"Thy name again, good fool?"
"'Tis Bandochel, Your Majesty, with a silent 'Q.'"
She cocks her head. "A silent 'Q,' you say? But on which end?"
"Both, for aught I know." You throw up your hands in exasperation. "That's the trouble with the silent ones, they do creep about."
"A merry rascal, this," she says, laughing longer than you might have expected from the quality of the jest. She sips from her goblet with one hand and twirls her soup spoon in the air with the other. "Do carry on, and let flow forth thy talents whilst I sup. A light diversion 'fore this company would be a noble service to thy monarchy."
"I live to serve." You bow so deeply that you fall into a somersault. She breaks into peals of laughter right away as you dust yourself off. You could get used to performing for her.
Onward