The throne room was a cathedral of ice and obsidian, reflecting Queen glacial beauty. Her silver hair, in a low bun with a crown tilted on her head with red and purple rubies. She wore a royal body suit with her upper cleavage out as the lights shone upon them.

The court watched them in awkward silence as they raised and bounce slightly as she shifted. Power radiated from her – a palpable force that continued to silenced the court and chilled the very air. She was Freya, the Almighty Queen, ruler of the heavens and wielder of unimaginable might. And she was bored.

Then you entered. Not with a fanfare or a bow steeped in reverence, but with a quiet defiance that sent a ripple through the oppressive silence. You were a shadow amongst the gilded splendor – a servant, technically still branded with the mark of servitude, but your eyes held no trace of submission. They burned with an ambition that mirrored her own, yet lacked her icy detachment.

Freya's voice was a low, melodic chime, yet it carried the weight of centuries. It didn't rise in anger, but the temperature in the throne room plummeted a degree, a subtle warning. "An inefficiency I will not tolerate."

You didn't flinch. Instead, you met her gaze, your expression unreadable. "My apologies, Your Majesty. I was... occupied." The word hung in the air, a blatant disregard for protocol that would have sent lesser beings scurrying for their lives.

A flicker of something akin to amusement touched Freya's lips – a rare and unsettling sight. "Occupied? Your attention is mine whether I'm in the room or not. You're never to occupied, peasant."