Servant Queen

Undefeated

The bracelet had twenty-five beads - she did not need to count - one for each year of her span. This summer was her twentieth.

Five more years.

"Today's lucky," Bana declared, balancing a platter of small dishes with her left arm, bent at the hip, leaning the tray on her shoulder. "Your favorite."

Avarana looked up from the bracelet, once loose, now hugging her wrist. "I'm not hungry." 

Bana, moving the tray down in a strained swing, froze. "What is it, Your Eminence?"

There was a glass of water and a glass of chilled wine. A bowl of soup, red with spice, was still steaming. Avarana looked at Bana and saw the sweat that collected at her temples. She must have rushed from the kitchen, which was at the opposite end of the palace, down three floors, to make sure the soup remained hot. "It's nothing, you may leave."

"Your Eminence," Bana insisted, placing the tray down on the soft carpet. Today's dining carpet was patterned simply, a recurring print of pale blue flowers on dark blue fabric. The contrast was enhanced by the gold-trimmed border that ended in beaded tassels. 

She made sure her voice didn't shiver. "You may leave."

"The soup is divine, Your Eminence."

At Avarana's raised eyebrow, she added. "Or so the taste tester reported."

"Bana," she said, measuredly. "They must have taught you what an order is on your first day."

Crestfallen, Bana bowed her head, and her head covering flowed down. Insisting another time would be disobedience, regardless of how close they were. In a short, flat tone, "Yes, Your Eminence." Then she quickly picked up the platter and retreated out of the room, first slowly, then hurriedly.

Avarana returned to her writing desk and drafted a quick letter. Less than an hour later, Bana was imprisoned for conspiracy and treason, and the taste tester was bedridden. 

Five more years of surviving these attempts.