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Worth the inevitable exile:

The Barbed Wit and the Acclaimed Beauty are talking and smiling. This is rare for them. His eyes are heavy and soft; her smile is langourous and sly. You join them, whisper into their ears, then take each by the hand and lead the way to the throne room.

This room has probably never seen such debauchery. Their shared history and the sense of something unfinished between them is like slow-burning embers, and the new connection you have with each provides the sparks. The throne is regrettably lumpy, but the transgression of being in this place lends a delicious frisson. Soon, though, you quite forget where you are. Time passes slowly, like a dream. Much later, long after you ought to have left, you are discovered by a quartet of horrified footmen.

Of course, you are all exiled as thoroughly as anyone has ever been exiled. As you are led away to the docks, you notice something caught on your wrist. It's a single, marvellously elegant silver earring: the Empress' own, perhaps lost behind a cushion on the throne. You smile to yourself. A souvenir.