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huntereambrose · 1 year

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The Vixen Queen (1.2)

CW/TW: depiction of physical abuse & references to r*pe, nudity, and sexual innuendo. 18+ ONLY.

Family meals. Aurora hated every one of them since her mother’s death. Elek and her father had become imbalanced in her absence, no longer having a stronger mind to anchor their whims and fancies. They had become the worst possible versions of themselves, attesting to the importance of Jadar women being true to their roots. The Lesser Hall was better termed The Lecture Hall now, as family meals had become an opportunity for her father to berate her in between long winded deliberations about the world, while Elek antagonized and belittled everyone, but her most especially. Aurora would rather have been the last woman in Teleria than spend another second at that table. Family meals were mandatory, though, according to her father. She had found out the hard way that not abiding by his recent fixations was a surefire way to find herself on the receiving end of something far worse.

Only two things had given her the endurance to tolerate them. The first came to her nearly a year ago, one cold, rainy, lonely winter night as she lay curled in her bed, reeling from another day’s misery. Her eyes were nearly bloodshot from the tears as she pleaded with The Weavers for her mother’s return, should they feel so merciful. Or else, for someone to save her from the nightmare her life had become. Someone. Anyone. A voice had comforted her that night, a break in her psyche that had stuck with her ever since. It got her out of her rut and inspired acts of defiance, quests for independence, and a strange balance of dejection and hope — or rather, idealism, daydreams. It spoke to her in moments she needed it most, like a friend at her side, unseen.

The other was the arrival of the man they called The Rogue Warlock, Ganzig Enebish, who had come to Minnehil Palace less than a month ago. Though formally associated with The Order, he was a different type of mage than The Hintria was used to. With a distaste for politics and the spirit of a maverick, honesty and honor had a much easier path to his heart. Aurora couldn’t shake either the feeling that they were kindred souls, bonded by their shared misery and the cold, calloused hands of fate.

Elek wore a smug look as she entered. He was resting back in his seat, arm hanging over the side. He was wearing his crown, as he usually did around the palace, to remind everyone that he was the heir. The twisting silver appeared darker in the dim morning light, more like cold, harsh iron — all three adjectives a perfect description of the man it adorned. A mess of contradictions, he was otherwise immaculate, his chestnut hair neatly tucked behind his ears, beard clean shaven. “About fucking time,” he poked. “I’m already finished.”

“Don’t worry, brother, I’m sure father will excuse you so you can get to the pleasure houses early.”

The inner voice cackled, causing her to giggle and smirk. Elek made no reply, only a high pitched, conceited chuckle. A single finger came up to poke into his temple, elbow resting on the arm of the chair. Tremors spread under Aurora’s skin as he leered.

“Easy, Aurora,” her father growled, grouchy and irritated that his children were bickering again. Aurora grunted and sat at her chair next to the Prince, far too close for comfort. But, as she had learned the hard way, it was her seat. The one immediately to her father’s right was still empty, likely to never be filled again until Elek sat on the throne and erased the last vestiges of their mother that her father valiantly kept alive. She shot the warlock a brief look. He was otherwise silent, lost in his breakfast and paying zero attention to their squabble. Sensing Aurora’s distressed gaze, his bright amber eyes glanced up from the food and steeled her.

“You missed a riveting conversation,” her father continued, attempting to change the mood. His face perked up, as if it would help.

“Oh, what a shame,” she sighed, sarcastically. “We never have those around here.”

All three men stared at her with different visages, conveying their reaction to her startling acrimony. Her father and brother were used to it, hypocritically sour in their own right. They were always annoyed when she joined in, though. It was never the right time, or ever the right thing, viewpoint, or whatever. She was always wrongly expressing the same emotions they felt and expressed everyday, never a proper thought in her mind. Everyone got catharsis but her. Everyone’s opinions mattered but hers. Meat cakes and goulya gone, Ganzig now held an awkward energy, watching as if entertained as the scolding unfolded. Entertained, and slightly troubled.

“Don’t start this today, Aurora,” her father groaned.

Aurora blinked her surprise, mocking his irritation with her tone and a crass look. “Start what?”

“You know what,” he insisted, bringing the palm of his hand to his face before slapping it back to his knee. “You’ll learn to like Vasilica.”

Vasilica. Mitra, bless his heart. He was practically a clone of Elek — an arrogant, entitled prick, like so many princes and noble heirs, but remarkably handsome, at least. Aurora was blessed according to the others, having been engaged to the man since they were infants. A marriage born of proximity, and a desire to keep Jadar bloodlines pure, the various subsets of the ancient race intertwined as one.

You’ll learn to like him. She had heard that many times, even from the man’s own damned mother. If you have to say that, then you already know there’s something seriously wrong with him. I won’t learn to like him. I’ll just learn to accept what he is, just like all of you have.

That silent, unseen friend rushed to her aid. Aurora’s elbow came to the table with a clunk. Her arm crooked and angled towards her face as she rubbed the pads of her thumb and pointer finger together. She eyed her father with contempt. “And what if I don’t?”

The king closed his eyes and sighed. “You have to. That’s the way this works. And I won’t have your ungrateful, spiteful attitude during their visit. Do you understand?”

Elek turned to her and chuckled, his vain grin reminiscent of his old buddy, Vasilica. Aurora glared back, then directed it back at her father.

“He’ll have to learn to like me for who I am.” He will. Otherwise that will be one damned, unhappy marriage. Or, he might end up…accidentally dead.

“No, you will have to learn to behave yourself,” her father barked back, leaning forward in his seat. “It’s one thing to embarrass me in front of the warlock, but it’s another to do it in front of my peers. You will be on your best behavior, and you will dress accordingly. Would it kill you to have some modesty?”

Aurora laughed. Her head turned down to observe the dress she had chosen for the morning, her hands combing over it to find the flaw her father observed. The dress made her breasts look amazing, perfectly supported while still hanging free. Lavender was a great color on her too. It made her skin gleam, but not startlingly so.

