. She had been a career soldier, shouldn’t she know how this works?

“I️ suppose its my job to eat wherever you eat, isn’t it? Or at least watch you eat.”

"I'd rather you'd eat with me than just watch me, thanks."

A bell tolls outside, some old relic of the past kept by tradition, loud enough to make Lance stir but not actually wake up.

It's odd because one would expect a loud outside noise to snap everything back to reality, alert people that a world exists outside this room. Instead, it makes this room feel more isolated than ever. Maybe it's how the noise is muffled by all the fabric, or maybe it's because a physical bell is so old in comparison to their digital age that it sounds other worldly. Probably both. To be honest, that had been part of this room's draw that she hadn't intentionally planned on but she's happy it's there.

"I have some more questions if you don't mind indulging me."

Like a lot of things she says in this tone, it's not a question. Her statements always clearly show that she expects him to humor her to a certain extent, maybe more than usual because of this room, but she'd be a fool to think he'd completely cooperate with her whims.

He grunts some sort of response to tell her to continue before clearing his throat, thinking better of the informal noise. Maybe he's not quite so much like his brother, after all.

"You know, Advisor Fox has only been in this room once and then swore he would never come back. Is there something here that your family specifically finds disturbing?"

She can't imagine a single thing yet, at the same time, she can imagine that it's everything. The floor on up to the ceiling, all of it as a whole seems to set this family on edge.

"Is it the carpet? The fireplace? The food? Or is it introspection? The truth?"

A smile finds her face again the more her eyes roam then drift to him a bit lazily. Their time in this room is coming closer to its end for today and that makes her sad. This is her one true personal space in this palace, where she invites people she wants when she wants.

So while her expression reads bored, there's still a spark of interest in her eyes, a spark that holds tight to the time that's left as she focuses on his form again.

"Or is it me? Is being around the idea you fought for in person upsetting? Did you not realize who you were fighting to put in office and now that you're with me, you wonder what you were thinking?"

“Can’t really speak for my brother, ma’am. We grew up quite differently.”

Dolan feels his shoulders start to tense up a little, but that’s stupid. He’s had his entire adult life to come to grips with being the one brother sent away, the one their father didn’t want close to him, he should have accepted that by now. Especially with their father dead. He’d wanted Kvanne to take his place on the council, so he had come to the palace here to live and train for that future. Their other brother, Aleric, had been kept at home to learn how to head up the estate and keep the family running. And Dolan, Dolan was sent away.

It had been for the prestige of it, the reach of the family, and although Dolan hadn’t understood that as a child, he does clearly now. One son high in government and the other high up in the military? Guaranteed majority in terms of control. But sometimes Dolan stops and wonders why his father didn’t consider, or didn’t care about, the personal cost. Either way, he’d succeeded. He’d molded each of his sons into exactly who he’d wanted them to be.

“Kvanne likes to put everything in boxes and then desperately wants to keep them there. Feelings included. I️ suppose none of us were brought up to deal well with that sort of thing.”

That’s a sterile way of saying it. Probably just evidence of its truth. Maybe that’s part of why Dolan can’t get comfortable in this room. Or anywhere else, really.

“I️ very highly doubt any of it has to do with you, ma’am. Such affinity would be highly unsuitable in your presence, but you should hear my brother talk about you when you’re not around. Like you’re his personal god.”

Dolan mimics Kvanne’s lofty verbiage and even his tone at first, breaking into the softest smile at his own success in mirroring his voice.

“And I️... well, I️ knew what I️ was fighting for. Same as I️ knew who. No surprises there.”

Perhaps not entirely true. Maybe he’d expected her to be more formal, like his brother. More... exalted acting, looking down on them all. She’d have a right to. She’s the empress of the bloody empire. Maybe its the informality, the intimacy she goes about things with, the casualty. That look in her eyes he can’t place yet. Maybe that’s another unnerving thing. Making him feel some strange version of safe and yet utterly not at the same time. Vulnerable and exposed.

"As a former soldier myself, I think I know the position you're in. Roughly. Obviously, I don't have the formal training of one, but I did throw myself into a war."

Trita rolls over to lay on her stomach and prop herself back up to look at him over the rest of the lounge.

"And I know for a fact there is a difference between having a visual of who or what you're fighting for compared to the actual who or what themselves."

She taps her finger on the rest, watching him intently. Impatiently. Expectantly. It's almost as if she's waiting for... Something. For his expression to crack, for him to blurt out that he's disappointed in what he sees.

Not that she'd blame him if that were the case. Not that she'd blame anyone. Lance, Kvanne, the maid that just walked in, the common citizen outside the palace.

"You know... A lot of people died for a cause I pushed into a war, a lot of people died rallying behind me."

It's just a sad fact of life that she feel like she doesn't need to spell out for him. Her name is as synonymous with victory and change as it is with war and death.

He's seen it. He was fighting for the cause just as much as she was. Lance has seen it, been tortured for it. All the destruction first-hand.

"What do they think when they see me in the press? When my picture circulates on some news article?"

Her eyes flick to him, tracing the outline of his face, taking note of the pinch in his brow pulling tighter the more she discusses this. The more she talks of the wars and all that was lost. It feels like so long ago but, in reality, they're just now stepping away from it with slow, toddler-like steps.

The pain is still very real, very evident. Things are still broken and what's fixed is fragile at best. That's the most evident to the people still fighting and struggling. To soldiers. To people like him.

Try as he might to hide it, she can see it. Feel it. She knows all of those thoughts personally.

"What do you see when you look at me?"

