As the doors creaked open, I took a deep breath and stepped inside, keeping my head tilted down, just as I’d been instructed—much like those old days when my teacher would scold me for daydreaming. I caught glimpses of polished marble floors, the faint glint of gold fixtures, as my head was down, I wasn’t able to see much.

In front of me, towering steps led up to the Queen’s throne. I couldn’t see much of her figure clearly with my head down, but I felt her presence in the hush of the room, as if her gaze alone commanded the entire space.

‘Okay…’ I thought to myself. ‘Calm down, Ax.’

Finally, I reached the steps, dropping to one knee and lifting the sword toward her with both hands.

"Your Highness," I announced, my voice echoing against the towering walls, “a gift from Mortan, the blacksmith.”

Nothing. The silence wrapped around me, stretching the moment longer than I’d expected. All I could hear was her faint breathing and the sound of her clothing shifting on the throne. I started to wonder if maybe I should have found a way out of Mortan's request after all. A simple excuse like, I’m in a hurry, could’ve done the trick.

My eyes drifted up ever so slightly, enough to catch the subtle movement of the Queen standing. I instantly dropped my gaze back down, inhaling and then exhaling slowly, trying to steady the anticipation building in my chest.

“That garment you wear,” she said, her voice strong yet calm, “was Phobe’s son’s, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, Your Highness.” I kept my tone steady, careful not to reveal any hint of discomfort.

“He was a good man,” she continued, “stood against an elf raid on a village and saved forty-six lives. Died as a hero.”

“I didn’t know that, Your Highness,” I replied sincerely. “He must have been a brave man.”

Her footsteps echoed softly on the floor as she descended toward me. Her gown brushed against the ground with a sweep, its fabric layered and regal, trimmed with silver stitching that glistened faintly even in the muted light. Her attire was elegant, fitting for a queen, yet it bore a simplicity that spoke of command over any extravagance.

Her fingers glided along the sword’s blade before she wrapped one hand around the hilt, lifting it from my grasp.

“A fine piece of work,” she noted, examining it with a keen eye. “Are you Mortan’s new delivery boy?”

“Mortan… he helped me out quite a bit,” I replied, choosing my words carefully. “I’m just repaying the favor.”

She clicked her tongue, a small smirk tugging at the edge of her lips. “You’re kneeling with the wrong foot,” she observed, not unkindly. “Didn’t Mortan teach you the correct way to behave in the throne room?”

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“Oh—right,” I mumbled, quickly switching my stance. “Apologies, Your Highness.”

“Too late for that,” she quipped, her expression unreadable. “Have his head.”

I snapped my gaze up in shock, trying to make sense of her words. It was my first real glimpse of her face: long, golden hair framing piercing blue eyes, a gaze that was intense yet amused, a mouth that held just a hint of a mischievous smile. She was the sort of woman my friend James would call a “divine milf with huge rack,” But her eyes—they were sharp, scanning me with the precision of someone who missed nothing.

Our eyes met, and that fleeting smirk widened as she raised the sword, her hand steady as she swung it. The tip missed my nose by a fraction.

“A joke,” she said, her gaze unwavering. “Even Queens are allowed to make jokes.”

“Y-yes,” I stammered, swallowing as I lowered my head back down. “A joke… of course.”

"Tell Mortan I appreciate his gift," the Queen continued, her voice firm. She held out a small dagger, its edge blunt. "And make sure he sharpens this. It’s gone dull."

"Yes, Your Highness."

I took the dagger, then fumbled to open the sheath at my belt. My fingers scrambled over the unfamiliar straps, and cold sweat started forming—not so much from embarrassment, but from the weight of her earlier words about having my head, still lingering in my mind. I could feel the pressure building, something I’d never usually succumb to, but I guessed a whole other world had its ways of chipping at me.

The Queen leaned down and iIn my peripheral vision, I caught sight of her cleavage as her gown dipped with her movement, but I quickly snapped my eyes back to the floor. This was… different.

With a calm smile, she reached down, deftly undoing the sheath with ease. Grateful, I managed to slide the dagger into it properly this time.

"Thank you, Your Highness."

She waved a hand dismissively, returning to her throne. "You may go. And don’t lose that dagger, alright? Or I’ll really have your head this time.”

“Understood, Your Highness."

I gave a small bow, stood up, and quickly made my way toward the door. The guard stationed there pulled it open for me, and I stepped through with a deep sigh of relief. This whole ordeal had been far more challenging than I’d anticipated. There was no way I’d ever set foot in the Queen’s Palace again if I could help it. No more strange quests. No more debts. This wasn’t my world, and it was time I focused on finding a way home.

The guard who’d escorted me signaled for me to follow, and I gladly fell in behind him, grateful this bizarre sword-delivery mission was finally over. Maybe now I could look for Gentle Gerald, Phobe’s lost dog, and end the day with something simpler.

"So, how did it go?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Intense,” I replied, keeping my tone flat. “She threatened to have my head if I lose the dagger she gave me.”

He nodded, a flicker of amusement on his face. “Ah, her dagger collection. That one belonged to her father. She cherishes her blades more than any jewels. Has a room full of swords she treasures.”

“Hmm…”

We finally exited through the front entrance and headed toward the gates. The afternoon sun still beat down, the heat somehow even thicker than before.

As we reached the main gates, the guard gave a nod and returned to his post. I stepped through, feeling the tension start to ease from my shoulders. With the sword delivered, I could finally focus on the last task of the day—finding Gentle Gerald. At least that wouldn’t involve me nearly getting my head taken off.

"You're good to go," the guard at the gate said, giving me a nod. "Safe travels, kid."

"Thanks," I murmured with a relieved exhale. "Appreciate it."