Aside from the obvious lack of flaws, his question simply didn’t make sense. Modesty was rarely enforced in The Hintria as it was in the other Jadar kingdoms. The loose, open attitudes of The Bard’s College seeped into Minnehil’s streets for thousands of years. Followers of The Creed abounded, but that didn’t exclude them from frequenting college orgies or pleasure houses, consuming intoxicants, or taking secret lovers. Even if it was an opinion held in secret, Hintrian men cared not for whether a woman was promiscuous. Some would contend that they secretly liked it. But Weavers forbid she wear nothing under her dress. How scandalous. She was a princess, after all, the daughter of a King close to the infinite’s heart, pledged to marry a man who, like her brother, fucked a whore a day.

She shrugged. “I thought Vasilica would like a better glimpse of his property.” Elek rolled his eyes, shaking his head.

Her father was less than amused. “Is this really all a joke to you?”

“Of course not, Father. Not at all.”

“I should hope not,” he sneered, lips quivering in anger and mourning. “Your mother would be appalled.”

Don’t bring her into this, you sick fuck. She’d be appalled that you’re using her to manipulate me into submission. I’m grieving, too, and you use it against me.

Aurora grimaced, gritting her teeth. Don’t bring her into this, you sick fuck. She’d be appalled that you’re using her to manipulate me into submission again. I’m grieving, too, and you use it against me. She hated her father for the way he capitalized on her death, claiming to be heavily bereaved while raping chambermaids and treating her so harshly. What will it take for you to see we’re suffering, too? What will it take for you to see that you grieve her spirit far more than her departed spirit grieves yours?

“At me?” Her face tightened with anger. “Or you?”

Her father’s eyes went wide. I know, right? The audacity of a woman to talk back to you — Rikard, King of The Old Kingdom.

“At me?” He scoffed, multiple times. The question hit him deep, regardless of what it awakened. Likely more manipulation. “I was married to her for twenty years, Aurora. I know her better than you could ever hope to. I miss her more than you could possibly know.”

Aurora glanced at Ester, who stood just off to the side, hands awkwardly clasped in front of her crotch as they were earlier. Do you, now?

If I were Queen…

When you are Queen…

A powerful Queen.

A strong Queen.

“…and she would have your backside over the way you’ve been acting. This stops now, or you can enjoy being locked in your room.”

Aurora had no response. Anything she could have countered with would not have ended well for her, likely ending in a beating…or worse. Being locked in her room sounded nice, but she knew all forms of entertainment would be confiscated so she could think of what she had done — even her journal, the key with it. She had been lucky to get it back the last time, after the things her father found inside. It was her mother, posthumously, that protected it from being thrown out or destroyed. Or rather, her memory, which forbid even her heartless father from dispensing with things associated with her.

Satisfied, Rikard relaxed. He ignored Aurora’s pouting and addressed the warlock now.

“My apologies for my daughter, Ganzig. It’s been a tough year, as you know.”

The large, brooding man waved a hand to dismiss the apology. “No apology necessary, Your Majesty. A mother’s bond with her children is a powerful thing, not easily parted with.”

His eyes darted to her, holding her in surprising solidarity. He seemed affected by his own observation, as if the concept of losing such a bond was familiar, all too familiar. Radical candor was found in that short sentence, her father’s desire to be validated completely ignored. It was perhaps her favorite trait about the warlock. Many Jadar, nobles, and royalty considered themselves as a special class, worthy of special praise and privileges. But he regarded them as no different than any other Telerian people, her father, as nothing more than another in a long line of mortal kings. Over a thousand years old, he carried none of the usual prejudices about himself. Thus, he brought refreshing honesty, caring little for anyone’s reactions, a jaded, exhausted strength unmatched by the rest of the court. Most notably, he seemed to hold respect for her, not as a princess, but as a human being — as a woman. Or is it pity?

No. Respect.

Ganzig held her gaze for a moment, as if communicating his understanding. A happy, relieved smile pawed from behind her lips. They were rare emotions in her, clamoring for a moment in the sun.

The warlock continued, turning back to Rickard and leaving Aurora somewhere between vainglory and swooning. Large and handsome, with skin the color of tarnished copper, he was a rarity even in Minnehil. She found herself drawn to him more after the look they had just shared.

“I’m sure the princess understands how important this day is, and will put on her best facade. For you.” He turned back to her and nodded. She made no gesture of recognition.

The king sighed again, pushing back his plate and grabbing his cup of tea. He took a sip. “Let’s hope so. Young and disaffected., indeed.” He chuckled, and eyed Aurora once more. “An apt observance, warlock. All too relevant.”

Ganzig shared Aurora’s distaste for the day’s proceedings, but not for the same reasons. Possessing all the rowdiness of The Hintrians and infinitely more tact, The Trisekians were perhaps the worst of The Jadar. Karaliska Palace was a venerable den of vipers, with Queen Roxanne as the most venomous of the bunch. Always with an ulterior motive, and strength in their numbers, The Trisekians moved as if the gods couldn’t touch them. Their secrets were carefully hidden behind locked doors, carried in hushed voices and moves in the shadows. While on the surface, they were idyllic and amicable, lacking all congruence.

Vasilica was no better, and as Ganzig had found out, often at the center of those secrets. He had the rampant, nearly omnisexual libido of Elek, with an even darker, angrier edge. Many years ago, in the dark of night, House Baciu had discovered an egregious defect in the boy: he was a split-soul. Under the light of the full moons, or from the fires of his anger, he shifted from man to bear, often rampaging or sulking until his form changed back. A well-guarded body count was attached to his name, both sexually and confirmed kills. No one outside The Order and House Baciu knew of it, and presumably The Sanna’s, who seemed to know every secret of note ever kept in Teleria. Rikard, and most importantly, Aurora, were none the wiser.

The welcoming party waited for their procession in The Lower Courtyard. Rikard was in the middle, wrapped in his white and navy tailcoat, the sigil of The Old Kingdom upon his head as the twisting, silver crown of The Old Kingdom gave the appearance of ram’s horns. His children flanked him. Elek, in a matching tailcoat, and smaller crown. Aurora’s new dress still hugged her figure tightly, made of navy blue lace and silk, embellished with sequins on the chest that glittered in the sunlight. Her crown was simpler, silver and sparkling with diamonds. No horns, but the countenance it granted her was darker than that of the men, encouraged by the navy blue cape that was wrapped around her shoulders, flowing back behind her a pace or two. She stood with stoic indifference, though her eyes and aura still said otherwise, waiting for her betrothed’s most anticipated arrival.