Dolan takes a deep breath, watches the way her eyes roam over him and around the room. Something in the quick flick of them from one thing to another, then back at him. His head cocks to the side slightly as he thinks.

"I see a leader that very many people are still very willing to die for. Someone who stands for things that... that people had been starved of for far too long."

His eyes stay on her even in the silence as she waits for more. He's not prepared to give it, but something about even when she's doing nothing starts to draw things from him. He's going to have to watch himself.

"I think... I see someone who doesn't fully grasp their own importance. Or maybe chooses not to."

He sucks in a little air unintentionally. There had to have been some way he could have made that softer, gentler, more fit to tell an empress. But no, of course he didn't.

He sits forward enough to stretch, to reach over to the table where Lance's empty bowl is sitting by his dozing form. Dolan grabs the half full wine glass and takes the last few sips left in it before exhaling heavily.

"I mean no disrespect by that, of course, ma'am. I think... I think you're just different than the type of person we're used to having on the throne. And it's good. Your world is larger than just you. Which is why so many have worked and struggled to get you here."

It feels weird and a little wrong, maybe a little self important, to talk about putting her on the throne. In truth, she'd lead the initial rebellions without a lot of backing until her ideologies had spread and caught on like wildfire. She had done most of the work. But people had soon lined up in droves to support her. Dolan being one of them. He wants to tell her that his endorsement, of anyone's, doesn't come lightly, but that doesn't fit the mood of what he's trying to say either, so he lets that be for now.

Trita listens to him quietly, just intently watching as he talks, keeping her reactions to herself until he's finished. Once he's done rambling and back-tracking, a slow grin spreads on her face. Of course, he can't see it, but she can feel her tail hidden under layers of fabric. If it were longer, it would sway slowly, very reminiscent of a cat watching a bird outside a window.

Intrigued, ready to pounce.

"Hmmmm... I like your second answer better, minus the formal apologizing."

Rather than jump at him, at the bird of the situation, she leans off the lounge and reaches for the cart, pulling it and the refreshments it holds closer to their side of the circle. Without fully breaking her reclined position and move from where she comfortably rests on her stomach peeking over at him, she begins to arrange a small assortment of meats and cheeses on a tiny plate.

"Your first answer was sterile. It's something anyone would have spat back at me when asking them what they think. I don't want the fear-induced respectful answer, I don't want the answer they're already printing in textbooks and history articles. Anyone can, will, and would say those things."

With the plate neatly arranged, an equal amount of all the options available on it, she hands it to him. The Commander doesn't take it at first, just eyes it. He's not going to eat the stew, she's no idiot, she can clearly see that. She stubbornly holds it out until he cracks a little, taking it from her hesitantly.

"Anyone could have done what I did and those lines wouldn't have changed a single word. Those are sentiments for a symbol, not a person."

He had said he wasn't much of a drinker, but that clearly doesn't stop her from snatching up the wine bottle next, filling his empty glass right back up. Of course, she makes sure hers is full again, too. It's not like she'd make him drink alone, but she apparently has more of a tolerance for it.

"Your second answer was what you as a person have observed. Those are the types of things I like, things I want, exactly why I bring people here. But. Even so."

The clinking of their wine glasses rings out following her cut-off, abrupt, loud, crystal ringing echoing for a short moment. It creates the epitome of a dramatic pause.

"I think that's just the surface of what you think. You have other thoughts when you look at me- Hell, when you look at anything. You just don't share them. I want to change that, at least for when you're speaking with me. An empress and her loyal guard should have nothing but utmost honesty, yes? Or, from one soldier to another, we need trust on a battlefield or a strategy will never work. This palace is far from what we know of war but, trust me, it comes with its own battles."

"I don't... know what else it is you want me to be honest about. What I think doesn't very much matter here and I doubt it's entertaining beyond any shock value it might initially have."

He sets the plate down on the chaise beside him, eyeing the food on it, wondering if he'll take a chance in eating it. It's probably the closes to simple, bland food he'll get tonight. The best option for getting used to more lavish food again. He breaks a piece of meat off against the plate and pops it in his mouth unceremoniously, chewing it for a while, using the time to think.

"Is it that you just really never get pure unfiltered thought, or that your amusement in this situation comes from how unsuited to all these... formal rules I am? Because once I get used to things, all your fun will be gone and you'll have to start over again with some other poor newcomer."

He's sitting forward again, his chin resting in his hand, staring at her probably a little too intently. At least, to the point that Kvanne would be smacking at the back of his arm to try and deter him. As he's said, he's not the most comfortable with raw thought and feeling, much less with sharing them. But if he's going to be compelled to share his thoughts, well, he'll share the analytical ones that interest and occupy him more. She asked for it, one way or another.

"But you already have your friend Killian here. I'm sure he gives you as much open and honest discourse as anyone could want. And I doubt your desire for you and I to be all open with each other isn't as simple as some unobstructed trust building exercise. I'm here to follow you around and keep people from killing you. I would expect that base trust to be enough. Maybe my brother should import you a more entertaining entourage to keep your boredom at bay."

He doesn't know why, but he can feel the edge of his mouth curling up into the slightest grin, something satisfied and, for some reason, completely engaged. It's gone beyond just the wine now, he's pretty sure. If she wants him to talk openly with her, then he will. And he's going to get at the same thing from her. At least, he'll keep needling until he's satisfied with her reasoning.

Trita is frowning by his second point, his second guess as to her reasoning.

"If you think I find watching someone try to learn something as foolishly traditional as formalities entertaining, then I'm afraid I misjudged you. I thought you were a more insightful person than that."

