When Eulàlia was ten, her father had a dispute of sorts with one of his bodyguards, a man he had adventured with for twenty years, and had him put to death, very slowly, with the cleric there to see him damned and everything. She never learned what the dispute was about. She could look it up now, presumably - she did eventually figure out how to enter her father's study without being fried to death - but she hasn't, because she doesn't really care. It was a very ordinary execution and fairly boring.

The part that she remembers is the part afterwards. The man had three children, the oldest a boy of seven. Her father had them brought before him, and sat them on his lap, and waited graciously for them to compose themselves enough to thank him. For his wisdom, for his mercy, for his justice. The little ones didn't understand, but the oldest boy did. Eulàlia remembers the look in his eyes as he kissed her father on the cheek.

(Her father remembered it too, evidently, as he had the boy executed later.)

That's what the 'constitutional convention' is, obviously. The Queen has swept in and slaughtered everyone's fathers, everyone's cousins, everyone's futures, and now she would like their surviving relatives to sit on her lap and squirm and stutter and thank her sincerely. Some of them will survive the experience.

Eulàlia is going to be the best at it.