Her mind wandered with the clouds that passed in the sky of her room’s glass dome. Like watching fish, she eyed their shapes, sizes, and texture wondering where they were going today, and if they would be back tomorrow. Her homework however, went nowhere, and there it sat upon her oak desk, collecting dust.  

Professor Krähe looked on at the young Queen as she daydreamt.  He mused to himself that he had never taught a more spirited, willful girl in the Royal Family.  Most of them were dull and cow eyed in his opinion.  They made good students because they lacked the intelligence to question anything he laid before them.  However, this also made them undesirable students as they had little desire to learn anything.  

He cleared his throat with a loud "Kahk".  She didn't budge; her eyes glassy as she continued to watch her vaporous friends. She began to name them, and giggle softly, willingly ignoring her instructor.

From his chair near her writing desk he lowered his head and narrowed his eyes at her.  He was very good at remaining calm, but this one... this one liked to push his buttons, he thought.  "Your Highness," he said quietly.

She nodded as if saying good bye to a few good friends and turned to face him. Her demeanor was surprisingly soft, as her emerald daze of a gaze settling upon the crooked old man she loved to loath, “Forgive me professor.”

"It is not for me to forgive you, your highness.  It is your education that will suffer if you continue to lose focus.  It is no loss of mine if you turn out a dolt," which was a terrible lie.  It was much to his detriment if she did not succeed.  For, she was queen now, and stupid queens make stupid choices, like firing him.  Besides all that, he took special pride in each of his students.  Each mind was, to him, another certificate of accomplishment for his wall, each one a tribute to his own great skill as an academic and as a teacher.

Unfortunately, her hackles raised at the word 'dolt' and her soft face melted into a bone chilling scowl. Her fist clinched, joints popping as they tightened and she looked down, frowning and fierce, “'Dolt' am I?  How crude,” her voice was shaking with anger, but as swiftly as it came, it went, and her anger turned into something most women like her find shortly after, malice within pity. She dropped to her knees and began wailing horridly, as if someone struck her down.

“Oh, professor!  I'm so sorry!  I didn't mean to upset you!  I only try my best!  I'm not a dolt! Please don't call me names!” Her wails echoed through her room and Gods know where else beyond.

Horror washed over his face as her moods swung like the pendulum of a clock.  He stood and rounded his chair so that it stood between them; his boney fingers gripping the back of it as if he could use it to defend himself against her mood swings.

"Dear girl, if you EVER listened to me, you would know that I called you no such thing," however, he knew this was impossible.  She never listened.  Willful little spitfire!

"You're so mean!  You brute!  How dare you say such horrid things to me!  I'm not a ‘girl’ I'm a woman!  A dirty fiend like you would have to touch me to realize it, wouldn't you?!"  She continued to sob before placing her ever so dry face into her hands.

“That's it.  I'm done with this.  I am not as dependent on the Royal gold as everyone might think.”  He picked his books up off the little table next to the chair and bowed to her.  “A dirty fiend, am I?  Then I shall disturb you no longer.  I'm sure you know plenty of qualified professors to tutor you.  Good day, Your Highness," and he turned on his heel to go.

However, she dashed around him to block his path.  Her arms where out stiff as a board as she looked at him with a pout that could spoil whine.  “You can't go! Valdevan would have my hide...”

He bent at the waist to meet her eye to eye, "then, might I suggest you cease and desist with the melodramatic behavior and instead concentrate your efforts on your studies?"  His practiced, professional smile grew on his mouth.

She squeaked and put her hands to her mouth in kittenish balls and nodded swiftly. Knowing good and well, there would be hell for him in the days to come, if she had any say in it.

He straightened himself and cleared the path back to her desk.  "Then I shall not impede you further.  Was there anything else with which I could assist?"  He kept his voice as even as he could.  He often wondered why he got into teaching, as he had a difficult time with youth, but then he remembered that occasionally they do retain some knowledge and that makes it all worthwhile.

“I had a nightmare...” she said plainly and his thoughts were cut short by her statement.

"I'm sorry?" He cocked a brow not knowing what she meant.