Benci, Rikard’s Lord Hand, stood next to Ganzig, just behind the trio. The short, gruff man was in a simple blue doublet with white tracings up the lapels, the horns of the hand pinned over his heart. Ganzig looked down at his simple, burgundy and white-colored cloth armor and shrugged, having long given up on trying to impress monarchs like Rikard and Roxanne. Riches and power weren’t compelling to him anymore, having long lost their luster after seeing them ebb and flow out of coffers like water for a thousand years.

The King’s Knights surrounded them, fanned out through the courtyard. The butt of their lances were planted firmly upon the stone, steel shields sparkling under the sun as it neared high noon. An additional line was added to the forces near the gatehouse behind them, all of them wielding crossbows.

The carriages came across the drawbridge and under the gate, turning so as to pull through the courtyard at an angle, leaving space for the others to pour in. Navy blue like Aurora’s dress, each one was adorned with gilded gold, with twin eagles touching wingtips at the very top.

One by one, the red spoked wheels slowed and came to a stop. Attendants hopped down from the rear and buckboards, lining up in front of the doors and gripping the handles. Taking their cues in silent agreement, they opened the doors in unison.

An entourage of Trisekian royalty and nobles stepped out, led by Queen Roxanne. The matronly woman was disturbingly resplendent, draped in a red velvet dress which had reflective, artfully inlaid, gold metal plates on her abdomen, neckline and shoulders, and long, drooping sleeves. A golden crown sat atop her wispy, whitening hair, with a large, square cut garnet in the center, flanked by blue sapphires that descended in size as they went out. Loving to flaunt their wealth, she wore two bracelets on each hand, a ring on her left hand, and a necklace. All of them gold, and all of them containing one or both of the two gemstones.

Like Rikard, her children flanked her: The Princes, Vasilica and Cristian in matching red and blue doublets, small coronets of gold and sapphire upon their heads; and the eldest princess, Sorina, graceful and beautiful in a flowing, red gown, with a tiara of gold and a single garnet center stone.

On the outer flanks approached Luca Dmitry, notable proprietor of copper and iron handicrafts among the elite, and Grigore Cane, the one who provided the colorful dyes utilized in every one of these startlingly pompous outfits. Behind them trailed Tatiana, Roxanne’s chief court mage.

They all walked forward with a foreboding presence as contingents of Brigada rounded out the flanks. Rikard and his children walked forward to greet them. The king smiled and bowed courteously. The Trisekian princes and merchants returned the gesture. Roxanne and Sorina finished off the sequence with a curtsy.

Ganzig watched Vasilica’s eyes wander over Aurora — quite immodestly, as Rikard would surely comment. His gaze was one that either felt inhuman or enrapturing, due to the color and design of his eyes: a gold ring around the pupils, the rest of it ocean blue with flecks of white. Aurora obviously experienced the former whenever he looked at her. The princess stared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge him or his objectification of her. Her composure and elegance was a shocking contrast to her usual demeanor. On her best behavior, and dressed to impress, she appeared almost regal and queen-like in her own right.

An image flashed before him, that of Aurora, wrapped in horrible, gut-wrenching power, dark and disturbing but undeniably, stunningly beautiful. She sat upon The Stone Seat, the throne room void of all light except for torches. A crown of gold and rubies was upon her head to match the red and black of her sexy, high slit dress. The image rushed to her face. Those icy blue eyes sparkled with foxy, scheming shrewdness, her mind and soul no longer her own. She flashed a sinister grin, and then disappeared. She was back at Rikard’s side, staring mindlessly out the main gates as she avoided Vasilica’s still wandering eyes.

“Roxanne,” Rikard said warmly. He clasped his hands and then hugged the Trisekian queen, exchanging cheek kisses. “So good to see you.

“Likewise, Rikard,” Roxanne beamed, glancing at Elek and Aurora as they stood by, prim and proper. “And oh, your children look so lovely. That Aurora really is quite a woman.” Her eyebrows pumped, stating the obvious. Aurora was a beautiful young woman, but maligned and mistreated, valued for her looks and womb, and nothing else. Roxanne seemed to hold a begrudging respect for her, though, evident in the words she offered in observation. “She reminds me so much of Imre. Vasilica is a lucky man.”

From his vantage point off to the side, Ganzig could see tears welling up in the king’s eyes as he turned and beheld his daughter. He nodded in agreement, slowly. “Indeed he is.”

Something about the expression had Ganzig’s skin crawling, though. Rikard wasn’t proud of Aurora in any sense. Nor were her similarities to Imre a new revelation for him. No, Rikard literally sees Imre when he looks at her, and yet, she is not his wife. His wife is gone. Aurora is a walking bittersweet memory, a source of pain, a clinging to the past that he will not let go of.

There was more under the surface that Ganzig withheld from probing. They were doors he wasn’t sure he wanted to open. He had seen that face on many men before, and what lay carefully buried beneath wasn’t something he enjoyed confronting.

Rikard turned then, quickly changing moods as he gestured towards the doors to The Keep. “Please, after you,” he offered to the group, stepping to the side to make a path. “We’ll make sure you’re settled in. But first, we feast.”

“Oh, you Hintrians and your indulgences,” Roxanne laughed. She pushed a hand towards Rikard as if to half-heartedly deny his invitation. “And always tempting outsiders to partake.”

“Not that we’re complaining,” Vasilica interjected with a smile of his own. His eyes darted once more to Aurora, who maintained her indifference.

“Ha ha!” Roxanne exclaimed, throwing her hands to the side. “Not at all. It’s so invigorating to just let go sometimes. Oh…how I’ve missed this place.”

Rikard’s grin grew. “Well, let go we shall. There’s wine and food in plenty!” he exclaimed to the group. “Please, you know where to go.”

With a nod and words of gratitude, the entourage nudged forward, along the basalt cobbles and towards The Keep. Rikard walked at Roxanne’s side as they continued their discussion. The children flared out around them, the merchants on the fringes. Ganzig was behind them, folding in between The Brigada and The King’s Knights as they merged into a single force. Tatiana did the same, boasting a disarming smile as she came to his side.

