Ann 2.0

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First draft

The sunrays streamed through the window of the study, filling the room with a red blinding light for just an instant. Then the sun left, leaving the world in the dark. A flock of servants hurried to light the candles, placing them on the oak table standing in the middle of the wide but bare room.

Bare, because there was no decoration or sumptuous arabesque---nothing. The room looked spartan, unadorned and essential. It was located in the west wing, a part of the castle built almost a thousand years ago when the human race was on the brink of the abyss. The people of that era had to use all their energy to stay alive. They had no time for trivialities. That's exactly why Ann had chosen this place. She wanted to transmit the same message, the same sense of urgency to her aides, the few people she could trust---or at least use---in these troubled times.

She sat on a padded chair at the head of the table, examining ancient parchments, and new documents---everything that could give her an edge over her foes. Unfortunately, it wasn't going well.

"There is nothing here! Nothing!" She rose, abruptly slamming her hand on the table, giving free reign to her anger. She'd kept that rage at bay for years, but she couldn't do that anymore. 

She knew many would be surprised to see her that way. Unlike her sister, Ann Copperton was unremarkable, meek and gentle like a scared mouse. The perfect puppet for the greedy Highlords.

For more than half of her life, she'd pretended to be someone else, holding her tongue and keeping her head down when the nobles laughed at her family. She'd bided her time, waiting for the right moment to enact her revenge, take back what was rightfully hers. She had waited long enough.

"What's the use of knowing who married the ancestor of the Valenford house?" She threw a parchment on the floor in a fit of pique, "Or that House Lonesdhal and Madsen are quarreling, over some isolated village in the middle of nowhere?" She tossed another paper away.

Two of the men seated around the table shifted uncomfortably in their seats, but not the third one. He was an old man, his face almost as yellow as the ancient parchments scattered all across the table. He must have been a tall man in his youth, but now he was curved and twisted. He kept rubbing his veiled eyes, trying to focus, but without success. Adept Adolar they called him, and he had been her teacher, and her mother's teacher before that.

"Learn from the past, princess. There is no greater master of life than history." Adept Adolar croaked, dispensing his pearl of wisdom.

A pity that it wasn't really useful in this case.

Her eyes bored into Rowley, the man on her left. He looked uncomfortable. He kept looking back, his elusive brown eyes dwelling on the door as if he expected someone would suddenly rush in and plunge a dagger in his back.

Anna cleared her throat, "Rowley, where are we with the councilors?"

Rowley glanced at her, just for a short instant, before averting his gaze. Anna frowned. She didn't like the man. No, "like" wasn't the right word. She simply didn't trust him. She knew nothing about his past and those long dark cloaks Rowley used to wear, the way he looked at the door, and above all, his profession, were suspicious. He was her spymaster, and she hated spies. She was surrounded by them. Every maid and butler, every courtier and noble around her could be one. Besides, if there was one thing she'd learned growing up at court, it was that a man who doesn't look in your eyes is a man who has something to hide.

"Your majesty" Rowley bowed, "I sent my men to dig up information about the councilors. Except for the captain of the royal guard, of course." He said, glancing at Duncan.

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