In that case, one of the servants wishes to explain that ((His Eminence/someone very important/someone she very much respects/slightly weaker castration implication Jahan Amiri/Very Important Person/not horrible like most Very Important People awaits her pleasure/is waiting for her in the Violet Room,)) and that she will be perfectly willing to escort her there as soon as it is convenient for her.

(And also, though in a manner as to avoid any implication that she smells funny, that hot baths are available when she wants 'em.)

She hates it here and wants to burn this pretty, pretty boat to ashes. But she does have any experience in court, and so she knows that what one does before going and meeting Very Important People is acquire a bath. Furthermore, she really, really wants one.

((A bath first, please, if it wouldn't put His Eminence at too much inconvenience/Please send my sincerest apologies for the delay.))

... Are they going to try and help her bathe. Please, no. She needs to get her illusions right in privacy, and also she would really rather not associate bathing with company with this creepy servile thing they've got going on. They are totally going to try to help her bathe, aren't they.

They're actually good enough at their jobs to let her bathe on her own, after about half a second of confusion.

She gets a hot bath. It is a very nice hot bath. Nothing at all is wrong with it in any way, shape or form, except the civilization that provided it.

They are so good at their jobs, and it's so creepy, but she's so grateful. Good, space, give her space. She is competent enough to not accidentally drown in a bath, thank you. She gets herself suitably clean, pretending gingerness over her illusionary sunburn and (now half healed) scratches in case anyone is watching, and taking the extra time to touch up her illusions while she's at it. Her hair is then carefully scrubbed with the soap that smells the nicest, and then she can soak for a little while and think.

Sweet comforting arms of the merciful Dwayna herself. She wanted this bath so badly, and it feels so nice. Especially after walking through an entire damned desert to get here. Gods, she walked through an entire damn desert to get to this gilded hellscape. If she'd known this is what awaited her she might have stayed with the stabby tree people, at least they were honest. Here she is absolutely certain that the going plan is to lure her into a trap and keep her as a pet mind-mage forever, giving her all of the comforting and pretty and petty things she could possibly want for all of her days. At the expense of who knows how many other people inside and outside of this pretty, pretty boat.

Ugh.

Okay. She's fine. She can do this. She (gingerly) dries herself off, and gets to finding where her clothes went so she can put them back on.

Her clothes are in the bathroom! They disappeared, were laundered, were dried and were placed by the bathtub in case she wanted them. There's also a choice of Qalmiri outfits if she wants one.

Hahahahaha there is no way in this world or the next that she's wearing unenchanted clothes right now. She will be getting back into her own, extremely enchanted defensive clothing made out of the best materials her money could buy. They were pretty good ones. Even if she does admittedly kind of hate it from having worn it for so long.

Also? Still creepy. Impressive, but creepy.

Once she's dressed she can be led off to meet with His Eminence. ... Whose name she forgot. Shit. Probably because she was distracted by 'castration' being a thing here. She hopes someone will say it again, just for her.

She is shown to the Violet Room, where a single person - presumably His Eminence - is standing to greet her. He is a fit, good-looking middle-aged man in regalia of the expected fineness, or possibly a little more, with a neatly-trimmed beard. His expression is stern but compassionate, and his gestures smooth and precise. The Violet Room is exactly as pretty as she would expect, with comfortable chairs and couches; it's surprising how small it actually is, considering how large it feels. She can hear absolutely nothing from outside it, though she can feel the slight motion of the boat under her feet.

He waits for her to cast the spell, then - 

((Greetings, noblewoman/mage/woman of royal family/there is an official pretense that you are higher status than I am but let's be honest, it's rather silly, isn't it, since we both have overwhelming secret powers the other knows naught of? In a practical sense we're equals.))

((I am pleased to have the chance to meet you/I am genuinely happy to have this opportunity to assist you with the goals you value in exchange for assistance with the goals I value, which I hope I can persuade you to also value.))

((Let us sit and talk. Would you like any wine? / Please tell me small cheap favors I can do for you that you value as a means of establishing my benevolent intent.))

He's speaking, too, murmuring a few pleasantries in High Qalmiri; his voice is a rich, soft baritone, the sort of thing that would automatically put her at ease if she hadn't already ramped her PARANOIA LEVEL up to maximum and refused to let it go any lower.

((It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance,)) she lies pleasantly, with a properly courtly curtsy, smiling and accepting a comfortable seat.

((I hope we can assist each other in our chosen goals/And that they are not fundamentally incompatible.))

((Wine would be lovely, thank you. Could I trouble you for a gift to send to those who first greeted me to your lovely country? I'm quite grateful for their assistance/And competence should be rewarded.))

((I quite agree/I already prepared the gift and was simply waiting on your confirmation to send it.)) He pours two cups of wine from the same pitcher with his own hands, and then leans back and lets her choose one, sipping first once she's taken hers. ((The principle is often neglected/in foreign countries, of course, not Qalmir.)) The slightly ironic tinge to that last sentence may, of course, just be her imagination. Certainly no deliberately ironic connotations are coming through his mental link.

((I hope your travel hasn't been too wearing, considering your condition?)) And the bizarre thing is that no unexpected secondary connotations at all are coming through that one; it isn't even distinguishing between "your condition, injured" and "your condition, stranded in a desert" and "your condition, lying to everyone about everything"; it gives no information as to which of those he considers most likely.