Yoon did not respond as she left. That was fine. Everything Allegra has said would stand. She was a patient woman, if only because certainty demanded no rush. The many maladies beset upon Yoon has would be given new light: ‘I only tolerated this because I had no better options; ‘This would not happen if I just joined Wirye’; ‘Meltaguns are the best guns’; ‘Allegra did not talk to me this way’; ‘Allegra had the decency to be beautiful and fragrant’; ‘I love Allegra the magnificent, serving her is second only to serving Him’. Those thoughts would pour forth until the dam broke, and Yoon would be begging for a place with Valerio.

  Not soon after Yoon left did the rest of the cattle herded over, as if Yoon was the predator they were avoiding. How did she put it? Tail-wagging? Even if none of them are worthwhile, the adoration of dogs was comfortable all the same.

  She regaled the wide-eyed audience with valorous tales and feigned interest in their petty gossip and business ventures; yes, yes, all you heard about Allegra the glorious is true; yes, yes, your family’s buchimgae chain restaurant is surely the most acclaimed in all of Gyeo and is worthy of consideration for Wirye expansion. They would go off to spread the stories of Allegra the wonderful and how they spoke with her and how she wowed them and how they wowed her. They would hold her name on their lips and in their hearts as it was meant to be, as assuredly as a monarch would sit upon her throne.

  The conversations were silenced when a uniformed man in Valerio regalia stepped through the refectory doors. As he approached, Allegra passed off her tray to the server-tor and said her goodbyes. Arm in arm, her equerry escorted her out of the refectory into a lift that brought them to the lower convent hangars. There, a Valerio plane awaited, its hull adorned with Valerio insignia, and they only unlinked when they boarded the gilded interior and sat down upon a warm velvet sofa. The plane was lifting off as the first glass of wine was decanted, and naturally, light came through the windows as they left the hangar. She had already eaten, so she invited the servants to leave their bunks and kitchen to sit down in the lounge with her. The flight home would be a long one, so they were ever grateful for the generosity of Allegra the magnanimous.

  Lorenzo was an auxilia bestowed with the honor of being Allegra’s equerry and adorned with a proper imperial name. Of the innumerable native serfs and servants, Lorenzo was of the exceptional stock worthy of further upliftment. It’s not just nobles and sisters who seek to curry favor with House Valerio; many of the downtrodden from the other provinces pursue a better life in the safe and verdant fields of Wirye: from the drudgery of Gyeo, the rigidity of Ulsa, the ever-assailed Hanyang, the impoverished and pagan Namche, Wirye stands above them all as a land of safety, prosperity, and beauty.

  Most end up living in towns and working at mines and manufactorums that source Wirye luxury goods and top-of-the-line equipment, or serving as contadini on a tenuta for minor nobles. The excess are given to the auxilia, where they are stripped of their former identity and rebuilt as servants of Valerio in exchange for a stipend directly to their families for as long as they are in service. Lorenzo’s family died off years ago, though he would not recognize them enough to care. His every thought and breath was towards his purpose of serving Allegra.

  “Lorenzo, dear,” Allegra handed off her empty glass, “have you ever considered what you will do when you retire?

  “Never. Auxilia do not retire.”

  “There are other positions you could serve in once you grow too frail for battle.”

  “There are no more prestigious roles than at your side, but I will accept any station you command of me.”

  “Any? So if I set you to stable groom, would you be happy with that?”

  “With the same courage and honor I afford any task you assign, my lady.”

  Sometimes, Lorenzo being indistinguishable from a servitor was boring. Allegra turned to the other servants.

  “You there, wine pourer,” the wine pourer’s eyes widened like he was being accused, “you must have some aspirations?”

  “I-I can’t imagine any greater than that which you have bestowed upon me, my lady. I am grateful and honored to have come as far as I have.”

  “Of course you are. But if you were always content with your place, you would never have come so far. Part of you yearned for more. What does it yearn for now?”

  He looked around, adorably confused and afraid to admit what he kept smothered that now bubbled in his chest. Is this a trick? A test of faith and loyalty? Should I say what I want or say what she wants to hear? What does she want to hear?

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  With a gulp, he finally formed an answer.

  “There is a noble lady who frequents this vessel. She always has such elegant dresses and buries herself in books,” he said. Allegra snapped her fingers.

  “Luna Choi.” Another one of the natives risen to such standing to earn a proper first name that separates her from the chaff. Getting ferried by Valerio Airlines is one of the perks for Wirye nobles.

  “Yes, that is her.”

  “I take it you desire more than her book,” she looked him up and down, “she could do worse for a tryst; if you find the opportunity to engage her in literary analysis, you might have a chance.”

