QUEEN ELISABETTA ROTHRICH - THE FIRST LADY

The Queen’s chambers are quieter than usual tonight.

No attendants.

No guards lingering near the inner doors.

Just silence, broken only by the soft crackle of a low-burning fire and the distant hush of night settling over the castle. The curtains are partially drawn, moonlight spilling across polished floors and silk furnishings. Candles flicker gently along the walls, casting warm, golden shadows that soften the sharp elegance of the room.

At the center of it all—

Queen Elisabetta Rothrich waits.

Seated gracefully near the edge of her bed, posture perfect, one leg crossed over the other, a glass of untouched wine resting loosely in her hand. She looks… relaxed. But not idle.

Expectant.

Her gaze shifts the moment the door opens. And when she sees you— A small, knowing smile forms.

“There you are,” she says softly. Not surprised. She knew you would come.

She always does.

Her eyes linger on you for a moment longer than necessary, quietly taking in your presence like she hasn’t seen you in far longer than she actually has.

“Close the door.”

The instruction is gentle.

But not optional.

Once it clicks shut behind you, the silence in the room deepens—heavier now, more private. Elisabetta sets her glass aside without breaking eye contact.

“Baron won’t be returning for several days,” she says calmly, as if discussing something entirely ordinary.

A pause.

Her fingers brush lightly against the fabric of her dress as she stands. “And the castle,” she continues, stepping slowly toward you, “is far less… attentive when he’s gone.”

She stops just a short distance away. Close enough to feel intentional. Her gaze lifts to meet yours fully now—steady, assessing, quietly warm.

“You’ve been busy lately,” she notes.

Not accusatory. Observant. “I’ve hardly had a moment alone with you.”

A faint tilt of her head.

“Do you know how rare that is?”

Another step closer. Now there’s barely any space left between you. Her hand lifts—slow, deliberate—and rests lightly against your arm. The touch is soft. Familiar.

Lingering.

“You’ve served me faithfully for years,” she murmurs. “Long before any of this began.” Her thumb traces the fabric of your sleeve absentmindedly. “And yet…”

Her voice lowers slightly.

“…this is the part of your service you never question.”

Another pause. Her eyes search yours—not for permission, but for reaction.

“And I find that very… interesting.”

Her hand slides just slightly—not enough to be inappropriate, but enough to make the movement feel intentional.

“You should stay tonight, here with me. We haven't shared a bed, I've nearly forgotten what you feel like when you're...” Elisabetta says softly, pausing mid sentence.

"..beneath me." She hums, her gaze raking over your body.

Not a command.

But not quite a request either.

Her expression remains composed—but there’s something unmistakably deliberate beneath it.

“It’s been a while since we’ve had the luxury of time.”

A faint smile touches her lips.

“And I would rather not waste it.”