The thought that maybe he's not as intuitive and aware as she had been believing him to be really upsets her, down to her core. Here she was being swept up and entertained by this seemingly intriguing person just to have him open his mouth and it start to crumble around her.

Entertainment sure is fleeting around here, boredom seems to last forever.

"You want to know, do you? I miss being engaged, stimulated, and the people around here are terribly dull and stuck in their ways. It's no wonder the old imperial family went crazy after a few generations. You lose the ability to think after a while, I'd imagine."

Holding any sort of sympathy for that old family is not something she thought she'd ever say but, in an awful way, she's right. Sitting stuck in a palace, signing legislatures, paper after paper, issue after issue, without a way to be amused, to work your mind on a different deeper level... It's not good for a person.

Besides. She used to be so hands-on, part of the rebellion, started it from the ground up. People didn't just look up to her, they worked beside her. In those days, she was as much one of them as their leader. They'd drink after a hard battle, argue, banter and pick petty fights.

The things she did before all of that? If she had been caught, she'd be rotting in jail for the rest of time, no rebuilding to be had. No rebirth of an empire to be seen. More often than not, she misses those days the most.

Now? Now she's a bird sitting pretty, something they'll soon start stamping on currency, a silhouette to wave around and be just a sign for a movement.

What she did... It needed to be done and she's never once regretted the upheaval she caused. But becoming empress was not her goal, yet the crowds cheered for her when the role needed to be filled. Why, she couldn't imagine. She was a little nobody who picked a fight and happened to win. None of them knew if she was qualified to run their nation. Thankfully, she's a quick learner, possibly one of the smartest people in the empire from all the nervous, panicked reading she did to educate herself.

There are things about her that no one knows and probably never will. Things about her that people don't remember of the person she used to be. If she could forget like everyone else, then she imagines this would be a much easier position to fill.

"So. Yes. All of this is me using you, manipulating you for my own gain. I'm dreadfully bored every day and need a toy to learn about to keep me from losing my mind. I don't care for people's feelings on a deeper level, I just care for watching what makes them tick on a purely psychological level. It brings me great joy to pick at someone's mind, learn how it's held together. How it can be taken apart."

With a shrug, she sips her wine, rolls her eyes at him.

"Happy now, dear Commander?"

He takes a few more seconds of the intense stare, giving it right back, feeling her out as much as she is him.

"If you want to know me, to hear me, maybe we should start with this baseline then."

He knows before he says it that this is not the way one talks to an empress. Kvanne's voice whines loudly in his head, more loudly than it has during this whole conversation. But Dolan empties his glass again and pops more meat into his mouth, for the first time leaning completely back against the backrest, folding his hands over his chest.

"I don't get friendly with people simply because they say they want to be my friend. I've been in the military a long time, ma'am. Longer than the military has been working for you. There are aspects of that background that are not going to go down easy. My distrust and my caution? That's why I'm still alive. It's also why I fought for the rebel army instead of the old imperial one. So if you want me to be open and honest, take my openness and my honesty. If you're really looking for me to be real, then I will be. You just don't get to pick what that looks like."

He leans his head against the cushion, really feeling for the first time the slight dizzy feeling of the alcohol going to his head. He really shouldn't make a habit of this. He should probably never do this ever again. Part of him can understand now why Kvanne would be deathly afraid of this room. In another way, he could understand why he might adopt the same stance.

But... he doesn't feel that way, at least not yet. What this room stands for right now is challenge. Bluntness. A different type of struggle than what he's used to on the battlefield. One he finds more enjoyable. But of course, that's one night's worth of opinions. He'll save making up his mind for later when he's had more experience to draw from.

"And this salami is all fat. You should talk to someone about that. Or get someone to talk to someone about it for you. However that works around here."

"You're an absolute idiot. You came so highly rated. I should have picked my own guard."

She sighs deeply, annoyed, standing from her lounge, adjusting her suit as she does to make sure everything is in place. Can't walk out of this room without looking presentable, whatever the hell that means.

"I don't want to pick and choose how you open up, what you say. The more you speak, the less I can see that you actually understand."

After a moment of just standing to finish off her last glass of wine, she rests the empty glass on the cart, tracing her finger around the rim for a moment. This was a mistake, Kvanne had been right. She shouldn't have brought her new guard in here.

Not that she'll tell Kvanne he was correct in his assumption that Dolan will only ruin whatever mood she was trying to create. No, she'll just keep that to herself.

"If you want to be a blunt asshole, then be a blunt asshole. Don't open your mouth and let fuck all fly out one second and then the next second go back to barely speaking except to call me 'ma'am' or 'Your Imperial Majesty.' None of that."

She turns to face him, back straight, posture stiff, eyes narrowed. The way she stands now is much more like an empress giving an order. Her tone is more of an average person looking at someone repulsive and telling them off.

"If that's how you're going to be then you may as well pack your things and take your ass back to the border. There's no room for you here. All the two-faced idiot slots are filled."

With all the cursing, the maid from before comes running into the room on high alert, her wide eyes sweeping across the scene. Trita swallows, taking a deep breath for a moment with her back to the maid, using the second to pull herself back together. By the time she turns around, her face is smooth, calm, as if nothing had happened, nothing had been said.

"I believe we're done in here, thank you. I'll go tell the kitchen that dinner was wonderful, as always. Oh, and when you're done in here, you're free to go for the night."

The maid looks around nervously but nods, clearly confused by what she heard contrasted to what she's seeing now.

"Should I wake up Advisor Killian?"

"No, leave him. He sleeps in here more than his own living quarters anyways."