“Ganzig.”

“Good to see you, Tatiana.”

“As Rikard would say: indeed.” They shared a playful laugh at the king’s classic idiosyncrasy. Her eyelashes batted, hands clasped behind her back just like Ganzig’s. “How is he?”

Ganzig shrugged. “As good as a man can be after what happened. He’s thrown himself into his kingly duties, as he calls it. That, and every chambermaid he can get his hands on.”

“Oh…” Tatiana tsked. “Got a large crop of royal bastards on the way?”

“Not with the obscene amount of adhoura tea he imported,” Ganzig answered. “The Sanna’s made quite a pretty penny helping broker that deal.”

“I’m sure they profit quite well off horny royals. To be honest, I’m surprised he hasn’t had The Duchessa put together a special harem for him yet.”

“He’s trying his best to keep it secret. You know, a respectable amount of time. For the children.”

“Oh yes, the children. Such a ray of sunlight in his darkest age.”

Ganzig chuckled, thankful that he finally had someone to share court gossip with. Especially one that was equally as entertained by it as he was. The group parted in front of them, The Trisekians off to the right, The Hintrians to the left. He turned to the woman and offered raised eyebrows to suggest her sarcasm was in good taste.

“Yeah. We’ll discuss that later.”

“Deal.” The woman pursed her lips into a smirk, eyeing him from across the table as they continued in single file towards their seats.

Ganzig took a deep breath, finally letting go of the tension he had been carrying in his shoulders, preparing for the next strain which was sure to come from the dinner conversations. They weren’t nearly as bad as he’d anticipated, though, mostly catching up from the previous year. Rikard shared fond stories of his late Queen Imre, which became tales told in tandem with Benci of his latest hunts and his newfound love of rare and exotic trophies that he procured via The Two-Cities’ Ranger’s Guild — evidently inspired by Ganzig’s own collection. Roxanne, ever the fan of treasures, was enraptured. She had given into Rikard’s coping, however, wittingly or inadvertently. The king had been visibly distraught as he spoke of Imre, with tears periodically dabbed away by his napkin, his voice strained and raspy. Treasures were happier. Treasures were distracting. Treasures were better, much better.

The merchants chimed in from their place just beyond the royal lines, shouting their desire to see the king’s collection later that night, commenting on the pieces he shared descriptions of as if there could be no greater prizes. Ganzig involved himself only as Rikard requested it, usually to provide his own stories related to the land they had been sourced from, the people inhabiting it, or a historical event it reminded him of that Ganzig had experienced firsthand. It was almost as if the king considered Ganzig himself to be a trophy. Outside of his own show and tell, he did the same as Tatiana: observing, listening, and eating.

Elek had traded seats with Cristian, at Vasilica’s request, giving them the opportunity to engage in their own conversation as the younger prince sat quietly poking at his food like both of the princesses that sat to either side of him. None of them contributed to the overall discussion in any way, nor were they involved.

As the meal wound down, conversation shifted at Roxanne’s direction.

“Rikard, what do you think of these developments in the central continents? The skirmishes in The Shedare, the Two-Cities chancellor being deposed by Lady Sanna, The Slavi Monarka reorganizing The Soldaty, armed and trained by The Nordur, of all people. There seems to be a lot of tension in the air, if you ask me.”

“Indeed…” the king zoned out, nodding as he contemplated the events of the last year. His bottom row of teeth tugged at his top lip. Time had begun to speed up for the man. For all of them. An endless, revolving slew of collisions and frictions was becoming the way of the world — or so Ganzig assumed the narrative inside Rikard’s head was going.

“Curious developments, indeed. I wonder if The Imperium is aware of the enmity brewing against them,” the king continued.

“Word is, they have a new Priestess. A prodigy of sorts. She may very well take the helm before too long, and she’s no older than Aurora.”

“Are you frightened by that, Your Majesty?” Ganzig interrupted. The queen’s head snapped in his direction. He saw a hint of the venom behind her stern, gray eyes. Twitches tugged at her cheeks and lips. Across the way, Tatiana watched in anticipation.

“Why, yes, warlock, I am,” Roxanne admitted coldly. Her voice changed to monotone. “I have nothing but the highest respect for The Vrilic Order. Though you are new to their ranks, you are familiar with their history and their contributions to Telerian culture, nonetheless. What The Imperium represents…is an antithesis to their work. It’s a strain no one wants, especially as we Jadar naturally hold quite close to The Nordur, politically speaking. You can imagine what a delicate balancing act that is.”

Ganzig considered her words, admitting to himself that there was some truth in them. The Imperium and The Order held themselves at odds with each other by default, a centuries-long schism stemming from murky accusations and a resentment that Ganzig had struggled to understand. The Jadar had been in a bind ever since, forced to be diplomatic with their powerful neighbors, all while being the most enthusiastic patrons of the very magical guild they hated. And, more recently, the not-so-secret supplier of mercenaries, all of whom were actively serving Brigadas.

“Of course,” Rikard assuaged her, resting a reassuring hand on hers to lighten her mood. “But what of this Priestess? You think she is a danger?”

Roxanne searched her thoughts, eyes reaching for the ceiling as she sighed. “They say she possesses power never before seen.”

“The Nordur are harmless unless provoked,” Luca piped up from down the table, sipping from a cup his smithies made.

“Yes, but when provoked, they torch everything in their path,” Benci muttered. “They are best kept in a state of content. I doubt this Priestess will amount to much outside their borders. The Nordur rarely go on the offensive with anything that isn’t an economic enterprise. As long as Two-Cities and the Nihen can keep their composure, there’s no need to worry about war.”

“I agree with The Lord Hand,” Vasilica joined in, he and Elek having ended their conversation in lieu of this far more titillating one. “The Nordur are best kept away from the battlefield. Let them do what they want on Hemland in the meantime if it keeps them happy.”

“And their vassals?” Roxanne countered.

“You mean Kmet? Or Brette? Or, perhaps you mean The Jinnan. No offense, Your Grace, but The Imperium’s vassals are not worth the paranoia,” Benci’s rhetoric silenced her for a time. The Nordur were always on everyone’s minds, but The Lord Hand was correct in suggesting that, with the exception of Brette, most of their vassals were less than influential. Roxanne knew it, too. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she’s looking for a fight with them. Oh, Your Grace, I hope you play your cards right on that one.

