Elara plopped almost girlishly on her bed with a bowl of the grain-based oatmeal in her hands as she ate slowly, having ignored the honey-like substance and added the tart berries to the food. She crossed her legs at the knee when she finished, leaving the bowl on the tray and plucking up a slice of the ham-like meat, chewing while she strode around the room. "Yes, we can eat, and do often." She offered before Cyne could open his mouth to ask, wiping the grease from her fingers delicately with a napkin, her movements thorough, precise. "As for our culture and how we run during war... the war is over, Prince of Ashes. It will be an odd transition for my subjects, but they will fall in line." Her words had a ringing sort of truth to them as she folded her arms across her chest, leaning her weight on one hip and turning to watch him brush his hands down his sleeves.<br/><br/>With a tired-sounding sigh, she beckoned him to stand, her fingernails clicking against one another before she turned, allowing the Prince to both follow her and showing him she had no fear of him by giving him her back. "Remember my warning, mortal princeling. For your own sake." Elara's voice was a soft whisper but in the silence of her bedchamber, he would be able to hear it without a problem before she yanked her door open, her boots thudding in the corridor of stone beyond. The queen's entire posture changed once she crossed the threshold, her shoulders pushing back as her chin raised and her steps lengthening while her hips undulated side to side, purposely drawing attention to them as distraction, which in a fight, the moment's hesitation would give her an edge, even among her own kind.