Page 4 of Tasteful Anarchy and Tangled Auras
Priestess Alys sits on the right of Queen Seren, dressed in one of the white gowns reserved for Priestesses of Aine. Her dirty-blond hair is wrapped in a tight bun. Alys appears serene and severe. She doesn’t bother to look at me. Nothing new there.
Below Alys is her daughter Eira. Then comes Father, who gives me a half-hearted wave, then other males of the family. I take my seat above Father, while Urien goes to sit with his twin below us.
As I sit, I look out at the room. The large tables are filled with the other royal families. Eleven long tables filled with the most gorgeous creatures imaginable. At the head of each royal house’s table is an older female who has proved herself capable of carrying on her line with daughters. When her daughter’s daughter has birthed a child, the matriarch of the household will hand off the title to her eldest daughter.
Fortunately for me, Father was Queen Seren’s son, which means that in a matrilineal society, I am often left to my own devices—except for the Priestesshood thing. Another quirk of the birthline. Alys had been trying to have the second granddaughter, as she had been to the old queen, so that her daughter would also be the Royal Family’s Priestess. But the twins fucked that up. I had been born shortly after, and Alys has hated me since.
“Welcome, Granddaughter,” intones Queen Seren. The queen is wearing an elegant gown of honey brown and her red-gold hair is swept up loosely on her head. “We are glad you’ve returned from your duties.”
I give the tissue-paper-thin excuse of attending to Temple duties whenever I bugger off for the human world; I think she chooses to ignore the lie for the sake of plausible deniability.
“Now that you have joined us, let us eat.” The queen claps. The servants of the court emerge from hidden doors on silentfeet to load all the tables to near-groaning with food. I thank the brownie who serves me.
I immediately fill my wine glass and toss it back, definitely needing a bit of social lubricant to make it through a formal meal. I am too nervous to eat. Something was going to happen tonight. I just wasn’t sure what. I push some food around my plate before pouring myself another wine.
“Daughter, I’m pleased to see you,” my father says distractedly.
“Aidan. It is good to see you. Have you been taken to husband?” I ask blandly.
A clinking interrupts us. Thank Goddess. Silence falls across the room.
Queen Seren stands. “You are all wondering why I called you here.”
Bullshit. Most of the court probably already knows. The rumor mill is strong here.
“As we have now had it confirmed by our Priestesses, healers,andhuman medicine that Olwyn will be unable to produce an heir, we have come to the decision that we must open our rules of inheritance.” Murmurs spread throughout the room. Alys smiles in a way that seems benevolent but is very much the cat that ate the canary. The queen holds up a hand for silence.
“So, in order to find our next queen, we must allow Adelaide ferch Aidan and Eira ferch Alys to prove their ability to beget a daughter.”
My mouth drops open. Aunt Avilion, heir to the throne, makes a loud sound of denial and Alys’s shit-eating grin grows as the royal families all start talking at once.
Olwyn howls like a wounded bear, throws her hands over her face, and runs from the room. She’s always been dramatic, but my heart aches for her. To know she can’t have a childandhaveearned the anger of her mother in one swoop. Oh, and lose the throne. Most people would be upset about that.
I turn to see that Malcolm, rather than following his wife, is making fuck-me eyes at me. Goddess, he is an asshat. I glare, then turn to cousin Eira across the table. Eira has a penchant for overdone, pastel dresses, and she is in a froofy, mint-green monstrosity tonight. She looks away rather than meet my eyes.
I turn back to Malcolm. “I see Eira already turned you down, huh?”
Cousin Urien guffaws and chokes on his wine; his twin swats his back, trying to help.
The queen glares at us all like the naughty children we are.
“Your Highness.” Iona ferch Iona speaks loudly, standing at the head of her family’s table. The room quiets. “How can Adelaide ferch Aidan possibly be considered?” the matriarch continues. “Shall we let a male rule us?” Soft sounds of disagreement and denial sound throughout the room.
“As I said, Iona, we are relaxing the rules of inheritance.” Queen Seren spoke over the noise easily. She’d always been a commanding presence; I knew she’d had her own adventures before she took the throne. “It has been agreed upon by the High Priestesses of Aine.” Her look brooks no argument.
Alys now looks as if she is sucking on a lemon.
“That solution is simple,” Seren continues. “If Adelaide falls pregnant, she will become queen, skipping her father in the line of succession.” The queen levels a glare, daring more disagreement. “Now, music!”
Oh, this isbad. I don’t want to rule this dysfunctional court. Shit, I don’t even want to be a member of this dysfunctional court. My eyes flick to my grandmother’s. She glances away. And the band played on, I quip in my head, staring down at my plate.
Simple classical music has filtered in, and the lower tables disappear. Servants begin circulating with trays of wine andchampagne. Cousin Albon stands and grabs my hand. Identical to Urien, he is broader chested than most nymphs—a sign of their father’s mixed blood, their mother would complain—and muscular. He and Urien are cut like linebackers, really. Tall ones. They keep their blond hair short; shaggy on top, shorter on the sides. I have always assumed it was to irritate their mother. The twins bounce around the court ladies’ beds and generally do fuck all, but I love them.
Albon guides me gracefully to the dance floor, cutting through the crowd and letting me silently process.
Damn. How did this happen? I was never supposed to rule. Once my mother died, my aunts intended that I never even make it to adulthood. And then, those plans failing, Alys had lobbied the High Priestesses to have me removed from consideration for Court Priestess due to my mixed blood. When that didn’t work, I befell a new series of almost-fatal accidents.
My mind continues to race as we sweep around the room, trying to decide what to say. Eventually, I settle on, “Did you know about this bullshit?”