“We just want to know, Rikard, that in all of this, The Jadar remain united,” Roxanne said after the silence had gone on long enough.

“Of course, Roxanne,” Rikard assured her earnestly. “When could we ever be otherwise? How?”

“Exactly,” the queen agreed, satisfied. “We must look to The Four Brothers, The Saints, into Eyn Sof itself, for guidance and wisdom no matter what the world turns over. But oh, don’t mind me, I’m just nervous. That’s all. Call it getting older, but the world seems to be changing so rapidly these days.”

Rikard smiled, relieved. “Indeed, we were just discussing The Dalai this morning.”

“Oh, don’t even get me started on those blasphemers,” Roxanne sneered, shaking her head emphatically. “I can’t believe they have the gall to appropriate a faith that’s not even native to their own people.”

“The Creed knows no racial or political bounds, Your Highness,” Ganzig mocked, knowing Roxanne would take it as a serious, devout correction. What’s wrong, Your Grace? So unlike you to forget the faith’s tenants.

“Oh, I know, but the way they twist it to favor themselves above the rest of us. Typical Dunevastians. It’s a nasty cult if you ask me.”

“Speaking of cults, Silicia may very well be under the influence of one right now,” Luca interjected. The whole table turned to look at him. Even the princesses and Cristian were paying attention now. Ganzig glanced at Tatiana, jumping out of his body for a second as the sorceress raised her eyebrows suggestively.

Rikard attentively cocked his head as he considered the merchant. “You believe The Sanna’s to be a cult, too?”

“The Silken Dragons does have a strange way about it. The Talisman, too. Many are saying it, Luca continued, smoothing out the stubble around his mouth and cheeks before gesturing fluidly with the same hand.

“Yes. Indeed,” Rikard reflected. “I have heard that.”

Queen Roxanne scoffed so loudly half the table turned to look at her. She took back control of the discussion immediately. “And yet, everyone still readily gives that woman every last penny they have. Brothels and gambling houses always have a strange way about them. Fornication is poison for the soul, after all. A sixfold sin. I suppose it does make them a cult. A cult of sin.”

“Indeed. Indeed…” Rikard trailed off, notably distracted.

“Who cares if they’re a cult?” Elek cut in. “The Talisman is fun, and at The Silken Dragons, you can do almost anything you like. With anyone.”

The men looked about the table awkwardly. Luca licked his rose colored lips, sent fingers through his dark, oiled hair. Elek and Vasilica chuckled to each other as Aurora rolled her eyes in disgust.

Roxanne let out a revolting groan. “Oh, go on with it, already. We’re done eating and I know you’re all dying to run off to their wide open doors and legs.” She turned to Aurora, waiting patiently along with the rest of the group until the princess made eye contact to address her to speak. Ganzig noticed Rikard staring at her as well, having foregone his earlier glances. There was a sense of longing about his demeanor, disturbingly so.

“Boys will be boys, my dear,” the queen advised her. “You have to let them have their fun every once in a while or they’ll go crazy.”

Aurora returned the comment with an awkward smile. Tatiana and Ganzig locked wide eyes from across the table. Rikard dabbed his eyes once more and stood, sniffling.

“Well, I for one am retiring to my chamber,” The king announced. “It’s been a long day, bringing up lots of…bittersweet memories. Enjoy your night however you please. I’ll see you in the morning for breakfast.”

Rikard departed abruptly, prompting the rest of the table to stand. Chairs scrambled back, the creaking and rubbing of wooden legs on the stone floor. Aurora left immediately, servant and knights in tow. Ganzig saw Vasilica watching her, turning to Elek and making a comment. He received some curious reassurance — a smile, a wink, and the back of Elek’s hand tapping several times against his chest. The two walked off slowly, with Elek looking behind to make sure no one was following.

Aurora hurried towards her chambers, ready to have some peace and quiet. The sounds of the guests and other Palace activities had faded into the background as she wound her way through the northern towers, escorted by her two personal knights, and a servant who carried the tail of her cape. All were silent just as she was. Her feet made no sound upon the floor unlike the knight’s, whose boots stamped softly on the ground, dissipating rapidly and blending into the next beat, but the silk of her dress made soft whooshing noises with each step — the only audible sign of her presence in the hall.

They rounded a corner to mount the steps to the next floor, which were up ahead just a few paces, when suddenly, Vasilica appeared. He walked out seemingly from the wall, hands clasped behind his back and an annoying smirk on his face. Long, dark hair, slicked and parted along the middle, glimmered attractively under the torches. His eyes glittered, and nearly glowed. The smug grin he wore made him alluring, a note of bad taste beneath a gorgeous exterior, and a sign that his intentions were never pure — which they never were. Elek had obviously shown him the passages. But not, she hoped, that there’s another entrance into my room.

Aurora and her escort halted as soon as they registered him. The princess grimaced as she was forced to acknowledge his existence for the first time since his arrival. She had been hoping to avoid any and all interactions with him. He may have been her husband-to-be, but Aurora detested everything about the man. Worst of all was the fact that Vasilica’s ego bruised easier than a peach. The man would not be slighted or ignored by his own betrothed.

Such a bad taste. You betray so much, darling.

“I was beginning to think you forgot we were engaged.”

“Oh, believe me, Vasilica.” She forced a petty smile. “I couldn’t forget about that even if I tried. You wouldn’t let me.”

Vasilica ignored the slight. Instead, he grunted softly to himself as he undressed Aurora with his eyes. Aurora’s skin crawled under his creeping stare. There was not a romantic bone in Vasilica’s body, though he liked to think there was. He assumed his good looks, Baciu name, and princely charm were enough to get any woman naked. Whores, perhaps. But me? Or any girl of royal or noble birth? Not a chance. Not in Mystara.

“You look ravishing in that dress,” he said finally, with unabashed lewdness.

The attitude within Aurora turned. She realized she had power over the man, nevermind the lies he told himself to feel better about being such a loathsome prick. Aurora sneered. “I know.”

He had yet to remake eye contact, still staring at her hips, likely imagining himself gripping them firmly as he bent her over and joined House Baciu and House Gilles into a new bloodline. Vasilica smiled, chuckled, and then finally came back to a normal human conversation.

