Keltham, having left his escort behind a few steps ago, steps into the tiny park and gives an approving nod; like much of the Imperial Palace, this place seems acceptably pretty for a civilized society.
The Queen of Cheliax... is superstimulus-level hot the same way as Contessa Lrilatha, but much more dangerously so on account of looking human. Keltham is glad that he knows that magical beauty treatments exist (is that why the plot point of Carissa getting one?) because otherwise his ero-route trope alarms would be blaring even louder. It makes perfect sense that the Queen of Cheliax is absurdly hot, of course she is, she'd be able to afford it in a society with the economicmagic for that, it's not at all inevitably the case that she's going to try to steal Carissa, or that one way or another the two of them will end up fucking no matter how contrived the reason, no, not at all.
She also looks tired. Exhausted, even.
"Sorry about this," Keltham says apologetically, as he comes over to sit in the chair left next to the Queen's own chair, which is exactly as fancy as hers. "I realize you're probably pretty busy. Exhausted even."