Nheera pushed through the doors of the king's chambers, her footsteps clipped and purposeful. An air of agitation clung to her like thick smoke. It rolled off her in waves, making everyone she passed instinctively retreat from her path. Nheera was notorious for her temper. It was sharp and cold rather than loud and fiery and it made those around her constantly on edge. Her anger wasn't the kind that exploded like an inferno. No, hers was the fury of a blizzard: quiet, blistering, and capable of freezing someone from the inside out.
She stepped over the threshold with her chin held high and her spine ramrod straight. Nheera had always carried herself with the composure and dignity of a queen, long before she was ever crowned one. As a child, she had idolized the former queen who was elegant, untouchable, and always in command. It wasn't merely admiration. It had been a dream, an obsession. So much so that Nheera wanted to become exactly like her.