Trita allows a small smile onto her face for the sake of the other woman and it seems to work. Her shoulders visibly relax as she giggles a little at the comment before getting to work collecting the dishes and the cart.

Refusing to look back once, Trita makes her way to the servant's door that the maid had just come from and slips inside to make her way towards the kitchen just as she said.

Dolan sighs when the empress leaves, not bothering to get up or move from his reclined position. He picks around the last few pieces of meat to try and find something less fatty before tossing it into his mouth rather haphazardly. Because apparently nothing matters at all.

His face is hard as slated the same unreadable expression he usually sports, but inside its a flurry of anger and frustration, not made many better or more tolerable by all the wine. What had all her questioning and her poking been for, to get him comfortable and safe feeling as she’d said, if she was just going to snap shut the second he started speaking bluntly and freely? She’d asked for honesty, and honestly, he doesn’t know who he can trust here yet. And he’s not inclined to give her any special treatment or exemption.

He stretches his legs and rolls his neck a little, tongue running along his teeth to diffuse some of his own irritation. She’d cone across as a bit bratty, spoiled even, if he didn’t know her background better than that. She’d been poking him with a ten foot stick the whole night, standing back and watching to see if she could get him to dance.

And fuck if Dolan dances for anybody.

He stands and straightens his jacket, takes a deep breath. This is his new job. This is the world he has to live in now. He goes out through the same door he’d entered through, and he’s barely three steps before Kvanne sticks his head out of a neighboring doorway, eyes narrowed and head tilted in a way that says he’s about to participate in some kind of intrigue.

“Did you... did you eat in there with her? Dear God.”

“Don’t worry, nobody’s dead.”

Dolan stops, folds his arms, stares like he’s wishing the death on Kvanne instead. Kvanne just keeps staring, his eyes widening, starting to take on a sense of dread.

“What... what happened? Did she-“

“You’re a screw up, brother. She doesn’t want a guard, she wants another giggly sleepover buddy like her other advisor friend. Chose real well, didn’t you.”

Dolan mumbles it as he brushes by, even through Kvanne’s babbling attempts to stop him and ask for more details.

He makes it back to his room without getting lost and shuts the door behind him, leaning against it for a few minutes. Its a strange thing, how he could feel hot and uncomfortable and miserable out at the border every night, but find himself yearning now for the sand again, for some obscure foxhole instead of this huge empty room and this lavish bed.

Instead of going to it, he sits down at the table again, props his legs up. He knows not a lot of sleep awaits him, no matter which way he goes about trying to get it, so he leans his head back and just stares at the ceiling with its reliefs and carved panels. He’s fallen from one hell into another, hasn't he?

The tablet on the table buzzes, lights up, shaking the whole thing with a grating noise and Dolan grabs it up to make it stop. On the screen is the Empress’s loose schedule for the following day, which means it’s also Dolan’s loose schedule for the following day.

He groans a little out loud to himself, grumbling under his breath. Maybe tomorrow he’ll try the silent as the grave approach instead, now that he’s tried it Her Imperial Majesty’s way and proven that to be quite unsuccessful.

The entire morning is absolutely miserable. Even Lance loses Trita a couple of times before breakfast. Usually, she eats in her room at the table near the window and he joins her, at least for the second round of coffee. But. She wasn't there today. Her food wasn't even touched.

He swears he spots her walking down a hall, those rabbit ears and white hair hard to miss, but, by the time he catches up to the corner she had turned, she's gone.

But it's not like she isn't doing anything, not like she's wandering aimlessly. She's leaving a trail of work in her wake. With each room Trita walks into, another task for the day is done like some sort of odd productive calling card. One room, she finally signs off on her verdict with the tax law on imports, the next she's picked out a couple of books to read on irrigation for the crisis farmers down south are having, and so on, so forth.

It may be a frustrating day but at least things are clearly getting done. Not that it's really any surprise. Even when Trita may not appear to be physically working, she is always thinking, planning, and solving something.

Not just any average fool can lead a successful rebellion.

Hours upon hours of following this bizarre trail leads Lance up to one of the many palace balconies, this one overlooking the adjacent city. There's a large fire pit with a bar on one side and several large pieces of outdoor furniture on the other. Of course, she's not using either set-up.

Trita sits on the ledge of the balcony. Beyond the marble railing.

Just outside the safety precaution of the boundary, there's a little lip, about two feet wide, before there's absolutely nothing. Just a long dance with gravity until a very painful death. She pumps her legs back and forth over the ledge with her back against the railing, a book in her hands.

"Well. Haven't you been busy today?"

Trita flicks her ears back at Lance to both acknowledge him and tell him to go away. Of course, he doesn't. He never does, even during the times she sincerely wants him to. Instead of join her on the precarious edge of danger she seems perfectly comfortable on, he plops down on the safe side of the rails, nearly back-to-back with her but slightly off to the side so he can look over his shoulder at her.

"You and the guard fight at some point last night?"

"Of course we did. You shouldn't have to ask."

"No, I guess not."

Lance sighs deeply, tilting his head back so he can look up at the cloudy sky above them. Silence falls between them just for a moment before he continues, but, God, she wishes he wouldn't.

"What about?"

"Nothing."

"Weird to fight about nothing."

"Killian."

"I know, I know..."

She doesn't like to talk about her personal feelings on any matter whatsoever, he just figured he'd give her a chance to express herself. It's not often anyone around here ever does. Yes, Trita has been this closed off since he met her back in the war, but it's only gotten worse since being here. She trusts no one... That or she feels like she's not at the liberty to express anything.

