She surveys the crowd. What does she have that she could trade for a ticket. She could of course claim to be the hero and that would get her to the local authorities, but she can't just demand everything she wants with nothing to offer in return. She can trade against her future victory, but that's so far off it might as well not exist. She could... ask for a loan...??? 

Fuck that noise, she's a Queen. Act like it. 

She puts on her best noble mien and steps up towards the guards. "Guards!" she calls. "Have any of you seen my entourage?"

The guards stiffen into more alert postures. The closest looks at the next closest and whispers something to her. The other glares at him and answers, "No, ma'am, I don't believe so! We haven't received any entourages today as far as I know. I'm terribly sorry if something has gone wrong - I can go ask the captain if you were expected...?"

"If I was expected here it'll be a miracle. I would like to see your commander in person in order to arrange my further travel. Acceptable?"

She doesn't need this to hold for long; she just needs to get to the Commander's office. Then she can claim her real title.

"Of course. I'll send a message right away! Ah- Would you like to step in the guardhouse while you wait? We're simple guards here but can at least provide a place to sit."

"Thank you, I've been walking for some time and the shade will be appreciated. What's your name, ma'am?" Remember the little people and they'll remember you.

"Of course. Veloa Faroe deMont, ma'am. Right this way."

She pulls out a sending stone as she starts walking. "Who should I tell the Captain he is meeting with?"

"Liath, of the Foot of the Red Throne," she says, using one of the most minor of her many, many titles. "I believe it is equivalent to a duchess here."

Veloa Faroe deMont speaks into the rock pulled from her pocket and listens to the response. Evidently it's something like a magic phone.

The guardhouse's resting area is very... Plain, but after she shoos everyone else out and leaves herself, still talking to the sending stone, it is at least quiet and cool. Veloa fetches her a glass of ice water and apologizes for having nothing worthy for her to eat.

Veloa comes back a few minutes later. "The Captain is currently in the city and can see you soon, would you prefer an escort to his office or to rest and meet him here?"

She drinks some water. "I would prefer a meeting in a private, secure location, so an escort to his office is more appropriate."

"Of course. I'll- There will be a carriage shortly."

There is a carriage shortly. It's very comfortable and smooth, magic is probably involved.

She's escorted up to the top floor of a castle-like building that shares more in common with a fortress than a palace by guards in shinier armor. These ones seem much less impressed and overawed by her noble mien, but are still respectful.

She saves every glance of this alien polity for reference. When she disembarks, she makes her own pace, neither hurried nor sedate but rather purposeful. Her heels clack on the castle stone.

Observations of note:

There are slaves; They wear special collars and nobody acts as if they could disobey or run away.

Men and women seem to be equals, here, unlike so many societies in the multiverse.

There are a lot of different species here. Like, a lot. Most people are human, but there must be at least a dozen different kinds of not-quite-human, and a few weirder sorts - there was a talking horse they passed, and a bird the size of a Great Dane wearing clothes and running a shop.

Going by fashion and actions, there are four rough social classes (aside from slaves) - poor laborers, middle class craftsmen, rich and powerful people, and mercenaries/guards(?)

Dungeons are places that the mercenaries/guards(?) visit frequently for some reason(???)

The local ruler is a Governor, appointed by one King Aldonesphiel XVI, according to a plaque in the lobby.

"Captain Rousseau will see you now," the fancy-armored guards tell her as they reach a fancy oak door and open it for her.

Captain Rousseau is a large man with extremely defined muscles, a chiseled jaw, and slightly greying hair, wearing a fancier version of that green uniform over masterwork chainmail. His office is finely decorated; There is a tray of fancy confections and a tea set on his meeting table.

"Liath, of the Foot of the Red Throne. Welcome to Franzerl, I am Captain Rousseau. As far as I know, we have no relationship with anything called the Red Throne, and in fact my scholars have no knowledge of it either, so I'm sure you can imagine the possibilities I must consider here."

Liath waits until the door closes before speaking selectively for Captain Rosseau only. 

"I understand, Captain. My tale is an unlikely one, more likely spoken by a charlatan than the genuine article. Nonetheless, I must regretfully inform you that I am in fact the Summoned Hero. The title is genuine: it simply does not originate from this world."

He's a pretty cool character, but that unsettles him.

"...More likely spoken by a charlatan than the genuine article, indeed. Would you like a snack while I think for a moment?"

"I would appreciate a tea service, if only so I can put my table manners on display for you." Her education is her proof she's of noble blood; ettiquette can be faked but it's a card she'll play.

He nods and presses a button on the underside of his desk, then goes to sit at the table. He pulls out her chair for her before settling heavily into his own and, deliberately, to try to put her off balance, putting his elbows on the table and resting his chin on his hands in a thinking pose.

A demurely dressed maid appears in mere moments from a low profile servant's door and serves tea. It's good tea, some unfamiliar variety of black tea.

She is unshaken. She lesiurely prepares tea with a teaspoon of sugar and a dash of cream, then drinks from the fine china cup. Her hands do not tremble. 

A calculating eye meets the Captain's gaze over the rim of the teacup.

The table is quiet as they stare at each other.

Captain Rousseau is imperfect at hiding his actions. He's subvocalizing, and from his microexpressions, listening to someone talking back and not liking what he's hearing.

She drops her spoon into her teacup. 

"Captain," she says. "I would prefer for you to include me in the conversation you are having."

"A reasonable preference. I would prefer not to have to deal with a possible Summoned Hero."

"A reasonable preference. I simply want directions to the nearest city and enough support to get me there. I have no intent to be persistently your problem."

"You can't not be my problem anymore. Wherever you end up, you were here first."

"That's fair, and I apologize inasmuch as I was responsible for that."

"I don't suppose you'd be willing to agree to a Geas of some sort."

"To speak truth? Yes. For anything else, no."