March 4
Mikino and the Chaldean Mid-Morning Court proper
He was long overdue for his appointment with the new Chaldean. It wasn’t an endeavor he relished, as the sessions to bring his wings back to their former range of movement was, in his eyes, tedious, painful, and pointless. They ached all the time, but he had learned to manage that pain and it was better than the sharp, overwhelming agony of having them pulled at or rebroken.
But Her Highness insisted, and while Mikino considered their matriarch a friend, she was first and foremost his Queen. Her word was law, even to him. So when she insisted, what choice did he have?
He had seen the new Chaldean, or at least her mask, at formal functions. In his own courtroom, even. He treated her with a polite deference on those occasions, distant and proper, observing the formalities their respective positions afforded him. Today’s meeting was different. They weren’t to be in the eye of the public, whose judgment even he had to submit to and cater to in so many ways.
They all wore their masks. At least the Chaldean was granted the luxury of having hers crafted for her.
The office was luxuriously appointed. It was her duty to tend to the most “important” of their race, after all, and it wouldn’t do for them to be uncomfortable more than was necessary. Mikino had just finished speaking to a young assistant when she came in, and whatever he’d said had left the poor thing blushing furiously. Of course, it was fair to assume that being spoke to by the Queen’s right hand at all was enough to do it. But Mikino had once had another nickname, and another reputation. Before he married, and before a proper heir was born to him, and the Sidhe were not so swift to forget.