Both Marcella and the newcomer completely ignore Dante. 

"Is it done?" the Queen asks.

He looks up at her, revealing the face of a young man not much older than Dante himself, perhaps eighteen or nineteen. Beneath the black cloak and armour, a slender chain is barely visible around his neck. From it hangs a single red jewel, identical to the ones on Marcella's chest. 

"Yes, milady," he says, voice flat and emotionless.

… Dante tries to catch a look at the dark liquid out the corner of his eye, but is not really willing to turn to look at it.

It appears to be blood, although with such a brief glance he can't be certain.

"Very good, my Ace," Marcella says.

"You have my permission to retire for the evening."

The Ace of Hearts rises and bows, seeming almost like an automaton in the precision of his movements. Not a single twitch is wasted. 

He turns on his heel and stalks from the room, still not sparing so much as a glance for Dante or anyone else.

The crowd parts before him again. 

Oh good he can take this as an excuse to look back respectfully or something and – blood – he would like to confirm that please –?

That does indeed appear to be blood. There's a trail of similar droplets marking the path he took; servants scurry to mop it up. 

"Now," says the queen, turning back to Dante.

"Where were we?"

He turns back to her – "Uh, I think democracy?"

"Democracy," she repeats, rolling the word around in her mouth as though she is tasting wine. 

"Rule by the people. It is a dangerous thing, to give too much power to those unfit to wield it." 

He pauses, trying to ascertain if she's likely to kill him if he mentions that monarchs can be bad.

She notices the pause. One does not successfully take control of a country and rule it for decades without in the process gaining at least some ability to read people. 

"Is there something you wish to say, Dante?" she asks. 

"You may speak freely; I do not punish my servants for telling me what I do not wish to hear, and it would be still less wise to punish a guest for the same."

"I… agree, with you, that it's dangerous to give power to people who won't use it responsibly – but we had a few people in power, prior to the rebellion thing, who did not use it responsibly."

She presses her lips together, and does not respond immediately. 

"It is true," she concedes after a moment, "that monarchs can not always be trusted with power. I myself was forced to take the reins from a king who had dreadfully mismanaged his people. But while there is a chance that a sole ruler may be either good or bad, there is no such variance in the tyranny of the majority.

"It is simply a fact of the world," the Queen concludes, "that most people are not born with the capacity to rule a country."

… He nods.

"Therefore," she continues, as though it is the only logical extension of her statement, "any democratic system seems doomed to be mediocre at best, and anarchic at worst. And the worst is that it would not be so easy to depose as a monarch, for who would be so foolish as to remove himself from power?" 

"… I think the failure mode of a monarch can be worse, if everyone feels forced to obey them."

"You may have a point," she says.

"But of course, you have an advantage in that your country has experienced both systems, whereas Wonderland has always been a monarchy." 

They've been talking for a while now, and Dante might be starting to get hungry. The Queen, of course, shows no signs of such frailties. 

It was in fact just near the end of school when Dante found the rabbit, so he is indeed getting hungry by this point.

"I don't necessarily think all monarchies are bad?" he tries.

"I should hope not," says the Queen, frowning just a little - not enough, of course, to cause wrinkles in her flawless skin. 

"And it seems plain to me, although perhaps the practice differs from the theory, that all democracies would be, if not actively malicious, then...poorly directed."

A rather portly gentleman, who has been quietly observing their conversation for some time, now approaches the foot of the throne, bowing as low as his gut will allow. 

When given permission to speak, he reminds Marcella - amidst a hail of flattery - that perhaps it mightn't be time for dinner.

"Of course, my dear Lord Grosvenor," she replies in a tone which suggests that she is indulging a child. 

"We cannot have you wasting away, after all."

Those nearby chuckle on cue.

He tries for a smile. (He wonders what they eat here. It's fortunate he's not a super picky eater, he thinks.)

Marcella claps her hands, summoning the Ace of Spades, a small dark-haired girl in an oversized tabard, and sends her to inform the kitchen staff.

Rising from her throne, the Queen extends a hand to Dante. 

"You may accompany me to dinner," she says, with the air of granting him a special favour.

Around the hall, the court are pairing up, gentlemen offering their arms to ladies. 

He stands – trying not to look too flustered or clumsy doing so – and offers her his arm.

(– Fuck he just remembered.)

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

She takes his arm and guides him to lead the court through into an equally impressive dining room, so smoothly that it appears to observers as though she is doing nothing of the sort. 

The Queen sits at the head of the long table, with Dante on her immediate left. The seat at the opposite end remains empty, as does the one on Marcella's right. Everyone else arranges themselves down either side of the table, not sitting until Marcella does. 

… Dante tries to smile and look relaxed, but does not speak in case there is protocol about which he is not aware.