You obey the command––she [i]is[/i] the Empress, after all––and look up, your hood falling back and revealing some of your bouncy, thick, wild red hair, but you remain in your kneeling position. As scared as you are, your gaze is steady. You meet her piercing eyes without blinking. Her will is strong, but so too is your own, and your will has been hiding for a long, long time. You will not accept any fate she tries to force on you as punishment. You will resist until your dying breath should she cross you.

But she has not crossed you yet, and so you make no moves. You wait patiently, with a glance at the (beautiful!) Heiress. But it's a very fleeting glance.