Page 142 of Born for Silk

“Hello,” Aster says to them. “Come.”

“You should be asleep, girls.” Han waves them in with a soft chuckle. “Since you’re awake, please, come in. Remember your manners. We bow for the King of The Cradle.”

“Rome of The Strait, The Cradle’s Monarch and Protector,” the Guard beside Kong announces.

Slowly, the small, frightened girls step from inside the room, one by one, bowing at me. Awkward. They vary in age. From mere children to Aster’s age and older. Moving closer to my little creature with skittish steps, they try to avoid stepping too close to me.

Too close.

Aster nods, encouraging. “We won’t hurt you. Come here.”

They are entering the clearing between pews, when one gasps, grips the arm of another, and squeezes it. “It’s the queen.”

Wonder-filled eyes shift to the door where Tuscany has lowered her hood to her shoulders, the fabric bunching around her neck.

The girls freeze when they see the looming presence behind her—Kong—and the Guard, holding rifles the size of their legs.

“Stay by the door,” Tuscany orders her two Xin De protectors. “You scare them.”

As my sister approaches, graceful and smiling softly, I watch Common girl after Common girl step from inside the door beyond the pews, dressed in nightgowns, holding each other, excitement and nervousness playing across their expressions.

“Oh, you’re all awake.” Han shakes his head, rolling his eyes before looking at me. “The girls like to sleep together in the church when there is a heavy storm, which is often.”

“We have seen your picture.” A girl gushes and curtsies—clearly for the first time. “You’re even more beautiful.”

Another flusters. “I made a crochet eagle for you when I was five. I still have it. Do you want me to get it? It is in my room.”

And another. "I heard you love chocolate. We have one block that we save for a special occasion. I can get it for you, my queen.”

A gush. “Oh, I love your hair.”

A swoon. “You’re so pretty.”

“Can we read to you?”

“Or dance for you?”

Fuck me…

Chapter Thirteen

Aster

They adore her.

Their Queen of The Cradle.

While the men and the large woman from The Queen’s Army watch from a few benches away, Ana, Tuscany, the girls, and I huddle together, sharing stories and chocolate.

A slumber party, they call it; it should be called a ‘trying not to slumber party.’

Rome has his arms folded across his broad chest and his long legs stretch out in front of him, crossed at the ankles, refusing to sleep.

Kong’s deep voice vibrates through the room. “Sleep, Sire. We will take shifts.”

Rome stares at me and blinks his nictitating membrane once. “No.”

I glance back at the women and girls sprawled out, some on the floor, others on the benches. All want to be close to the queen.

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