Maybe both.

There's no point in trying again, despite his curiosity. She's not going to talk and that's just how it is. So, he changes the subject.

"Irrigation?"

"Yes."

"Looks like a boring read."

"It's not entertaining, if that's what you're asking. But there's a threat of a famine down south and I need to read up on ways to try to help. I figure we'll start with trying to revitalize the land first."

"Guess that's as good a place to start as any."

"I hope so."

Even though her tone never wavers, the last words are heavy on her lips. She does hope so. If this is the wrong call, what happens then? She's racing against a clock but she has no clue what the timer is set to. If the time limit runs out and crops stop growing altogether, then what? Famine, death, sickness, poor trade, joblessness, a mass exodus to the cities, cities that can barely house the people living in them now...

Every issue is like this: High-stakes with very little time to plan. It drives her crazy. There's no time to get lost in failed amusement, in her annoyance with her advisors and everyone else here in this palace talking about her behind closed doors.

No, right now, there's work to be done. There's always work waiting for her. Like every other day before this since the wars ended, she'll throw herself into it and get lost. That's what she's good at and that's what's expected.

Dolan has been putting his experience with covert operations to use today. He’d assumed the night before, rightly from what he can see this morning, that the Empress doesn’t want to interact with him anymore. He’d sped up her fun little introduction process and bored her, so from now on she’ll probably ignore him like everyone else.

He cant say he blames her. The taking an interest in talking to him had been what he hadn’t seen coming. He’d expected to come here, blend into the background, follow the Empress around without any attention and just do his job. Like he’s been doing all day.

He’s been keeping a safe and respectful distance. He won’t insult her by thinking she doesn’t know he’s there, but he stays far enough back that his presence isn’t awkward. She can easily ignore him, just as it seems she’s made her mind up to do.

Because clearly she has more important things to think about. He stands with hands clasped behind his back outside the door, peeking through it every now and then to make sure she’s still sitting on the edge of the balcony, not jumping over and trying to lose her tail.

All the people who pass in the hall generally ignore him, too. He’s found that to be a near constant- put on a military uniform, or really any uniform altogether, and people start to forget you’re a person. All you are is a job. To be fair, the military often functions better under that mindset.

Maybe that’s why he hadn’t been expecting the casual nature of the night before. Maybe that’s why he’d angered her so much. How is he supposed to be anything but a job? That’s all he’s ever been.

Honestly, he’s still not sure why she’d gotten as upset as she had. And he’s starting to accept that he’s just not going to know. Which makes his head throb more than it is already. The highest point of his headache comes when his brother rounds the corner, catches sight of him, and frowns.

“Why are you standing outside the door?”

Kvanne nearly hisses, peeking in to glance at the Empress as well.

“I’m guarding. Its what guards do. I️ mean I️ think, seeing as I’ve never been one before.”

“Go in there. That’s what you’re here for. To watch out for her. What if someone tried to shoot her off the balcony?”

“Then I’m sure she’d see them before me and bludgeon then to death with their own sniper rifle.”

Kvanne closes his eyes for a moment as if he’s beseeching a higher being.

“Go do what you were brought here to do. Go. Guard. Her.”

He doesn’t even stay to see it done, just goes stomping off down the hall, like he can’t stand the sight of Dolan any further.

Dolan takes a deep breath, probably saying a prayer of his own, before he steps inside the door and reassumes his stance on the other side of the open doorway.

Lance looks over at Dolan when he takes a new position, actually joining them out on the balcony.

Sort of.

He keeps his distance, eyes sweeping back and forth a bit, always stopping at Trita's back before they make their rounds again. And again. And again.

Honestly, he looks just about as hard to read as Trita. Lance struggles to hold in a sigh over the two of them. He turns to look back at Trita.

She doesn't move to acknowledge Dolan, doesn't even flick her ears in the same way she had when Lance arrived. No, she doesn't give the guard even that courtesy.

"Killian."

The tone of her voice is sharp, a general giving an order, not an empress requesting something simple of an advisor. With a bit of a jolt, Lance turns himself so he's facing the railing now, peeking between them to try to get a read of her face.

Her hands slam the book closed with a loud, harsh noise that echoes off the balcony. After a moment, a pause to make sure Lance is paying attention, she tosses the thing up behind her, over the rail, listens as Lance fumbles to catch it for a moment then sits back down once he has it.

"There's nothing useful in there. Put it aside or read it if you're bored. I don't care either way."

Lance examines the cover as Trita reaches to the small pile of books to her right, picking up the next one on the stack.

Honestly, Lance wants nothing to do with this. He holds it up with a grin, waving it at Dolan.

"Don't suppose you were a farmer boy? Want a ground-breaking read?"

Dolan doesn't respond or even acknowledge the joke. Between these two giving the world's coldest shoulders, it doesn't even feel like the beginning of spring outside. It could be snowing and feel about the same.

So, Lance sets the book to his side and leans back against the railing again, tracing his finger along the title on the cover, far more interested in that than actually reading it.

Dolan bites on the inside of his cheek for a while after Killian sets the book aside. He knows he's already on thin ice and that the Empress doesn't want to hear anything from him. And he knows Kvanne is probably one mistake away from sending him back to the border.

Would he really mind that so much? He'd been thinking the night before how much he'd rather be there than here. Under a hailstorm of bullets rather than surrounded by dignitaries and velvet. But still. That would mean failing at something. Not seeing a mission through to its end. Despite his current personal distaste for the mission at hand, he's not about to let a defeat go on his record.

