Am I the king of nothing at all? #Sanya

Steph
 

Who: Sanya
With: Francesca(Exiting), Malia(?), James(?), open
Where: The Merchant's Square, Merchant's Quarter, King's City
When: Sunset, Tuesday, March 11th, 872 RoK

This wasn't right.
 
Not in the offended-noble-is-tired-of-wasting-her-time way. No, Sanya had a knot in the pit of her stomach because, for the second time in so few days, someone who was usually prompt, reliable, and meticulous wasn't being any of those things. She knew the Royal Scholar mostly by reputation, but also through a few interactions since she'd started studying at the Queen's College. He was not the sort of man who delayed or ran late.
 
Sanya gently petted Moswen, who laid curled in her lap as she sat in the chair her servants had set out for her in the noble seating area. The four leaders of the duchies had their own designated areas closest to the raise dais where the announcement would be made. Spaces of honor, with a little extra room for servants and food and other little comforts befitting their station. Elliot sat with the Green Duke, leaving Sarnai and her baby in the section designated for the Royal Family, also a place of honor.
 
Sanya felt like she could only wait for so long.
 
Apparently longer than Duchess Francesca of the West, though. Francesca's patience ran out when with the daylight. It was no wonder, as her golden gown did not cover her shoulder at all, that she complained about the cold. 
 
"This is not good enough," Francesca griped, when her servant brought a cloak in royal blue that was also likely made for style and not for warmth. Ordering the same servant to make suitable arrangements nearby, she bid the rest of Eventyr's leadership farewell with a characteristic snottiness. "I will return when the General and Scholar decide to grace us with their presence." 
 
Sanya shook her head at the display.
 
It could be worth gathering a little more information, though. Sanya sent one of her servants to check in on the staging, then stood. Moswen gave a little mrawrl in protest when Sanya lifted her familiar from her lap. She might as well stretch her legs and mingle with the remaining dukes and duchesses.
 
She moved toward Malia, finding her most generally level-headed and reasonable of the other nobles of her stature. Moswen moved with her, weaving around her walking feet with the sort of intricate steps that only a cat could manage so effectively. Sanya was dressed warmly in several layers of dark cream fabric, but she was wearing sandals again. Maybe she'd live to regret that as the sun angled toward setting and night brought cold out with it.
 
"Duchess North," she said in greeting. "Strange that the Royal General and Scholar have kept us waiting this long, isn't it?"
 
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