The Drow Queen of Glaley [Very NSFW]

[Coquette Blacquin]

She stands. "Tell me who to fight, and I'll do it. I am no coward in need of protection."

[NPCs]

"Fight?" Feythal clicks her tongue. "Violence would mean your loss in most if not all of these."

[Coquette Blacquin]

She blinks a moment, seemingly uncomprehending, then sits back down, slowly. 

[NPCs]

Feythal frowns then, studying her once more. "...hmm." Berserk? Perhaps a hint of barbarian in her? Who knows what filth her human father might have mixed into the poor girl. "Social conflicts can be... broken by force, much of the time, yes, but they cannot be won by force save for a very small fingertip-full of them."

[Coquette Blacquin]

"What I mean to say is, I am no coward, unafraid of pain or suffering or loss."

[NPCs]

"Being unafraid is one thing, but allowing such to strike you for no reason is simply stupidity."

[Coquette Blacquin]

"Demonstrating my loyalty and bravery is hardly no reason. I would do whatever you ask of me, oh Matriarch." She's starting to feel more herself, the words coming easier, more fluently. Which makes sense: He feels no loyalty but the grudging resentment the weak bear towards their superiors, but She understands her place in the world more sophisticatedly. 

[NPCs]

"Whyever would I wish for you to be diminished, wife of my granddaughter, child of my blood's blood?"

[Coquette Blacquin]

Coquette blinks. "What? Why not?"

[NPCs]

Feythal leans back slightly, as if to get a new view to a curiosity. "What good would such do me?" she asks instead of explaining. 

[Coquette Blacquin]

"Protecting your throne from outsiders."

[NPCs]

There's a dry, cracking sound, like wood snapping in a smoldering fire. After a few seconds, it dawns on Coquette that Faythel is chuckling. This goes on for a good twenty seconds or so before the Matriarch shakes her head slowly. "Not this century, dear child, not this century."

[Coquette Blacquin]

She presses her lips firmly together, but says nothing. 

[NPCs]

"Good, you have some pride in you," Feythal notes, the amusement vanishing from her voice like mist before a wildfire. "Regardless, I have no fear for my throne, grandniece. You are not a threat but an asset."

[Coquette Blacquin]

"You have made your displeasure with my wife's wife clear. Should I become too powerful, it may interfere with your selection of an alternate heir."