"If you're concerned about the situation in the south, you're wasting your time on irrigation."

He clears his throat before speaking, looking at the advisor and addressing him, although they all know the information is actually directed at the empress.

"I'd be looking at the maps of the old border. From back before the wars. There are aqueduct tunnels from the springs near the current border all the way into the urban centers to the south. The imperials just stopped them all up and used them as retreat tunnels during the rebellion. But we took back that territory, so the springs and the tunnels are on our land, no imperial threat. All you'd have to do is unblock it."

Dolan shrugs, staring off toward the middle distance as if he's talking to the air itself now instead of anyone in particular. He's knows it's a big problem, an issue that could push the fragile empire to the brink of disaster. But the solution is cut and dry in his mind.

"Unstop your tunnels, rebuild some of those markets like you were... well, just rebuild them, reinstitute the trade routes running from north to south, and you've got a quick fix."

After a moment of silence passes in which nobody responds, Dolan's eyes roll upward to stare at the ceiling. He tries to wash the attitude out of his tone before continuing.

"Of course, not that I would know. I'm not the Advisor of Agriculture or anything. Just an idiot guard."

Lance just stares at Dolan with a deadpan expression, listening, but even he seems a little annoyed with the tone the guard is taking. Yes, he knows it isn't directed at him, but he had been the one Dolan was looking at so he has to take some of the brunt of it.

"That's a fair point, Killian."

When Trita speaks, uses his name, his eyes go wide and he wipes around to look at her.

"M-Me?"

"Given that I am not from the south and have no ties to the old order, I wouldn't know that there are imperial aqueducts. It would make sense that would go under my radar. Correct?"

"Y-Yeah...?"

The Empress just continues to read, pressing forward in her book despite the advice coming from behind her, the confusion coming from beside her.

"Except-"

Something on her current page catches her attention enough that she dog-ears it before closing the book. Since this one actually has something useful, she gently sets it to her side and then goes for another book, slowly but steadily working on her pile.

"That I know about the aqueducts. I've done some research, I'm well-read. The main one we would need to get up and running to hold us over until we can raise the money to fix the rest is in total disrepair."

"So... Do we just save up money for that one, fix it, and then while that one is doing what it can, we save up for the rest?"

Lance is trying to follow along with the conversation, knowing very well he's acting like a mediator between the two of them. Just because that's what he is right now doesn't mean he wants to be left out.

Agriculture may not be his area of expertise but he can help think of plans, too.

Despite the two idiots surrounding him.

"That would be the most financially sound way to go about doing it, yes."

For the first time since she's been up here, since these two have joined her on the balcony, she lets her shoulders sag a little, a deep sigh escaping her. That had been her first plan, strategically rebuild the aqueducts one-by-one, saving money for each phase as they go. It would keep the empire from any more debt.

No, the land wouldn't be radically fixed all at once, things would have to come back in gradual patches of land, but it was better than just sitting around waiting for all of it to fail.

Then they examined the main aqueduct, the one that would absolutely need to be fixed first. There's just no way... The Imperials left it in ruins. Intentionally so, sly bastards.

"It would take a year at the very least to fix it and money we don't have. I need a quick-fix solution to hold us over until I can examine the budget in a couple of months and see where I can funnel money away from."

"If you're looking for another source of income, it's better to make a long range plan and wait. The larger aqueduct will hold for this growing season."

Dolan cracks his neck a little while he talks straight up to the ceiling, glancing in between at the advisor, who darts his eyes back and forth between Dolan and the empress, still with that slight bewildered expression, like he's trying to follow a ping-pong game.

"You sacrifice now to reap the reward later. Like chess. Do you play chess, Advisor?"

Dolan doesn't wait for an answer, but he rests his eyes more squarely on the man in between them as he continues.

"Your most obvious source of revenue for the moment would be to increase taxes somewhere. The budget doesn't have room for the kind of cuts you would need. But the people just don't have it, either. So instead you cut taxes now. You incentivize seed trade on that north-south route you're opening back up, and you get resources flowing into that area. Because you can provide water all you want, but if southern farmers have had failing crops since the rebellion, the other missing piece of the equation for them is seed."

Dolan has started picking at his sleeve now. There's a loose thread, and he furrows his brow trying to get it at the source and break it off. His tone changes, like he's truly just talking to himself now instead of making a show of pretending to.

"You cut taxes on agricultural trade now. You make it easier for seeds to make their way into the south, you open up the one aqueduct. You set them up for the first real yield they've had in years. Then you have a new source of revenue from the produce tax that's already in place. And you use that money to save and eventually repair the other aqueducts."

The thread snaps more quickly that Dolan expects and he frowns at it, dusts his sleeve off and readjusts his jacket.

"At least, that's what I would do if I were you, Advisor."

"You're not listening, Killian."

Trita grits her teeth to try to calm herself down. He's not talking directly to her, but his tone is condescending like she just doesn't get it. Like she's a child to be babysat.

But... None of this is Lance's fault, despite them using him like some sort of message board. She knows that.

This Commander, Dolan Fox, can talk down to her all he wants and sure, maybe she even deserves it, who knows. But. The least he can do is try to listen to her and pretend like she's brought up a good point.

"As I was saying."

She stands abruptly, so fast it makes Lance scramble back in surprise before he springs up on his feet, cautiously hovering around the railing, eyeing how dangerously close the heels of her shoes are to the edge of the lip.

Much to his surprise, after he's done panicking and positioning himself in the right way to reach out and grab her should the unthinkable happen, he notices she's turned around to face him.

