Rhiannon

Luna Evanora Rhiannon woke to find herself on the second… well, third-worst day of the year. There were less pleasant anniversaries than her birth, but the state event she was expected to participate in was a strong contender. 

Not that it was even her birthday. Public need for a convenient holiday week trumped celebrating the actual day.

“Your Majesty?”

At least she always had a face worth waking up to. Arlene’s lips were pursed halfway into a pout that revealed exactly the kind of girl she was all those decades ago. Self-serious as she was now, there was no forgetting how she looked on that first day. Bedecked in all the finery her family could afford and trembling any time something didn’t go to plan. 

Luna rolled so her back was to the maid. “Cancel my engagements. I don’t feel like getting up this week.”

“Breakfast will have to be brief. Finian has prepared your favourite downstairs and a pot of rosehip and star thistle tea is waiting for you as well.” Arlene heartlessly tore back the sheets and let a cold draught hit Luna’s body like a lance into butted mail.

“What would you do if I really refused to get up?” It was just a pointless little question with no logic behind it. Probably just the melancholy of the coming winter setting in early and making a grown woman over-emotional. 

But Arlene would always take her Queen seriously, no matter how stupid the statement. 

“Considering that we’re nearly done with the week of birthday festivities, now would be the worst possible time for it, excepting any meeting where serious decisions have to be made.” The maid fetched a silk dressing-gown off the back of the chair where she set it the night before. “Every body double would need to be called in to take shifts in the throne room, then we would need a few extras like Minister Shimmerwing to fill in until the beginning of the masquerade. At least at that point, nobody would need to burn magic to give the impression you might be there. One final person would be needed to deliver an address at the end of that night, most likely penned by Sir Rowan in the intervening time.”

“Hm.” So it wouldn’t even be all that bad. Any given day at the palace was far from any real work like what she did on the battlefield. Half a dozen people who looked like or could disguise themselves as her were ready at a moment’s notice to sit in a metal chair and look regal in the direction of the door. 

“Of course, while they kept the public busy, I would be gathering a select group of the court here. Both Greenglasses; the Registrar; Ministers Fairehorn and Cait; the Lady Darklight; Captain Selene; as well as Duchess Coineanach and Chef Finian once he was done his tasks.” Arlene circled the bed to meet the Witch-Queen’s eyes. “I would then allow my betters to decide how we would spend the next sixty hours sweet-talking, cajoling, bribing, harassing, guilting and otherwise annoying you until you arose to carry out your regal duty.”

“It’s a shame you’re threatening me with a private party of my favourite people. You nearly had me there.” Luna reached for the blankets and tugged until they covered her feet again. It was a start and they both knew she could yank them hard enough to knock Arlene over, if she had half a mind.

The maid sighed deeply. “Would you prefer I put an attractive woman with her breasts out on the other side of the room and watch you be drawn like a rat to cheese?”

Luna chuckled. “Sounds like much less fuss to me. She’d have to walk backward quite a way to lure me all the way to the throne room, though.”

“Why don’t we split the difference?” Arlene hiked up her skirt to show the white lace panties she received as an ‘anonymous’ gift on her last birthday. “Now please get up, Your Majesty. We’re on a tight schedule, as I mentioned.”

“Ugh…! Foul sorceress! What cruel spell hath you placed on me?” Luna leaned her torso off the mattress so she could reach Arlene’s plump thighs. There were no finer pillows a Queen could buy when she was overburdened by the world, and the sound of shock turning into frustrated acceptance when they were bitten was divine. 

She waited two minutes on the dot, her skirt still raised to allow easy access. “Are you satisfied?”

“…Enough to take breakfast, at least.” 

But not nearly enough to walk. As a girl, hovering through the air sans-broom was a tiring spell. But now? The Witch-Queen needed no casting medium for such petty tricks. The difficulty—as she had drunkenly shown to a crowd of overawed elves—was holding back. She did hope the hole in the Ministry of War’s wall would be properly sealed up by the time it started snowing.

