(OOG: I used double astrisks "**" to represent italics this time, since the others interfered when Arcana started converting things to html.)

Lacan stepped out of the tram, trying to look everywhere at once without looking too wide-eyed. Aphel Aura, the new crown city of Shevat, spread out before him like a vision of paradise. Soaring ivory bridges twined with ivy and sparkling stone dwellings met his eyes everywhere he looked, seemingly suspended on mid-air. Only his ride up the tram assured him that the place -was- supported - by Babel Tower.

A steady rumble behind him signaled the tram moving, and he walked forward absently, taking in the atmosphere of the city. It was peaceful, almost like Nisan...... But it was missing one thing that would have made it a home to him. Elly......

"Good afternoon, sir."

Lacan spun around, slightly startled. The tram was already moving away again, and a tall, middle-aged man in rich livery was standing behind him, bowing formally.

"My name is Zhan -- I am here to escort you to Her Majesty, Queen Cyrene. If you would care to follow me......" He turned about and started off down one of the ivory walkways at a slow, leisurely pace.

** What the......?** Just like that? Lacan followed, still half-distracted by the amazing sights around him, and forgot all about the man escorting him. Every so often they would round a curve on one of the walkways, and his vision would be thrown out over one of the city's spectacular panoramic views.

Every time they rounded one of those corners he took a deep breath, and imagined all the landscape pieces he could paint based on his trip to the Queen's throne room alone. If only Elly were there to share it with him...... He knew she would love this.

"Here we are, sir." Lacan stopped abruptly, just managing to avoid running into his escort.

The stood before a large, but plain structure, at what appeared to be the end of the city. Only the endless sky and the ocean below met his eyes when he glanced down to his right. He jerked his eyes away from the sight, swallowing hard. The anti-grav field surrounding Shevat shimmered mere feet below the platform he stood on, but it looked like too little to stop him from plummeting to the ocean if he fell.

He moved his gaze back to the building that was his destination. Elaborately carved doors swung open ever so slowly, and Lacan fidgeted, nervousness returning. It wasn't exactly ceremonial -- the escort, the presentation -- but it was more formality than anything he was used to experiencing, even when accompanying Elly to the council meetings.

Zhan led him thorough the doors as soon as were open, and Lacan followed him into a huge, vaulted anteroom, immediately feeling out of place in the rich atmosphere. Thick, bold silk hangings adorned the walls, and the mostly ivory stone was embellished with yet more carvings -- beautifully rendered nature scenes, and what he imagined were the country's legends graced the walls and floor, elegant yet subdued.

That seemed to be the very definition of Shevat and its people.

Zhan turned to him and held out his hands. "Your paint bag, sir."

Lacan blinked and hurriedly slipped it off his shoulder and handed it to the man. He had forgotten all about it -- how stupid he would have looked if he had been presented to the queen while carrying his luggage! He prayed silently while unloading his other belongings, begging not to humiliate himself in front of the queen. He wanted to return home, but this was the chance of a lifetime! He would make Elly proud.

** Alright, I know what I have to do.... I think.** He followed his escort down a short hallway to another set of double doors, these somewhat smaller than the entrance to the building. **Be respectful. Don't make a fool of myself......** Yeah, like he would be able to stop that! He had never met a queen before -- he had absolutely no idea what would be expected.

What he knew would just have to work. Zhan was opening the doors already, motioning for him to enter. It looked like he had run out of time to worry.

Lacan walked in, and looked around in surprise. He had been expecting a throne room of some sort, or at least a very large chamber, but instead he found himself in a study. It was still richly decorated, displaying blue velvets and silk, and plush furnature. But it conveyed a sense of comfort to him, almost like his home with Elly. Almost.

He started forward again at Zhan's sharp look, and focused on his objective -- the center of the room. Only one other person occupied the room, standing before the window -- he assumed it was the queen, but her back was turned to him, displaying the full length of her crimson robe, and the shining simbol of Shevat emblazoned at the center of the crimson.

**I would be looking out the window all day too, if I lived here.....** he thought to himself, stopping at the center of the room. He would probably spend a lot of his free time doing just that.

Zhan stepped up beside him. "The painter has arrived, Your Majesty."

She turned around. "Thank you, Zhan." He stepped back, and she smiled at Lacan, clasping her hands at her waist. "It's nice to finally meet you, Lacan."

He stared at her for a minute. She didn't look any older than he was! Her face was smooth and white as porcelain, almost childlike, and she was the only other woman he had seen wear her hair loose -- it curled around her shoulders in auburn waves only a little darker than Elly's.

Lacan bowed awkwardly, not quite sure what to say. "T-thank you...... Your Majesty....."

She laughed, green eyes sparkling. "Zhan, you may leave now. I think I'll be fine." She waved him away, still laughing softly. "I'm so sorry......" she finally said after the door had closed behind the servant. "I wasn't laughing at you -- please believe me. It was the expression on his face when you bowed instead of kneeling like......" she covered another smile with her fingers. "Please, have a seat."

She sat in a large, blue upholstered chair before the window, arranging her robes behind her. Lacan glanced around, hunting for a place to sit, and finally rested on a large stool not far from the Queen's chair. He settled on that, very aware of her eyes on him as he shifted to find a comfortable position.

"Are you comfortable?" she asked, still smiling. Still watching.

"Uh... Yes. Thank you, Your Majesty."

She shook her head. "Call me Cyrene." He started to protest, and she waved it away. "We're going to be spending a lot of time together while you paint, and...... I would prefer that you call me by name."

His day was getting stranger, and stranger...... This was not at all what he had expected. "Okay, uh, Cyrene......"

She looked like she was holding back more laughter. "Please, relax! I won't bite you. I was hoping we could......" She shrugged. "You're new here. I want to keep you out of the habit my subjects developed - they see the position when they look at me. But I'm still a person. Sometimes I just get tired of all the bowing and scraping......"

Lacan hesitated, unsure of what to say. He certainly wouldn't mind talking to her, and he supposed he could understand her wish to be treated like a person...... She must feel extremely isolated. But her little revelation didn't make things any easier for him.

"I think you'll see for yourself, soon."

"What?" he asked before he could stop himself.

"You've been named the 'Royal Painter'." Her smile reappeared, smaller this time. "That makes you a member of the nobility, and also a member of my court. You will be accorded the respect and priviledges of that rank, as well as guestright in the palace once it's finished."

"A-are you serious?" His mouth hung open. A member of the *nobility*?? Was that even possible?! He was just an artist......

"Don't worry -- I think you'll fit in eventually. And even if you don't...... well, that isn't a bad thing either. It would be nice to have somebody to talk to once in awhile without having to worry about politics."

"Yeah......" Were people going to walk around calling him 'Lord Painter' or something? Elly was definitely laugh when she heard about this.

Cyrene sighed, glancing outside again. "I'm afraid it's time for me to get back to work. But there is a servant outside waiting to escort you to your room. Please, just enjoy your stay here. I look forward to our first session, tomorrow."

Lacan thanked her, still feeling extremely out of place, and headed for the doors. He still couldn't believe everything he had just heard.

Him? A member of the nobility?

He just shook his head. It looked like it was going to be a long two years.