Dragoncrest Cliffs rhiannon rings like a bell through the night

The woman who came to her was older and battle-scarred. Intimidating. A queen, Elvira assumed, who ruled her dominion with an iron hand. Her words twisted Elvira’s expression. She hated being talked down to, reprimanded. Still, demanding the presence of a queen had probably been a stupid move. She inclined her head in a show of respect, though her golden eyes lingered on the older woman’s countenance. “Have I offended you?” she purred. “Forgive me. It’s been a hard winter, and I’ve little patience—though, perhaps I should be more careful around one so…” Her eyes danced around the woman’s frame, moving from scar to scar. “… Seasoned. You look as if you’ve outlived many enemies, Your Majesty. I say this, of course, with the utmost respect. Scars can be very beautiful—and intimidating.”

One of two things would happen, now, Elvira guessed. Either her flattery would work or she would be reminded, probably quite rudely, that flattery—sometimes—got her nowhere.