The audience chamber was not a throne room.
It was a sitting room. Private. Intimate. The walls were paneled in dark wood. Tapestries hung from iron rods—scenes of gardens and rivers and birds in flight. The floor was covered in thick rugs, patterned in blue and silver. A fire burned in a stone hearth. The warmth was welcome against the damp morning air.
The First Queen sat in a high-backed chair near the fire.
She was beautiful.
