The man before the throne plead his case well, Dala had to admit. His wide brown eyes shone with fevered truth as he earnestly wagged his head. Dala chuckled inside.

“Good sir, settle. We believe you. You’re free to go.” The accused man stood still, shocked, then bobbed his head.

“Thank you, your majesty! Thank you!” He shook his arms to free them from the glove-clad hands of the two men who had dragged him in. Their faces reddened.

“We beg your pardon, Grace, we thought he was for sure the one!” They bowed, embarrassed, and shot furtive glances at each other as they turned to exit the room.

Dala muffled a yawn behind her lace-edged handkerchief. The next supplicants were already beseeching her – this time for funds to build a new temple to Dior.

“Veros already has four temples to Dior. One in each corner of the city. He does not require another one.”

“But… your Grace! Imagine such a great temple in the center of Veros! Tall, beautiful, holy…”

“This castle is in the center of the city,” Dala responded. “It is tall and grand enough. Thank you, gentlemen.”

“Your Grace!” one began, his voice fading as he caught the burst of temper from Queen Dala’s eyes. “Good day, Your Grace. Dior bless,” he added as an afterthought.

The two priests shuffled away, and were nearly bowled over as the golden double doors to the throne room burst inward, followed by a dozen soldiers in silver plate. A few ladies screamed and men clutched for their swords. Dala herself slipped an unnoticed hand to the arm of her throne, where a concealed dagger lay. Otherwise, her face betrayed no emotion.

Two rows of silver-clad soldiers marched in, bearing the standard of Castlebury. Queen Rachelle stormed after, followed closely by her knight, Sir Valon. Her long curls were tousled from the wind, giving her the look of a disheveled child, in her simple cream gown.

“Queen Dala!” she proclaimed loudly through the shocked hall, pointing a slim arm toward Dala and the throne. “It is my turn now!”

“Your turn for what, Rachelle dear? “ Dala gleefully chuckled inside. So this day had finally come, after seven tedious years of submission by the woodland queen from which she had stolen the throne. Of course, Dala had allowed Rachelle to retain some power, acknowledging the fact that her throne had little reach to the southern corner of the country. She had given Rachelle the remote woodland castle. After all, the majority of Tulern lived in or near the great city of Veros – the seat of Dala’s power.

“This is a dual kingdom, Dala. You have sat the Iron Throne for seven years whilst I languish in the deep forest. It is only fair to alternate the thrones.”

Dala tinkled a merry laugh. “Why Rachelle! If it is my chair you wish to have, you may take it back with you to Castlebury! As long as you promise that you will send me yours – as befits a proper trade.” She smiled sweetly.

Rachelle wasn’t known for control over her temper. It flashed now, leaving her pale chest and neck angrily flushed. “That is not what I meant, Queen Dala.” She was obviously struggling to keep her voice within a respectable tone.

“No?” Dala fixed a small frown on her petulant mouth.

Rachelle drew a breath. ‘I have brought with me a large retinue of soldiers to see you safely back to Castlebury. I have, despite the lack of space in that miserly castle, a quite capable force of servants and a well-stocked larder. It is time for us to trade,” she repeated.

Dala motioned to the curious audience. “Leave us. All of you.” She sat silently, her head bowed, as the courtiers filed out one by one. At last, everyone had left except for Queen Rachelle and her ever-present toady, Valon. Dala nodded toward the knight. “Good afternoon, Sir Valon.” He returned a polite bow, his eyes expressionless.

“Queen Rachelle. Come walk with me, I beg you. We shall speak.”

Together they walked around the majestic throne room. Rachelle admired the thick block walls hung with rich tapestries. Dala began to speak.

“When I first came from across the sea, I had my eye fixed on Castlebury, I’m sure you know.” She sighed. “Little did I know that Veros was the true seat of power. I have learned much since my early days, Rachelle. We now have, as you say, a dual queenship.”

Rachelle made to interrupt, but Dala did not allow her to. “You were but a small child when I arrived, you know. Only one and ten years of age you were.” She smiled – a small, motherly smile. “I could not very well continue to fight after my armies defeated Veros. We had lost too many men and your armies had all retreated to the south. To chase after them would only serve to naught. You know all this, child.”

“I’m no longer a child, Dala,” Rachelle retorted. “I know all of this, and more.”

“Then be wise, Queen Rachelle. I have since rebuilt my armies, and gained the loyalty of the citizens of Tulern, while you have grown to adulthood in the safety of your woodland castle. I have given you respect, aye, and power. Both of which I did not need to give. But all of this shall be taken from you, should you be so foolish as to threaten me with your, what, twenty-five soldiers?”

“You said this was a dual kingship,” Rachelle answered hotly. “Then prove it, and let me sit the Iron Throne for the next seven years. You may have that respect and power which you so graciously gave me.”

Dala wrapped a motherly arm around Rachelle, though the younger woman stiffened. “Dear Rachelle, you must take certain things into account. The citizens of Veros respect me. They do not know you. They do not trust you. It would wrong and unfair of us, as queens, to shake the kingdom and change rulers upon the innocent folk of the city. Then you must realize that I will not step down easily. I command the city guard – a full six thousand alone, and the Tulern army.” She gently turned Rachelle to face her.

“You would be a fool, dear child. A beautiful, but foolish fool.” Dala shook her head and stepped away, a clear threat underling her words. “Do not make that mistake, Rachelle.”