Nothing ever came easy to this girl.

Nothing was ever given to Sophia Elise.

Nothing, if you were to exclude the stability of a thousand year old imperium, the loving care of four siblings and two parents who actually tried their best at raising her, a nation whose trusted fund in her name contained enough wealth to decimate foreign economies, or even the fact that practically every single one of her (mundane) needs were catered to without question.

So yes, nothing ever came easy to the Fourth Princess of the Ensolian Imperium.

Especially when it came to this Goddess damned standard mattress that the Dominion seemed to religiously adhere to.

Overstuffed with cotton and wool, seemingly deep enough to hide a body if one chooses to, with the entire bed situated deep in this cavernous room that was far too big for just a single owner.

Arching ceilings painted above with some odyssey across a starscape, of ovoid black-bodies crossing vast gaps of darkness, sailors atop their ships… and lances of fire falling from them down the walls to this obsidian black tile floor.

Bookshelves line this place, naked and empty and covered in dust. Recesses in the walls holding uncountable sets of tea sets and religious fetishes, these tiny porcelain glasses and statues watching as this outsider walks through the place.

Sunlight streams through a thin window slit in the far corner of this chamber, picking up the wisps of dust, and absorbed into this dark black polished floor

It's around the same size as Mother's office. Part of Sophia takes notes, telling her what she needs to hear. What if we decorate it like hers: spartan, gray, and filled with maps and that extremely concerning collection of coins. Make any who enter fear us, answer to us.

But who the hells is going to be here anyway? Another part of Sophia tells her what she wants to hear. Fill these bookshelves with the smut of home and this land. Mail order everything to your most spoiled delight, find a dark corner, pull your comforters from that bed and onto the floor. Set up the cave.

This is your domain, and like some ancient dragon we shall live here for the rest of eternity.

No! Sophia objects suddenly, stopping this thought as she strolls across these hallowed floors. We're better than that… 'old' version of ourselves. These past three months I've grown as a lady, and more importantly as a true Imperial Princess I will act like one!

So she takes exactly seven seconds to really think this through, really think about it.

Who are we kidding?! We're always gonna take the rotting cave!

And in one single sweep she takes the series of comforters off the seemingly huge mattress in the corner of this space, tossing it all onto the floor in a thick mess of silk and cotton.

Three layers atop a rock-solid surface, soft enough for comfort yet utterly unyielding for posture.

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Ensolian bed complete. She proudly puts her hands on her hips, celebrating to her audience of zero. Goddess I'm getting good at this!

Well, at least she's getting better at one thing.

Someone knocks at that massive door, the disruptor speaking in its inhuman, muffled voice. "They have assembled."

Assembled.

Such a terrifying word for such a mundane task for her to decide.

Still, Sophia clears her throat, straightens her posture, and gently (but with much effort) drags open the door and enters this antechamber to the bedroom.

The agreement between the Imperium and Dominion only allowed one Impericutta legionary to come with her. Some theory that this Fourth Princess would somehow bring a veritable army with her into the heart of this nation if allowed, and that any staff that she carried with her here to this place would come in the form of plain-clothed ceramic demons disguised as maids, and assassins wearing the suits of butlers.

Ridiculous, of course. Sophia doubts with absurd confidence. If anything it would've been a nightmare trying to find any of our own personal staff that'd be willing to uproot their entire life to come to this place.

So few, in fact, that they'd probably have to find a few extra members of the Silver Hand to actually complete a contingent for her—real masters of silent blades and subtle assassination ordered to live out the rest of their deployments as maids, cooks, and book-keepers…

Ok, maybe that fear from the Dominion was quite well founded. One could never know who could sneak into the manifest of a royal's personal staff, after all.

Yeah, that's a great thought. Sophia's internal monologue interrupts. But right now we're about to choose our own personal maids from Zai's own staff. So uh… better get ready to pick the ones that won't try and kill us.

They wear those dark-gray robes lined with black silk that fall to their ankles, hands cusped together in front of their bodies like monks to a shrine. Two dozen in its entirety; an entire Crown Prince's daily life brought to a standstill for his wife's choosing.

It's twenty-four lives plucked from the entire Dominion, twenty-four men and women from the rugged mountains valleys of the north, the central plains of Hong-er and Landfall, to even the handful from the southern lands—put into the inner circle of their highest master's child.

And now, Sophia Elise the Eighth has the pick of the litter, the first choice: and with a single request she could cripple him from the inside. Like a thief she could take possession of his most trusted staff, or even better an entire wing of his administrative pull: without accountants he'd be bankrupt, without maids he'd be forced to double cleaning duties with the rest of the staff (not that it'd bother him of course), and without any chefs he'd have to cook himself (which, actually, would probably be doing him a favor…)

Why the hells are we plotting against our husband. Sophia's brain shuts down this line of thought. Seriously, we're gonna be choosing our personal entourage so PAY ATTENTION.

As one body they all bow their heads towards her, two rows in perfect unison.

Trained to be perfect, practiced to a fault. Under service to Zai Tianci, there is no room for failure, no room for any hesitation—for any misstep and doom will follow.

Cruelty not from their master, but instead something more.

Failure to him puts him at peril.

Failure to him, puts them at peril.

The Dominion is cruel.

But as the Fourth Princess of the Ensolian Imperium quietly walks through this space, she can feel something from all of these individuals before her.

It's in their stiff stances like marble statues, in the way they breathe careful breaths as if not to disturb the dust in this place, it's the way they don't make contact with the blue eyes of a demon.

Sophia Elise the Eighth looks at each of these members of her husband's personal staff.

And each member fears her.

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