“Would you like an escort to your chambers, Princess?” He offered, suddenly trying to sound chivalrous.

Aurora shook her head, rolling her eyes. The nausea, the aversion that plagued her at the mere sight of this man was unparalleled. He was so blatantly foul, not even ashamed of himself.

“You think I don’t know what you’re playing at? I have servants and guards to escort me.”

Vasilica seemed insulted by her answer. He cocked his head and squinted. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I’m not a naive, submissive woman, Vasilica. Nor am I a whore. You mean to escort me into my chambers.”

Vasilica’s head bowed, and he smiled. He licked his lips as he considered his words — a rare trait for him. If he did more of that from the beginning, he would have had a much better chance of getting invited into her chambers.

“Yes, princess,” he admitted. “I do mean to escort you into your chambers. And stay there.”

Yeah, not a chance of that. But Aurora couldn’t simply tell the man no. She had learned that with her brother and father. Instead, she racked her brain for excuses, any excuse, to send the Prince away. Then, it dawned on her. Can’t have complaints if we’re too religious, can we?

“I must maintain my purity, dearly beloved,” she started. “Until our marriage can be rightfully consummated.”

Vasilica was unphased. “Either way, you are mine. Is it not right to claim things which belong to us?”

“I don’t belong to you,” she snapped.

“You are bound to me.”

Aurora scoffed so loudly her voice echoed down the hall. Vasilica did his best to keep a straight face.

“Bound. That’s a stretch. Forced proximity is more like it. Aren’t there better ways to entertain yourself, Vasilica? Might I suggest a whore house? Or, since you’re so rich and famous, I’m sure any of our chambermaids would happily accept payment in exchange for keeping you company through the night. It’ll be seen as a welcome gift after what my father’s done to them.”

Vasilica was squirming. A four day trip from Enia, cooped up in a carriage with his mother and brother had clearly left him without rational thought. All he had was a base instinct that gnawed at him like a rat.

“I don’t want a whore,” he gritted through his teeth. “Or a chambermaid. They’re for stress relief and having bastards, not for companionship.”

“How romantic,” Aurora patronized him. “Consider it companionship by proxy, then.”

Vasilica snapped. She could see it in his eyes. Her excuses weren’t enough. Her rejection fell on deaf ears. If you were Queen… the voice in her whispered. He’d be whipped. A handsome little whipping boy. She smiled, her heart warmed at the thought. She glanced at the knights beside her, who had stood silently, observing the discussion, likely cringing themselves.

“I hear you’re still walking around barely clothed. If at all,” he redirected, turning the guilt on her — as if it would work.

“And? You’ve fucked enough whores to know I’m very clearly not one. Haven’t you? Practicing your skills for when you finally get to penetrate your betrothed? You know my brother beat you to it?”

Aurora had him backpedaling, literally. Vasilica shook his head in denial, bouncing back a step or two on his heels before rushing forward, shushing her and grabbing her by the upper arm.

“Here. Enough of this. I’ll escort you,” Vasilica insisted.

“Seize him,” Aurora ordered her knights.

They grabbed Vasilica by each arm and pinned him to the wall, with one of their forearms resting atop his collarbone, driving him into it. The Prince was wide eyed, writhing and bucking against their superior might. Aurora smiled watching him, helpless, finally being shown his place.

“What are you doing? I’m The Crown Prince of Triseke, your sister kingdom and soon to be your kingdom!” He shouted angrily, spraying his saliva all over the hall. “Have your knights unhand me at once. This is an outrage! You don’t understand! Let me escort you, Princess. Let me stay!”

His rant died down, leaving him huffing and puffing. Aurora, surprised that her orders had been heeded with such haste and vigor, felt drunk on the power. Yes…the power of men obeying your every word. Even restraining a rich, powerful Prince, humiliating him in front of his future bride. This image, forever seared into her brain. The sword at his side, useless. His words, bitter and hostile, having lost his cool with the insult. A fucking child…not fit to marry me. Not even fit to serve me. A handsome little whipping boy was the perfect role for him.

If you were Queen…

If I was Queen…

She wanted to hurt him, truly. It’s what men like him deserved, believing they could trade women like property, breed them like cattle. Unable to have him whipped, she settled for pouring salt in the wound she had opened in his pride.

Aurora inched forward, smiling with glee as he glared at her. The power…fuck, this power.

“I may be pledged to marry you, Vasilica,” she started with a whisper. “But this isn’t Karaliska Palace. You have no power in The Hintria. Or over me. So you will not escort me to my chambers, or into them. You can escort yourself to the brothel down the street. I’m sure there are plenty of women there who will let you do whatever you want to them for the right price. But just a word of advice…” she moved in closer. Vasilica’s eyes were peculiarly irked as they glared at her. “Don’t end up like Chancellor Ares. Or do, if you please. I wouldn’t mind seeing you paraded and whipped through the streets of Minnehil in a frilly, pink dress.”

She stepped back now, admiring the way he raged at his powerlessness. Power. Oh…the power.

“Release him,” she commanded. The guards unhanded him. Vasilica stood and readjusted his red and blue doublet before clutching the pommel of his sword.

Yes. Do it. The voice hissed. I’d love to watch them cut you down.

But Vasilica would not give her that satisfaction. Not today. He relinquished his hand, glancing nervously at the knights as he took deep breaths. Their hands remained on their own arming swords, ready to defend their Princess.

Their Queen…

“Goodnight, then.” Vasilica bowed awkwardly, then backed away, his angry eyes on Aurora as he gradually turned and began to walk.

The knights relaxed. One of them turned to her. “Shall we resume, Princess?”

Aurora stood tall. She loved the feeling of empowerment, of having men with swords under her thumb, asking her for their next move. Oh, to be Queen…

You will. You will be Queen. Soon…

“Yes,” Aurora commanded. “Escort me to my chambers. At once.”

“Yes, Princess.”

Aurora turned back towards the stairs, nodding to the servant who had yet to let go of her cape. So obediently, so proudly watching a woman defend her own honor.

“Watch out for any other unexpected guests, please,” she added as one of the knights moved forward. “Weavers know who else my brother has shown these passages to.”

