Charlotte was preparing to go to the throne room. It was the thirteenth anniversary of her mother's assassination. "To think that was 13 years ago," Charlotte said to herself. With help from her maids, she adorned the clothes she had selected and departed for the throne room and main part of the palace. The fabric of her tailored coat brushed against her scar as she moved. She boarded her carriage and departed, the wheels clattering against the stone pavement. Her father should already be there, as he was always punctual. "I hope he arrives on time today," she said to herself again. Her royal protector had a habit of being late to every event, no matter how many times she'd spoken to him about it.

Once Charlotte arrived outside the main building, the crisp autumn air nipped at her cheeks as she greeted her father and the other two heads of the army. The absence of her royal protector was conspicuous. "Oh, dammit, not again," she thought, frustration tightening her jaw. "I'll have to fix that when I make him mine."

Charlotte took her seat on the throne, the cool stone against her back a familiar sensation. Before beginning her speech, her blue eyes scanned the room, searching for the late arrival. She began speaking, her voice clear and resonant through the hall, but her attention remained partial to the entrance. Just as she reached the most poignant part of her address, she noticed the front entrance open slightly, just enough for a person to slip inside. "That's definitely him... dummy," she thought, recognizing his silhouette even in the dim light. She continued speaking, but her gaze lingered on him as he leaned against a pillar with his characteristic tired expression. After concluding her speech and greeting the assembled nobles, she skillfully maneuvered him into an empty chamber. "What took you so long? What were you doing? Do you have a secret daughter or something?" she asked, locking the door behind them before sitting on the bed, the tension evident in her voice despite her attempt to sound casual.