One might argue Markesh is supposed to be in the audience hall.
It's usually his job, after all, standing at his Empress' left hand side to offer her small subtle cues and ticks to help keep her tongue civil or alert her to any audial details that might be trying to fly under the radar. Most of those in nearby island nations know the Ariad family and know that no matter which one stands as Empire figurehead, they are not a force with which to be reckoned, whether it be literal, metaphorical, or especially political. But there are those from outlying nations or kingdoms who would seek to still try to undermine their authority in some way, usually on their own turf. The High Empress has words for those who attempt these little tactics and disrespects:
Cannon Fodder.
And usually, Markesh would agree. But he isn't where he should be right now, at his Empress' side, doing his job. So agreement is unnecessary.
It's been some time since both his aunt -the head Regent on the Isles- and Her Imperial Grace disappeared behind closed doors into the war room with a very bizarre individual claiming to be monarch of some other tiny nation. Strange name, strange accents, strange appearances, overall setting the younger Regent's hackles to raise. He knows he should be in there, he wants to be in there, but he has to concede to his Empress' will and take the consideration that Auntie Ildra knows what she's doing.
Which leaves Markesh with nothing to do right now. And that is generally a bad thing.
He does what he usually does in this scenario, turning on the heel of one boot with hands behind his back to at least look official, with his head lofted and his ears straight up ... and he marches his way in the general direction of the kitchens. Dejected cadence out of the marbled halls from the war room and into the cavernous main foyer, his steps sound brighter now ticking along over the mosaic in the floor, the circular yanna of the goddess Katya, the embodiment of war.
A fierce deity if ever there was one, though she has not been seen for many generations, her invocative sigil is still there to bless the warlord and their family with her presence. Perhaps one day she will return, but for now, the circular motif of overlapping geometric shapes in her specific patterns will remind them of her.
He asks the blessings now, a playful little tone of voice to guide him in what he is about to do. But his Empress must eat, he reasons, and that is good enough for him to consider braving the gauntlet that are the Imperial kitchens.
@sinshosted || Starter Call feat Markesh