Page 118 -- XIII.

Chapter Thirteen: ‘O, blood of noble birth...!’
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The drawing room was quiet. Helen merely continued reading in silence as the young man on the other side of the broad writing table shifted uncomfortably for the twentieth time.

Helen had forgotten his name. “V”-something, perhaps. Highborn. Ties to her cousins in the House of Carthrace. Both attributes which disqualified him.

After a while of fidgeting, the young man finally grew bold enough to pose a familiar question. “F-forgive me if I sound impertinent, Your Majesty, but is there a purpose to this visit?”

She smiled. Your Majesty was how commoners addressed her. He should have said Your Highness. It made no difference to her, of course, other than providing amusement. “What purpose need there be?” she said.

The boy’s face spoke of difficulty. “Begging your pardon, Your Majesty, but it seems very strange that you would invite so many of us to sit with you individually... without purpose.”

“Why should it be strange?” she said.

He had no answer, and the silence returned.

She looked at her clock filigreed in silver. “You may go now,” she said. As the boy stood, she added, “Please send in the next person as you leave.” She watched him go.

‘It’s finally the girl’s turn, isn’t it?’ said Mehlsanz. ‘Please tell me it is. I’m so sick of this waiting.’

Helen glanced at the reaper by the furnace. To her eyes, Mehlsanz was a ghostly gray thing, vaguely feminine in form, and perhaps even beautiful, in a haunting way. ‘Indeed,’ Helen said. ‘I honestly do not care much for the waiting, either.’

‘You couldn’t come up with a plan that required less patience?’