Page 5 of Tasteful Anarchy and Tangled Auras
“Not I,” replies Albon. “I’m just a good-for-nothing bedwarmer.”
“Look, how many times are you going to make me apologize for that?”
He grins. “At least once more.” I smack his chest. He lowers his voice and casts a gentle spell that will leave nearby listeners confused. “Listen, Adi, Court isn’t safe for you. Mum or Aunt Avilion are certainly going to try to arrange a little accident.”
“Gee, that thought hadn’t occurred to me. Thanks, cuz.” I wrinkle my nose at him. The song ends before he can respond, and I find myself swept up by one of the younger males. I stare at him as he blathers on, my mind still reeling. He doesn’t notice, or maybe he doesn’t care. His chatter is seriously like an insect buzzing, and I choke back a laugh as I wonder if this isme dissociating. As soon as the song ends, I slide away before another male after the King-Consort title can ensnare me.
My legs feel weak as I approach Queen Seren, who still sits at the head of the high table. Grandmother, I know, is not available; I’ll be speaking with “the Queen.” And “the Queen,” as I had learned, is not treated as Grandmother is.
The queen does what is best for the queendom. She rules with, well, some mercy. She is a traditionalist, as are most of the royal families at any of the Courts. She likes to pretend she still lives under the hill where the High Priestess granted power to the human kings.
But that world is gone. The lesser Fae of the FECs have seemed to acclimate to their new world better than the Courts. They’ve lost their accents, found occupations, tried to clean up their image, and started trying to integrate, as much as the law allows.
As for me, I love the human world; I’d be happy to spend the rest of my long life exploring. The Court is full of drama and intrigue and sex. I don’t mind the sex part. But truly, I could see the whole of the Royal Court fall into oblivion and only mourn the twins. The rest are greedy, backstabbing, plotting, traditionalist asshats. And while humans definitely have their downsides, there is so much more joy and kindness. I have always assumed it had to do with knowing how short their lives were.
“Granddaughter,” Seren says as I approach, tilting her golden-tiara’d head. Her gaze sweeps over my body, and she raises an eyebrow. “Spending too much time at the Temple, I see. They must have a new cook.” Grandmother is out of fucks to give, and I bite back a smile. It is always refreshing, at least for a bit.
“You cannot possibly mean for me to become heir.” I struggle to keep the whine and the panic from my voice. “I am not fit, as my aunts have always made sure I knew.”
“Come now, Adelaide. You are a trained Priestess of Aine. You are of royal blood. My blood. You were raised at Court. You are just as fit for the throne as any of the bloodline.”
I bite my lip. To continue arguing, especially in public, will not do any good. While the Green Court isn’t as bloodthirsty as the Light or Dark Courts, that is only because Grandmother was a moderate ruler compared to their sovereigns. But there is still a royal “bower of truth,” so a little torture isn’t ever really off the menu. And Queen Seren hasn’t ruled as peacefully as she has, especially during The Call, by allowing people to disrespect her.
I stride towards the back of the room, hoping to avoid relatives and any other male. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I giggle softly; I’m going to get that engraved on my headstone when one of my female relatives finally succeeds in murdering me.
A hand catches my arm. I swirl, hackles up, before recognizing the face before me. “Rory! Hey!”
“Girl, I missed you!” Rory gushes, sweeping me into a hug. “Come down. Maudey is dying to see you!” Rory was clurichaun, or part-clurichaun, as they had mixed with humans as well. He had the typical clurichaun love of breweries, as well as the mischievous nature. He was taller than most, though still on the shorter end of human males, and a bit round; “Something to grab onto,” he’d say. But he looks as out of place as I feel, with his dyed teal hair and septum piercing.
“I will. I plan to, just as soon as I can leave without it being unseemly.”
“Alright, alright. Kisses, bitch,” and he hurries off with his tray. I chuckle. He is about a hundred years older than me. He had escaped and fallen into the gay culture scene of NYC during the 1980s. However, his indentured debt hadn’t been served, sohe was eventually found, hauled back, punished, and had time added. He kept his bubbly personality and a calendar that he crosses off the days on.
I hated that I’d had to leave him when I left last time. But his “crime” of running away had made him bound to the kitchens, so I couldn’t try to claim him as a personal servant or pay his debt. The whole system is bullshit.
Aunt Alys appears out of nowhere. Someone needs to put a bell on her. “Niece. How lovely to see you in the flesh. You must have been...out last time I visited the Temple.”
“How unfortunate, Priestess Alys,” I mutter, eyes flicking behind her.
“And are you excited for your turn of fortunes? No longer tied solely to the Temple, eligible to take consorts?” Alys knew enough to know that I would flush the lot of them down the shitter without a second thought; she was just taunting me.
“Consorts?” My brain is on overload. “I can take consorts?”
Official consorts are only allowed to the females of the royal family that were in line to the throne. As I had never been in that line, I had never been allowed them. I was allowed trysts, or a husband. That was all. And I had quickly discovered, decades ago, that the males of the Court were uninspired yes-men, even if they were good in bed. Worse yet, they generally wanted into my bed only to get closer to one of the other royal females. I hadn’t ever appreciated that shit, so I’d enjoyed myself with lesser Fae or humans for the last forty-five years or so. But a consort? Or three? That might deserve consideration.
“Well, yes. How else would you get pregnant with a future heir?” Alys smirks. “Or a husband. You could take a husband.”
“Yes, of course. Your union is a shining recommendation for that route, Aunt.” The line of inheritance for nymphs was matrilineal. Makes sense, really, for how could anyone be truly sure of their patronage? But that means that the females holdmore power than the males. It also meant that marriages mean little, and, outside of the royal family, they are rarely done. Females could bang whomever they wanted; get pregnant by whomever they wanted; raise their children on their own or with their husband, who may or may not be the father. But in our family, the females were generally expected to marry, even if they kept consorts or lovers.
Aunt Alys’s marriage is not a happy one. Uncle Duncan is rarely at court. She shouldn’t be surprised. A former Pictish king is unlikely to appreciate his wife stepping out on him; rumor has it that Eira wasn’t his.
Rage flares in Alys’s face. “Watch yourself, niece. I do not appreciate your tone. And don’t tempt the Goddess; if you take the throne, you’ll be required a husband, like it or not.” She storms off.
I turn and see a willowy, determined-looking male heading towards me. Liam ab Quinn, maybe. Some puppet, no doubt. As he holds out his hand, I realize this will be one of the longest nights of my life.
