“My name is Violet Trieal.” She held out her hand in that delicate and proper lady-like manner taught to her for when she was greeting a gentleman. And this man certainly held the look of a gentleman, so she also offered him her most winning of smiles.
“The Investigator,” he replied. Her hand was ignored. This infuriated her as she now had the awkward duty of pulling her hand back to herself and yet trying to make it look as natural as possible as if she had done this a thousand times. She hadn't.
“What is that,” she sneered, “your name or your title?” That helped to ease the discomfort in her.
“I already don't like you very much. No need to give me further reason.” The anger faded at that point, faded along with all the color in her face before she cleared her throat. She was silenced at that point, rightfully put in her place. “I don't care what your name is or that you are a princess or whatever you like to consider yourself now.”
“Queen,” she interrupted dutifully.
“Queen. Whatever it is you would like to be called. I'm not here to exchange pleasantries and we both know that. I have something you want and you have something I want. That is all we were planning on exchanging.”
“Now you listen here,” she began, waving a finger before realizing what she was doing and putting her fingers to work straightening her bodice instead. “Mister Investigator, or whatever your name is, we weren't planning on exchanging anything. I called you here because I heard you were the best in the business.”
They were seated in a secluded room off the common area of a rather well established tavern of sorts. Certainly the woman paid a fine price to rent the room and the guards that went with it so she might conduct her business in privacy. The money didn't impress him, though. In fact, it vaguely disgusted him as he watched her flaunt her price to get everything she desired.
“A glass of tea, servant. A twist of lemon and one single lump of sugar. No more. And I don't wish to see even a drop of cream. Just lemon, a single slice. And, if you could, make certain the tea isn't too hot. Last time you gave it to me still steaming and everything and I near burnt my tongue. But you better not be delivering it to me cold either or I shan't pay for it.”
Disgusting. He sat while she ordered, just sat and watched the way her back appeared entirely too straight and her head was held at an inconceivably too high angle. Now and then she would wave her hand as if she were continually dismissing the barmaid that was taking the order.
“And yourself, Sir?”
“Thank you, Miss. Just a glass of red wine, thank you.” And the waitress strode off to fill their orders.
“You don't have to call them 'Miss'. They really are nothing but the lower class.”
“We all start somewhere, Miss,” came the slighted response, heavily leaning into the title as the woman seemed to take another step down off her high horse in his presence. “So you say you called me here? To do what I do best?” And what, prey tell, was that, he wondered. And who was it this woman spoke to in getting his name? But he only asked himself these questions to swell his chest with pride, for he knew he set up the entire bargaining quite some time ago, long before this woman even knew what she wanted was missing. Let the bargaining begin. “I hear your parents were murdered.”