  “I… thank you, my lady. I will consider your… advice.”

  Now that one answered without retribution, the others have been emboldened to loosen their lips. This would suffice as in-flight entertainment.

  The plane finally landed at its destination. Allegra walked out arm in arm with Lorenzo while the cabin crew cleaned and prepped the plane and waited in their bunks for the next flight.

  The landing pad was one of many that peaked the towers of Reggia di Valerio, the palazzo of the Valerio family. While Wirye was a relatively flat region of the pangea, the palazzo was built upon, and into, on a prodigious hill, and originated from the first Valerio settlement on Gyeo. The parapets overlook the palazzo’s exterior which has grown into a city in its own right: vast vineyards and groves that feed into the wineries that produce the finest wines in Gyeo; auxilia castellos that train soldiers and deploy patrols across Wirye; Villas of middling nobles who have yet to reach the palazzo surrounded by the quarters of their servants; and the cypress trees that lined the roads to and from the palazzo proper.

  Lorenzo opened the door to the interior. Upon marbled floors, the caryatids of past Valerio nobildonnas stood as pillars upholding the house long after their passing, their names lost to the cataclysm, but their duty served beyond death. Frescoes upon the walls and ceilings, preserved and restored as best possible, were some of the last depictions of Valerio’s history before arriving on this planet, as well as the greater Imperium that was now so distant. Some of the caryatids resembled ladies prominently featured in the frescoes commanding armies and starships, dining with galactic royalty, and delivering their sons to angels. Of all the honors of the Valerio bloodline’s storied history in the stars, it was their compatibility with the angels that had grown their esteem in the past. The purity of their genetics and their training regime from birth made Valerio's sons prime candidates for ascension. There may yet be a day when they are reunited with their blood and with their angels.

  But that day was not in sight. For now, Valerio would maintain the pristinity of their province. When the ecclesiarchs, generals, and nobles of Incheo grow weary, Wirye is the prime vacation destination, with the palace holding the prestige as a location both of religious observance and unmatched luxury. Though the clergymen make a show of witnessing the frescoes for the pict-thieves, it is not long before they join the others in the indoor gardens where they can have succulent fruit freshly picked from trellises by servants attending to every other whim the patrons can imagine. Mechanical butterflies flutter in synchronized spectacles, around perfectly pruned topiaries, accompanied by soothing harmonics and sweet aromas. These gardens are the closest to the heavenly pleasures of Holy Terra that one can find on this world.

  The halls that took one deeper into the palazzo were adorned with paintings, sculptures, mannequins, and reliquaries of mementos and skeletons that all testified to the family’s history since the calamity. Servitors fought an eternal battle against the forces of dirtiness to keep the cherished history in pristine condition.

  Allegra arrived at her quarters, and Lorenzo stood in a corner next to the bed. The servants had already received word to draw the tepidarium upon her arrival. They undressed her habit, anointed and striggiled the grime from her skin, and applied her face mask. Flawlessness like hers took talent and effort; it was almost a cruelty for those attending her, for witnessing Allegra the Gorgeous so intimately must dull the color from all other sensations in comparison, yet just as an ignorant neanderthal is uplifted by enlightenment, so too are their lives raised from beholding the perfection made manifest.

  The bath’s warm, shimmering waters, perfumed by scattered rose petals, were the relaxation Allegra’s body needed after every labor in the accursed border mountains. After that witch’s foulness, she could use a dozen cleansings. Her shoulders were further unwound by a firm massage from strong hands as she reclined against the bath’s edge. Blinded by cucumbers, she opened her mouth to wordless command to be fed a black olive, or inclined her head for a sip of chilled wine. This was how tension was relieved, or it would be, if Lorenzo had not opened the door without her calling, which he would only do given some urgency.

  “The matriarch has directed you to neutralize a witchling. You are to leave at once.”

  Mother’s orders.

  “Can the auxilia not handle a witchling? Are my sisters lounging about? No condottieri to be afforded?” She asked, her pursed fingers punctuating every word in exasperation, “I have just returned and have yet to have my mani-pedi.”

  “The auxilia and preceptory gather in preparation for war, quarantine, and migration. She requested you as an agent who can settle the matter expeditiously. The coach will be awaiting you,” he said. She pinched her nose, restraining herself long enough to remember that Lorenzo was a dutiful messenger and that the servants around her had nothing to do with this.

  “Go on then. I’ll get there when I get there.” Lorenzo closed the door at her shooing.

  So much for relaxation. Alas, only in death does duty end. Sometimes, not even then.