Interactions of Gadhya Kraft with Shakun

An Ambitious Minister
Atop the tallest tower of the palace, another feline had a lot to brood upon, too. Gadhya Kraft, a thin and long firecat, the minister closest to the king. Her robes were green, and her cloak purple. She looked down upon the city and the wooded hills beyond with unseeing eyes. The woods were cleft in two by the river Swarole, a gleaming sword, its blade red in the twilight, reflecting dark trees and distant hills. Brightflies, butterflies that glow in the dark, thronged the window, a flickering curtain of little stars. The beauty of the scene made no impression on her; she was deep in her own dreams and plans.
“Your Excellency!”
“Shakun! You startled me!”
The cat who entered looked more a fox than a lion. Sneaking in as usual, with minimum noise, Shakun had chosen for himself the darkest corner of the room, next to the niche with the idol of Invinsa, the goddess of victory. The flickering flame of the lamp in the niche just revealed the edges of his hooded form in the shadows. He always dressed in black, and that helped to make him part of the darkness he hid in.
“Your Excellency waits impatiently for the time when you would be Your Majesty?”
Gadhya’s laugh echoed eerily on the stones. Disturbed bats flapped around the small room in all directions.
“Clever!” she said, “Very clever. I hope nobody else senses my secret ambition.”
““Fireflies are symbols of royalty, your excellency. They cover the window, but do not enter. If you were to ask one of those soothsaying foxes, he would say that you are very close to realizing your secret dream.”
“I care a nostril hair for such superstition. Now tell me, you cunning rascal, what should I do to speed up things? What do you propose?”
Shakun bowed. “Have Varumanius disposed off, Your Excellency.”
The firecat froze. The fading twilight had, by now, painted the sky red and the shadows purple. A bat brushed her cheek as it flapped out of the window, tearing a hole in the brightfly curtain. She shuddered.
“No, Shakun,” she said, “No! There’s no need for blood. Yet. He has but a few weak drops left in his aging body. The king will die any day. Issueless.” She turned to stare at Shakun, but he just stood there, silent.
“Issueless,” she continued, looking out of the window, “and I have been with him, all these years, aiding him in keeping his precious city intact, with minimal battles and numerous intrigues.” She clutched the sides of the window with drawn claws.
“I am as a daughter to him!” She turned on her heel and shook her fists at the idol.
“A daughter, O Goddess! But why doesn’t he see that? Why doesn’t the old fool make me the heir?” Her cry echoed off the stones but drew no reply from Invinsa. Or from Shakun. He had slipped out as noiselessly as the bats.
“He gives me power,” she said to the walls, “but he doesn’t grant me heirdom.”
“Heirdom,” echoed the stones, “heirdom!”