Luna let the magic seep out of herself slowly, shaping it into an oversized, mittened hand. She couldn’t be bothered with fingers on a day like today. 

She scooped herself up with it and slid toward the stairs. The flattish surface let her stretch out like a napping cat while staying at eye level with Arlene. 

“Your Majesty, I would be ever so grateful if you were to position yourself in such a way that this dressing-gown,” the maid presented the dove-grey silk with a delicacy reserved normally for newborns of high birth, “might find its way onto your body before your breakfast is spoiled by gawkers.”

“Could you blame them for wanting a look at this?” She gestured to her body. Soft in all the right places without losing its practical, marshal edge. Every scar was erased, with skin as smooth as polished steel and fair as snow, with not a single hair remaining anywhere she didn’t want it. Should a queen of witches not be bewitching herself?

Though Arlene was used to the routine and didn’t spare more than one glance at what may well have been the sexiest body to have ever graced Dunmuir. “Be that as it may, distracted hands will be slower than they need to be.”

“Just step on for a ride if you’re so against an act of charity for the servants.”

“Onto what, exactly, Your Majesty?”

Luna sighed. “I thought this one should’ve been easy to see.”

“A slight glimmer in the air is all I can detect.”

“One of these days you’ll get the knack and see how mediocre I am at spellcasting.” 

This was a little game they played every so often. Arlene wasn’t classically educated in magic, so Luna gave her a pointer or challenge when the opportunity arose. One of those lifetime-of-practice fundamentals any witch worked on every day was detecting the flow of magic. 

Though Luna would exclude herself from that ‘any.’ She could already see arcane energies so well that it interfered with her normal sight. It was like being a fish that could see the currents of the water it was swimming in, sometimes. If she concentrated, she could even make out the blurry shape and colour of peoples’ souls. 

One of her tutors told her that more practice in necromancy would let her hone the skill further, but… She would give that a miss, thank you. 

“What was for breakfast again?” Precious little extra focus was needed to make the hand glow like a will-’o-the-wisp or stretch out its roiling energies to make extra space for Arlene to kneel on. 

“Rosehip and star thistle tea, spiced oatmeal, boar bacon, seasonal fruit and a honey cake to finish.” Ever the loyal maid, she held open the dressing gown for Luna’s arms as she spoke.

One arm went in, then its accompanying hand found its place back onto Arlene’s thighs. “Do you know the only thing that would make that sound any better?”

Arlene leveled a cool gaze at her Queen, those honey-brown eyes only betraying impatience to those who knew her well. “Your Majesty, I’m afraid that I don’t have the time to sit under the table and you don’t have time to properly sate your sexual appetite. Did you know some of the lower nobles are already waiting outside the throne room?”

“They could wait a little longer.” The spectral hand’s journey down the stairs slowed for reasons not mysterious to either woman.

“Three to six extra hours would not be an inconsiderable amount of time, Your Majesty.”

“One… Mm—two. Two rounds and I’ll have the strength to carry on today. They’re so dull, Arlene.”

Her hands reached out to Luna’s body, searching out a dozen familiar places that only she could know about. Victory? When a finger ran over Luna’s breast while another ran up her short goat’s tail, the tingle down her spine certainly felt like victory.

“Your loyal subjects have travelled far—” she did that thing with her thumb where it flicked off the end of Luna’s tail and made her shiver, “—during a time of year they’d prefer to be supervising the harvest just to spend a few minutes in your presence apiece. And they brought gifts.”

“Ahh… I didn’t ask for them, you know.”

“Would Her Majesty deprive the Duchess Coineanach of a chance to repay the kindness of a royally-designed outfit?”

“No…”

“Then this humble maid would beg you, Your Majesty, to restrain yourself until this evening. I and at least five other servants will have the time to attend to your needs after sunset today.” 

“If you just get a blanket for the throne, I won’t need more than one. They could take turns when their knees start to hurt.”

“Patience, Your Majesty. You want us to do all the depraved, unspeakable things you love, don’t you?”

