My Dear, Dear Adviser

I realized I haven't written in a while, and wanted to put something out there. I'm not really feeling it today so... I apologize in advance for the crappy writing.

Bartholomew Albernithy  appeared to be nothing more than a common man. Perhaps it was the way he went about his business, with the stride of one who knows his place and accepts it, eyes downcast and hands busy with whatever burden he may carry that day, often sliding in between flocks of prim, composed ladies and pompous, self-important men of all ages. Or perhaps it was his dress, though an expensive, well-woven attire, it almost seemed awkward on his scrawny frame, the comical sight akin to that of a rat being draped in a great sheet of velvet. Or, if one were to suggest something so superficial, it could be the scraggly, dull curls of mud that adorned his rather large cranium and massive nose that jutted out under beady eyes that glittered with a surprisingly mischievous light. 

But in fact, if one were to gaze deep within those deceivingly submissive eyes, they'd come across the unmistakable gleam of intellect rarely found in these times. None, after glimpsing the twisted beauty in those plain orbs of brown, could doubt that Adviser Albernithy was undeserving of his place as the right hand of Queen Nyrn Edlenn, the first. And at the moment, the young, rash Queen was in need of her trusted adviser's services. 

Bartholomew quietly entered the chamber, and made his way across the crimson silk of the lengthy carpet beneath his petite, nearly malformed feet in nothing more than the most respectful composure. He had no need to survey his surroundings, having visited the sickeningly grand room countless times. The walls, randomly decorated with priceless works of art, the extensive frippery of cloth and twine that were the curtains, the gold lining every break in surface, was nothing new. Even the blatant majesty of the throne was no longer a novelty. But the enchanting creature draped languidly across the sturdy arms of the chair was something one couldn't soon grow used to. 

The jade eyes of said creature flashed out at him under an imposing brow and fixed him with a look of mock irritation. A lock of shiny, ebony hair was flicked behind a pale shoulder, covered only by the collar of a lovely dress the shade of her orbs, arrogantly. The humble adviser waited patiently for his ruler to say something, knowing it would only cause her to tease him further if he spoke first.

After a few, unbearably long moments of being under her scrutinizing glare, her eyes shifted away from his as an elegant hand brushed nonexistent dust from one of the many folds of her dress. Finally, she spoke. 

"You're late. You know how I feel about my subjects being late." Her rich voice was nearly stale with blatant indifference.  Bartholomew, keeping his tone an unwavering monotone replied, "Yes, your Majesty,". There were apparently many flecks on the seemingly spotless clothing adorning his queen, as she kept at her picking. "And, Bartholomew," he hid his smirk as the playful tigress uttered his first name in an attempt to incite his pride, "you know how I feel about allowing Gretchen to dress me in such ridiculous clothing,". "Yes, your Majesty,". He could tell she was feeling impatient right now because of his lack of response. So, he kept on with it. "And, this chair doesn't suit my tastes. You know how I feel about such uncomfortable furniture,". "Yes, your Majesty,". 

Her eyes flicked out to meet his in annoyance as she deftly swung her legs off her chair and strode over to him, green ribbons of silk and dark tresses flowing like water beneath her, even in her rage. She paused, lightly muscled arms settling in tight balls on her hips. "How impudent!" Her voice rung out across the chamber in peals of false fury. "Haven't I taught you how to properly reply to your Queen?" The adviser grinned at her, chapped lips parting to reveal yellow teeth. "Yes, your Majesty,". Her stoic expression wavered for a moment, before splitting into a smile as she chuckled. She gingerly took his mottled hand in her own pale ones. "I've missed you, my dear, dear adviser,". 

A sharp pang of guilt split through his mind, nearly destroying the facade he had created. "As have I, your Majesty." The queen laughed again, a truly melodious sound, and led him by the hand to the modest chair situated next to her own. That's when her incessant chattering began. He bore it only because he knew that, soon, he would have to defile his queen, his country, and his himself. It was only for the best.