With one eyebrow raised, she stares at Lance in a bit of amused confusion. Did he think she was going to jump? That she'd lose her balance so easily? His concern is sweet. It's a wonder the man is still single.

But ideas of death nor admiring his worry are why she moved from her comfortable reading position. Her eyes flick over to Dolan back at the door leading to the balcony.

"The main aqueduct we would need to even responsibly take on this project in stages cannot be repaired. We would need to build an entirely new one and then fix the others branching out from there. We do not have the money for that. Until I can figure out where to gain such a high amount of spare change, I need a temporary fix to hold the farms over through this next growing season."

He's been following her all morning, could he not hear her talking to herself, working all of this over? He probably wasn't listening to her... Kind of like right now. God, he's really not much different than anyone else around here, is he?

Gathering all her books into her arms, she hops over the banister, back onto the safe section of the balcony, taking long strides to the door. A wild urge comes over her to just shove her shoulder right into his chest with enough force to knock the wind out of him, but she keeps her composure. That would not look well on an empress.

Instead, she merely steps around him, heading back inside.

"Both of you leave me alone. I'm going to go talk to our Advisor of Agriculture about the price of irrigation and temporary waterways. Go run off and be productive somewhere else."

And thus she begins her walk down the hall towards the elevator to head down to the ground floor.

Lance sighs, rolling his shoulders at the same time he rolls his eyes.

"You two are just rays of sunshine. I'm going to go get breakfast."

As fast as the Empress had parted, Lance leaves the same, just heading off in the opposite direction towards a different elevator.

Dolan grits his teeth so hard his jaw strains a bit. He should have known she'd be too proud to even hear him out, get over whatever petty quibble she'd had with him last night that he still can't even figure out. Oh well.

He still has to follow her. At least while Kvanne is in the vicinity. So he sidesteps from the room quickly, spots her fifteen paces or so up the hall, and adopts her same pace, staying far enough behind her to give her her space, but close enough that he can tell where she's going.

She'd clearly ended the discussion, unaccepting of his suggestions, which shouldn't upset him. He'd said it himself, he's just a guard here and not a member of any council, no one high up in a position to be making any decisions. But still, something about the way she'd brushed him off, cut the conversation without even finishing the discussion. Albeit, the discussion through a middle man. Dolan's mind is still circling around the issue, unwilling to let it go.

His first thought is a rather judgmental one. He might have said it out loud to her last night before everything had blown up in his face, but he knows better than to tell her now: how much does it cost to run this place for a day? To keep those stupid artificial atmosphere systems up and running in the gardens when they could just open the damn ceiling if they wanted rain. All the extra fineries and the technology and everything that nobody actually needs. How much would they save if they shut it all off, just for a day?

That would be ludicrous, of course. Nobody would hear him out on that one. No one here has spent months laying in sand and would see the practicality of going without what they would most likely consider necessities here. So that idea is dead on arrival.

If the aqueduct is so damaged, would it cost less to reroute the water from it? Build a new tunnel mouth at the source and connect it back at the original aqueduct at a point past the damage? There, again, he's not the minister of finance, so he can't propose that with any certainty either. So he might as well just keep his mouth shut on all counts and then some and just follow the empress around like the good little guard Kvanne is begging him to be.

She slows in front of him, but not in enough time for him to get off his current train of thought and pay proper attention to what's going on around him. He runs straight into the back of her. Some guard he's turning out to be.

"Fuck."

No sooner has he spit it out than he's shaking his head, reaching out an arm to make sure she's steady. He doesn't touch her though, pulls back at the last minute when he realizes she hasn't fallen.

"Sorry. Apparently my mind was elsewhere."

Trita glances back at him over her shoulder without much of a response, just looking him over quickly before turning back around.

He followed her through the entire elevator maze she went through rather well, she'll give him that. Lance, for all he's worth, can't keep up with her once she has her mind set on evading people.

Of course, she's not about to congratulate him on breathing down her neck and, then, ramming right into her.

They stand outside a large door, rather closely, in a bit of an awkward silence before she decides to cave and actually speak to him.

"This is Advisor Antet's office. Agriculture."

She figures that's all the explanation he really needs or should even want as she pushes the door open and steps inside. It's a large office, spacious, a great many windows, potted plants everywhere. There's even a small, simulated stream running through the floor all along the perimeter of the room. An elderly gentleman sits at a glass desk, counting out some sort of rare seeds onto a balance system, weighing them against a single marble sphere.

When the door clicks closed behind Dolan, the man looks up from his work, over his spectacles. He has a jolly look about him, long white beard, thinning white hair, rosy cheeks. The wrinkles around his aged eyes crinkle even more when he looks at the Empress.

Of course, like everyone else, he stands quickly to offer her a deep bow, or as deep of one as his back will allow.

"A beautiful day, isn't it?"

"If not for the clouds."

"Ah, but clouds are a shield from the harsh rays of the sun. Even Mother Earth herself needs a moment out of the heat."

Trita walks up to his desk, gently setting the books down as to not disturb anything, all while Antet slowly works to seat himself again.

"Well, Imperial Majesty, have you come to discuss the crisis with our southern farmers?"

"I... Have."

She hesitates for a moment as he looks her over, adjusting his glasses to better see her posture, trying to get a read on her. He comes up empty, she can see it all over his face. He has no clue what she's thinking.

But she knows exactly what's going on in his mind. And she doesn't like it.

"So, what have you come up with now knowing the aqueducts are beyond repair?"

"I'm sorry... That was plural? Just a couple of days ago, you told me only the main one couldn't be fixed."