“Yes, Princess.”

They reached her chambers after another minute. The guards posted up outside as she entered with the servant in tow…and all those feelings of power dissipated in an instant. Someone else had used the passages — her father. He sat slumped in the chair near the windows, looking out over the city, his back turned to the door. The chambermaids continued working around her with awkward, disturbed demeanors as they drew a bath, changed the bedding, and set out her night clothes. The looks on their faces made her freeze. Her heart sank into her stomach. In private, her father had been unpredictable since their mother’s passing. Obviously aggrieved, his moods were mercurial, leading to behavior that Vasilica would likely undertake if he had the impunity, behavior that Elek had pioneered. Something about the way he skulked in the chair left her terrified. These altercations were truly a nightmare scenario. Not even the knights would defend her. Not against their king.

But he doesn’t have to be king. It doesn’t have to be that way…

“For what it’s worth…” he began without turning around. “Thank you for behaving yourself this evening.”

Aurora ground her teeth as she answered. “Glad to know you prefer me quiet and out of the way.”

He clicked his tongue and stood from the chair, shoving it to the side rather aggressively as he turned around. Aurora flinched and stepped back. Then, realizing she had ceded ground, nudged herself back forward, taking an extra step for good measure. The chambermaids did their best to ignore him.

“It’s not how I prefer you, Aurora.” His voice raised. “I would love to see you take up your mother’s legacy, adding to the court instead of regarding it with your usual contempt!”

“It’s not the court I have contempt for.” It’s the men in it. Her face was harsher than it should have been, the words she spoke were as well. But she didn’t care. She was tired of feeling afraid, pushed around like she had no ownership, no agency over herself.

Her father’s eyes welled with tears. His face twitched with sadness, cheeks and lips and all. Sniffles took the place of sighs and deep breaths. He took a half step back and then returned.

“You have contempt for me?” he asked with a shaky voice. “Your own father?”

Aurora felt a twinge of regret from how much she had stung him. Somewhere inside her, she still had love for her father. Somewhere deep down. Over the last year, he simply wasn’t the man, the father, he used to be. The memories they made playing hide and seek in the gardens were replaced by harsh scoldings, beatings, and locking her in her chambers when she misbehaved, often with him joining her. The sweet kisses and hugs had turned to things that were unnatural and degrading. Elek had resumed taking advantage of her, too, and her father did nothing to stop it. She had no guardian but herself. Everyone served the great king, Rikard. Elek was his heir. And what was she? Just a princess who had the audacity to show the same grief, the same sadness, the same emptiness. A daughter with no mother to love her, to guide her through the nasty world of politics men like Elek and her father monopolized out of spite.

No, she was afforded no such privileges. She couldn’t be sad. She couldn’t be angry. And she hated it.

She gulped as her own eyes teared up.

“I have contempt for the way you’ve treated me since mother passed. The way you wallow, abusing the chambermaids, the way you abuse me — ”

He shot forward, taking Aurora by the shoulders and shaking her violently. “You will not speak of such things!” he screamed, before letting her go. “I have done nothing but love you! And you’ve done nothing but hurt me. You hurt me every day…your mother…”

Aurora was incensed. She’d had enough of this treatment. As far as she was concerned, he had all but abandoned fatherhood. More furiously, he had all but abandoned her mother’s memory. His head would be on a stick if she were here to witness this.

Fine, father. You want me to take up her legacy. Then, I��ll do just that.

She breathed shakily, but she stood tall, unwilling to bend or break. Her father channeled Vasilica’s same pettiness as they stared at each other, and Aurora twisted the knife.

“I will speak of them. Because you dishonor her. You dishonor my mother, your own wife, your Queen!”

There was a pause as her words sunk in. Then, Aurora was stunned as her father’s hand collided with her cheek. Seeing stars, she fell towards the bed, crumbling over the wooden sleigh frame. Her face stung as she caressed it. Tears fell from her eyes. She felt her father looming behind her, inches from her.

“And you need to mind your respect,” he scolded her, drawing out his words for emphasis. “I am your father, Aurora. You will not speak to me with such conceit, such lies.”

She turned and attempted to stand again, but he forced her back down, cornering her as he stood over her.

Oh…if I were Queen. You, Rikard, would finally know what real power, real respect, really are…

Aurora was hot with fury, but she was physically outmatched and outnumbered. Words were her only weapons now. She intended to use them for all they were worth. “Mother may have had my behind for my rudeness at breakfast. But if she saw the way you treat me…she’d have your head.”

Rikard shook his head in disappointment. “I came here looking to make amends, and instead my own daughter insults me. Uses my wife, her dead mother against me! Unbelievable.”

“You use her against me like a weapon every day!” Aurora shouted. “Forcing me ever closer to this marriage with Vasilica that even she detested…you know he propositioned me in the hall just now? Elek showed him the passages so that he could confront me on the way to my chambers.”

Her father shrugged. “Ah, who cares. You’ll be married soon, anyway.”

Excuse me, what?

“So my dress this morning was inappropriate, but Vasilica can just come in here and fuck me whenever he wants? Am I understanding that correctly?”

“Sleeping with your betrothed in advance of the wedding is a far cry from prancing around your chambers naked or wearing dresses that are far too revealing,” Rikard replied with startlingly confident hypocrisy. “Why do you think your brother is the way he is with you? But in any event, the agreement about you and Vaslilica cannot be broken if he sullies you himself, but it is immodest for others to have the same thoughts because of how you present yourself. You’re a princess, not a pleasurer.”

“Would The Patriarch agree?”

“The Patriarch will.” He nodded. “Because I’ll make him.”

Aurora grimaced. “Get out.”

“Fine.” He finally moved to leave, allowing Aurora to breathe more easily as the uncertainty was relieved. Rikard, however, stopped at the chamber doors and turned around. His face had changed, from angry to lonely.

“You do look like her, you know,” he said softly. “Your mother. She uh…the dresses, the lack of nightclothes. It’s not just a matter of religious temperance…”

Aurora suddenly couldn’t breathe so easily anymore. She began to feel as though she was suffocating after just finally coming up for air, with every bit of it being choked from her lungs by hands that had sought to violate her. He still hadn’t left, and now, he was talking like Vasilica and Elek did, placing desire where it didn’t belong, believing his power afforded him leeway on virtue and morality. Clearly, the emptiness in him had yet to be filled. Perhaps he really was affected more than anyone else by her mother’s passing.