“I had a horrible dream...it wasn't the usual...it wasn't about mother and father...” her face had gone solemn as she tried to remember it. Though she hated herself for it, she figured a man of the books would be the best one to ask for interpretation.

“Something broke the pipelines in Orville,” she continued “...and so many innocents where hurt...and I could do nothing because everyone wanted to protect me...it was a horrific dream...” she stopped for a moment then shook her head. That was enough.  She assumed he didn't care; not after that outburst.

“I'll tend to my studies,” she curtsied quickly, and made her way to her desk.

He stood still, a puzzled look on his face as she took her seat and eventually he sat again as well.  After a few long moments he tried carefully, "What do you think it means?  Do you feel the dream is a premonition or a metaphor?"

She sat her pen down and shook her head as her cheeks began to blush, “I...I'm afraid I don't know the difference.”

"Well,” he started slowly and clasped his boney talons together, “a premonition is akin to seeing into the future, this time through a dream.  A metaphor would be your brain trying to tell you something by using pictures that seem to have little to do with your actual situation."

“Then, I think it was a...metaphor...at least, I hope,” she sighed, “Lady DeVangeline, has so much prepared for me.  Maybe the pipe that is breaking is my own mind...because I don't get out enough,” she shrugged slightly and went back to writing.

Krähe took a long moment to think and then leaned forward and put a skeletal hand on her paper, "Perhaps you would prefer some other sort of education?  Even I must admit that book learning can take one only so far," he tried at a smile, found it hurt his face and quit.  "What would you like to learn about, your highness?"

“Fighting...” she said quietly.  A mouse would of been easier heard than her answer. But, she said it, and looked down into her lap.

"I'm sorry?  Come again?"  He heard her just fine.  He had rather sharp hearing, but he wanted her to speak up anyway.  It was just his personal way of getting back at her for the temper tantrum earlier.

“Fighting...” her volume didn't change, but the color of her face did grow more crimson.  Her temper also began to boil, but she didn't want to lose her composure, not yet at least.

Krähe fought back the temptation to goad her a bit more and simply said, "Ah, I see."  Then he sat back in his chair once more, smirking.

But, Queen Zedock was burning, the Valkyrie within her dying to kill him, but she simply cleared her throat, and went back to writing.  However, her pen let her mouth free through the ink on paper as she wrote, 'Stubborn old fart! When I'm a great warrior I'll have his head, I will!'

"Perhaps your Captain of the Guard will instruct you thusly?  Have you spoken with him about your desire to learn the combative arts?"  His sarcastic grin did not abate one bit as he kept a light chuckle to himself.

“That bumbling idiot is as thick as you, so I'm at a lost either way,” she grumbled.  She stopped writing and laid her pen down once again. Her slip of the tongue was undoable and she sat there, white as a ghost knowing full well the gaff she had made.

He stood slowly but closed the book in his lap like a shot being fired.  "Your Highness, I believe this concludes today's lesson as well as all others.  I wish you the best of luck in finding an appropriate tutor.  Unfortunately, Anowar University will not be able to provide you with one.  At least, not with my consent," He glared a look to her that would have sliced through iron.  "Good day,” with that he started for the door a second time.

"Fair enough. Good day then and thank you for your patience," she nodded slightly and rose for her bath. It was almost supper, and she figured before she was lectured to high heavens by lady Valden, she better be somewhat presentable.

She could hear it now, first the professor in the arts department, then the steams instructor, and now the Chancellor himself. She simply shrugged and ho-hummed as she clicked onward.

He paused in the doorway.  Was she even going to try to stop him from going?

Not to mention the florist... she shuddered as she remember the greenhouse accident. She was too wild.  Everyone always said she should have been a boy.  A big cupped boy...named Thomas! “Ugh...” she groaned.

He hunched yet more.  She wasn't going to have him stay.  FINE!  He was better off.  He had more important things to do anyway... somewhere....  He slunk away.

Professor Krähe was the only one that lasted more than a week; she couldn't lose him.  Hey! She was the Queen! She needed no—“Professor!” she called to him, but the door had closed. Her shoulders fell slightly as she whimpered “I...need you.  You're my only...friend...”  It was a mere whisper, and disappointed, she went to her bath, and closed its gate.