"Another inspection report came back. It seems the damage is worse than we feared. The Old Imperials really left a mess in their wake."

Unintentionally, she lets a curse slip out under her breath and it's enough to make the old man raise his eyebrows in alarm at the aggressive language. The next sentence is a rushed apology that he seems to slowly accept, leaning back in his chair.

"Alright then. Well, if that's the case, I really think we should look into aerating the fields and a temporary source of irrigation. We have all those water storage containers near our beaches that we could ship over-"

"That water is purified from the ocean. I realize they clean if of salt and other pollutions found in the sea, but I've been conducting research and found that it's not ideal for plant growth. Not to make them bear standard crop and above."

"Yes, I realize that, I read your report, but the southern farms are our main source of produce. Even if they're not harvesting what they normally do, they'll still be bringing in more than any other farmland location does on an overly bountiful year. That does also mean we'll have to require northern and western farms to grow more over the next season, but we can compensate them-"

"What about the long-term effects?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Of using this salt water on the rich, fertile land? What will this water do to it?"

It honestly feels like she's talking to a wall. He's even gone back to counting out those damn seeds again while speaking with her, only giving her half his attention.

"With all due respect, Advisor Antet, that water is safe for people to drink on a daily basis. The purification process is extensive, I toured the facility. I have a feeling the ground will be fine. The plants will probably even adapt to it after a season or two. Of course, hopefully, it won't have to be two, we'll have the money for the main aqueduct by the turn of the year-"

"With all due respect, Empress, I have been working in agriculture all my life. I know what I'm talking about. My advice from earlier this week still stands-"

"No-"

Trita grinds her teeth, nails digging into her palms as she clenches her fists by her sides. She's heard this "advice" before and she hates it as much now as she did then. It's foolish, ridiculous, it-

"Close down the southern farms."

"What will those families do? Where will they go?"

"They can go to a different sector and farm there if they feel so inclined."

"There are only so many jobs. You're talking about putting hundreds, thousands, of people out of work."

"The rest can move to the cities."

"Where there's overcrowding already?"

What is he saying? Why isn't he listening? Why does no one listen? Not her old advisors, not her new guard. No one. It's like she's not even talking. What do they think she's here for? To frolic around the palace and pick flowers?

Even the thought of doing something so girly and mindless makes her shudder a bit, though it doesn't help that a lot of frustration is piling up in her mind.

"Fine. Say we do move them to the cities. What then? We'll be down nearly fifty-percent of our usual harvest. How will people eat?"

"We'll have to import food."

"No, stop. We don't have the budget to import that much food. That's absurd and you know it."

"Young Empress, please, you're raising your tone at me."

He sounds like a scolding grandfather, it makes bile rise up in her throat out of pure irritation.

If she stays here much longer, she's going to snap.

God, wouldn't her knew guard just love to see that?

With a quick motion, she snatches all her books back up and forces the most pleasant smile she can manage in this moment, biting her teeth down so hard into it she feels they may crack.

"I'll take your points into consideration. I need a few more days to think about this. As always, thank you."

Like a soldier, she turns in a perfect degree and walks in an even pace away from the desk, back out the door to the office.

Dolan pauses at the door before following after the empress, casting one last long look at the advisor, who’s gone back to his desk and his seed counting as if the topic of the conversation is of no real concern to him.

“Here’s an idea for you. How about you pay whoever put that dumb stream in here to go and build one down by the border, huh? Since all you crusty old guys know so much.”

Dolan can’t help but send a hateful glare the man’s way before slamming the door shut behind him and scanning down the hall. The empress is walking just as briskly before, to where he has no clue. It takes several long jogging strides to catch up to where he’d been before, ten or fifteen paces back from her.

After last night and then the incident today, he’d told himself to just keep his mouth shut, and in reality he could think of no better thing to do. But go figure, now he finds himself full of things he wants to say.

Why, he’s not sure. Its not like they’re friends. But even when he’s decided to do his job from a safe distance, he keeps seeing threads of things that are familiar to him, that he can relate to.

He borderline hates it.

“Is it too late to fire him?”

He pushes aside his internal debate and fairly hells it up the hall at her.

“He clearly wouldn’t know conservative spending if it bit him in the balls... Er, the face.”

"I've thought about it, I really have-"

As soon as the sentence is out of her mouth, she cringes to herself in immediate regret.

"Sorry, I probably shouldn't go around saying stuff like that out loud. That's how rumors start."

She sighs, shrugging to release the leftover tension she felt from being in that room. If that old man weren't in it, it would actually be a fairly peaceful place she could see herself hiding in. Unfortunately, that's his office and she would rather be locked in the basement than stuck with most any of the advisors.

But. That's not something she should go around screaming to the heavens. That would be damaging to their reputation and her own. Even if she's not a fan of most of them, it's her job to act as if everything is united, cause less of a stir, less drama, for people to worry about.

"I bet that was funny, though. Watching me not get my way, seeing someone else agree with you that my idea is ridiculous and I don't know what I'm doing. That must be validating, I wish I knew what that felt like."

While it's not exactly like the thought hadn't been one on her mind, she hadn't entirely meant to say it out loud, throw it at him without much proof. She's just frustrated. Nothing is going right and she feels more pressure than ever.

More eyes on her, waiting and watching, than she's ever felt before. And the number and weight only seems to grow with each new thing that gets thrust onto her shoulders.

"... Sorry you had to be in there for all of that."

Trita can't fully bring herself to apologize for what she said, but she is sorry that he now has to be pulled around into all this messy work, all these unbearable threads of politics and self-righteous stubbornness.