But enough to think about replacing her with me? Is that really what you’re implying, father?

“Father?” she asked nervously.

“You look just like her,” he continued. “You act just like her.”

No. This won’t happen again. I’ll die before I let this happen again, or kill you. Whichever comes first.

“I think you had too much wine with dinner.”

Rikard sighed. “Indeed. Maybe.”

Aurora watched intently as he pulled open the door, hoping to every god imaginable that he’d walk through it and never come back. He paused again, looking back, and then finally left. Aurora felt a weight lift from her shoulders and chest and she fell back onto the bed, closing her eyes, her breath and heartbeat rapid from the fear she had kept under control.

If I were Queen. If I were Queen. Weavers, oh you cruel Weavers, what is the meaning of this thread you’ve created in my life? Why must you oppress me? What have I done to deserve this plight? Why must I endure such outrage? If this is a part of your story then you are truly the cruelest of masters.

But no. Don’t worry, darling, it doesn’t have to be this way. I will make it so. Ask, and you shall receive…

“Princess, we have a bath ready for you. It might help you…relax…after tonight’s events.” Rella interrupted her. The woman’s voice was timid, similar to Ester’s earlier that morning.

The princess sat up quickly, rising to her feet. She refused to sulk in defeat, to live as though oppression was her destiny. Nor would she allow her chambermaids to know the same fear, that same helplessness. They couldn’t see her like this.

Yes, so unbecoming of a Queen…

“Yes. That sounds lovely, Rella.” She smiled and moved to the armoire where two more waited to help her undress. “And send for Ganzig Enebish, please. At once.”

The door opened again. Aurora’s head snapped its direction. One of the knight’s entered and bowed. “Ganzig Enebish is outside, Princess.”

Aurora felt true relief for the first time that night. The knights may have ultimately obeyed her father, but the warlock answered to no one, and all the knights in The Hintria weren’t enough to match his power. He was, perhaps, her only chance at a meaningful ally.

“Great,” she replied. “Send him in.”

The knight nodded and turned to the side, gesturing for the warlock to enter. Aurora fluttered at the sight of him. It caught her off guard, prompting her to take her eyes off him and back on the mirror to watch Rella untying her dress behind her. In the three weeks of his service, she had yet to be alone with him — or so close to him. The energy he projected was intoxicating, evincing in her a startling, uncontrollable smile.

“Following me to my chambers, too, are you?”

“Just making sure you’re safe, Princess.”

Aurora smirked. “Is that part of your job now?” She glanced over at him. He stood awkwardly just inside the door, hands at his sides.

“Seems as though it should be.”

Aurora shrugged. Internally, she could barely contain herself at the prospect of having Ganzig on her side. Power, oh the power of having that man obey me, to use him to help all my dreams come true. Would he? Perhaps. Under the right circumstances.

“Well, as luck would have it, that’s exactly what I was going to call you for.”

Ganzig waited patiently for her to continue, nodding subtly, expectantly.

“I want you to put protective wards around my chambers, to make sure no one can enter without my permission.”

The maids slipped the dress over her arms, off her shoulders and then gradually down her body. Ganzig looked away politely.

“Uh, Order magic will — ”

“Not Order magic,” she insisted. “Karhai magic.”

The warlock glanced over, then back to the floor. He nodded. “Of course, Princess. Although I should tell you, that as the caster, I will not be bound by the effects of the wards.”

Aurora eyed the man with a raised eyebrow. “And is that something you plan on taking advantage of?”

“No, Princess. Of course not.”

She looked back at the mirror. The undergarments left her body as the other maid hung her dress in the armoire. Ganzig shifted uncomfortable in her periphery.

Aurora smirked. “I guess I can live with that.”

It was cute, the way he endeavored to avert his eyes, and a welcome contrast to men like Vasilica and Elek who valued her form as a cheap commodity.

Despite knowing little of the man, she felt safe with him. Safe enough to bare herself in front of him. The warlock could teach those men a thing or two about power…and respect. Ganzig could raze the entire palace in the blink of an eye, kill her father or brother or Vasilica or even Roxanne without any effort at all. He could paralyze her, her knights, her maids, rape her as long as he wanted, then fog her memory, over and over, using her for his own pleasure, without recourse. And yet, she stood naked just a dozen paces from him, and he couldn’t even bring himself to look at her.

Power…is in what is restrained, what lies dormant, expended only when necessary. For justice. For progress. For change. Not greed or pleasure. Not always, at least.

Power. It emanated from him like smoke, thick and intoxicating. He brooded in that corner, hulking, massive, and ancient, but with the countenance of a man not much older than her. Aurora felt increasingly drawn to it.

“Uh, Princess. Maybe your father was right about the modesty…”

She clicked her tongue, just as her father had at her. “Oh, please. You’ve lived for what, a thousand years? You can’t tell me you’ve never seen a naked girl before.”

“I have, Princess, but never one I was in service to.”

She chuckled, then turned to approach him. “I find that hard to believe. Besides, it’s nice to test a man’s virtue and have him pass with flying colors.”

Mere inches from him, the warlock held his eye contact quite admirably.

“I’m hardly virtuous, Princess,” he remarked. Aurora felt a nudge, a tug. Phantom sensations that indicated The Weavers, in their own mysterious way, had something in store for the odd relationship forming between them. The thought of it excited her.

“Call me Aurora,” she insisted.

“As you wish.”

Her smile grew. Power. I can feel it from you, and it’s building up in me. Obey me, my little minion. My father can have his knights. You’ll be mine.

“I believe you have some wards to build,” she reminded him flirtatiously. “I’ll be in my bath. Please inform me when you’re through.”

Ganzig nodded. Aurora left him. Rather than following her with his eyes, when she couldn’t see him staring, he got straight to work. She heard the cantrips through the walls as the chambermaids helped her into the warm water. Her body lowered, the silky, comforting sensation finally granting her relaxation. She laid her head back on the porcelain tub and closed her eyes, listening to the spells as Ganzig cast them.

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