“For cryin’ out loud!” came a shrill voice from within. “Can’t you guards get anything right? I told you I didn’t want to be disturbed!”
One of the guards rolled his eyes in exasperation. I favored him with a sympathetic smile, then raised an eyebrow at Badaxe.
“King Rodrick the Fifth of Possiltum seeks an audience with Queen Hemlock!” he bellowed.
“I suppose it’s all right,” came the reply. “How about first thing in the morning?”
“Now,” I said.
I didn’t say it very loud, but it must have carried. Within a few heartbeats the door flew open, exposing Queen Hemlock . . . literally. I can’t describe her clothing because she wasn’t wearing any. Not a stitch!
“Roddie!” she chirped, oblivious to the guards and Badaxe, all of whom gaped at her nakedness. “Come on in. What in the world are you doing here?”
“Wait for me,” I instructed Badaxe in my most commanding tone.
“C-certainly, your Majesty!” he responded, tearing his eyes away from the Queen long enough to snap to attention.
With that, I stepped into the Queen’s lair.
“So, what have you got for me?” She shut the door and leaned back against it. The action made her point at me, even though her hands were behind her back.
“I beg your pardon?”
“The audience,” she clarified. “You wanted it, you got it. What’s up?”
Somehow under the circumstances, I found that to be another embarrassing question.
“I … urn … that is … could you please put something on? I’m finding your attire, or lack thereof, to be quite distracting.”
“Oh, very well. It is beastly hot in here, though.”