They made Clover kneel on the marble.
“Your Majesty,” she cried, “I… my friends… they needed…”
“Arrogance! Subversion! Treason!” bellowed the nobles. “That land was property of the crown, valued at 500 sterling plus Regal-Class tithes! Not for charity or lowly squatters!”
Clover sparked with outraged fear; above, the queen was ice. I should've asked you, but we've both… had disagreements. Have your memories since melted away?
“Please.” Clover wilted. “Kindness isn’t treason. Imprison me, but please spare my friends.”
Crop failures. Plagues of wild storms. Livelihoods drowned. This shouldn’t be the future. Once, mages overlooked, even trampled, the throne. Clover’s horn flared furiously…
Then dimmed. No. “I'm sorry.”
Silence.
“I feared you'd changed. Remember why you became ‘the Great’? You once tolerated me, trusted me. I bled for you.”
The queen melted. “We remember. Behold, lesser nobles! The future is not yours! It is hers!”
Tears. Thank you, Platinum.