Charles says, prompting both of the men to bow.
“Your Majesty,” the police chief says nervously, and he’s echoed by the guy from the
mayor’s office.
I turn to that guy. “You’re not the
mayor.”
“I’m not, Your Majesty,” he says, apologetic.
“The
mayor of Toronto can’t deign to meet with the queen of Toronto?” I ask, blinking placidly.
“With respect, Your Majesty,” the police chief begins. “You’re the queen of your people. Not ours.”
“I don’t know how respectful it is to challenge me,” I say with serrated sweetness. “After all, you’re only humans. I’ll be the queen here long after the
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