She supposes there's a sense to it--and it's not as if she hasn't held a populace under her thumb, relying on their interests elsewhere, on misdirection. But it chafes now that she's under the thumb, not the one pressing down.

She lets his remark about beauty go; it seems easy enough to do so, he doesn't seem to be anticipating a response. And honestly, it's easier than getting into why she finds beauty useless, especially in a place where so many have come to lose themselves in that idea.

"I'm the Rani," she offers, finally, one concession to the rules of interaction.