“Oh, I couldn’t say.” Luna turned up her nose and hid a smile. “You’d have to speak a few of them to me, first.”

Arlene’s breath tickled the fur on her goat’s ears as she drew near. “There’s no end to your complaints about the throne, correct? I’m sure I could arrange for someone to kiss the royal derriere better. And, of course, a more comfortable seat afterward.”

“Like what?”

“You seem to enjoy using my face as one on occasion.”

Luna knew she tended to get carried away in that position, aside from it sort of annoying Arlene. But when it happened… She almost thought the reason Arlene spoke so little was to save her tongue for those glorious occasions when she could perform miracles. 

The maid knew what she was doing and pinched her Queen’s nipple at the same time as her shiver of anticipation. “With, of course, five other mouths being put to use simultaneously.”

The imagined tangle of limbs, sweat and the smell of aroused women made Luna salivate like a fine steak was set before her.

“Of course, once you’re so exhausted that you can’t stand any more is where the real fun will begin. There’s a shift changeover at ten o’ clock that will give us fresh faces energetic and ready to please you even more. I have no doubt they’ll have to clean the floor of your excitement first, but…”

“More,” she whispered. Between the tail-fondling, idle toying with her breast and whispers in her ear, the spot between Luna’s legs felt achingly lonely.

“Perhaps Her Majesty would care to try out those toys so thoughtfully gifted to her by Sir Rowan?” Arlene’s fingers danced anywhere but where they were desperately needed. Even worse when the ones on her tail sank to her butt. “Could it be that your little… encounter with him has brought along some interest in having different holes filled?”

Why’d Arlene have to bring that up? Just because she took him for a ride recently, too?

The sex? Delightful. But on the other hand, Luna really shouldn’t have fucked someone she had to see all the time. Agh, but then again, she was hoping to fuck Rowan much earlier than she had. That first night he snuck into her war camp to complain of paperwork inconsistencies, she might have pinned him down then and there if she didn’t fly into a rage at being betrayed for so long by so many.

Then there was how long the man took to say ‘yes’ to her. That annoyed her to no damned end. Sophia’s prank delayed that even worse than the man’s cowardice did. Agh, that kiss she gave him in desperation, though. Supposing he developed feelings for his monarch?

On yet another hand, he was such a good lay. Arlene’s not-quite-touching made her rear end tingle. Nobody had the spirit to just… take her like that. And in the wrong hole. Luna tried before, but… butt. Aha. Fuck. Whatever. 

Arlene’s suggestion was sounding fantastic right now. Complicated feelings could go in the lockbox of things that would go away if she ignored them long enough. Maid orgy. Anal. Arlene between her legs until she passed out. Luna needed good things on her mind to make it through the day.

It took a lot of control for the answer not to come out as a lusty whimper. “Mmm… maybe.”

The moment of weakness was seized and Arlene slipped on the other side of the dressing gown. Silk sliding across skin felt like lightning skipping over her whole body wherever it touched—then nothing. No replacement of hands, no more stimulation.

“I’ll be heading off now, Your Majesty.” She alighted from the ghostly hand and pulled out a chair from the breakfast table for Luna to sit in. “Think about this evening if you feel unmotivated and please try to remember all these people have come here in good faith to see you. Expectations have to be met.”

“…You little tease. You really had me going.” Luna’s mirth was mixed with a drop of genuine irritation. By the time she got to the throne room, it would be no problem, but she would be taking breakfast in a puddle once she sat on that proffered chair.

“Your Majesty, if being the Royal Tease is what it takes to get you moving in the morning, I will happily take on another position in this palace.”

“…I hope you’re ready for the three dozen positions you’ll be taking with me tonight, then.”

Arlene’s wings buzzed and she cracked the smallest of grins. “I pride myself in being flexible enough to meet any challenge, Your Majesty.”

✷✷✷

After a delightful breakfast, she was stuck in the throne room like a doll on a shelf. Full regalia again, since the entire seven days she was in the midst of were public holidays. The crown was the most ancient one in the treasury—perfectly designed and comfortable for someone with rabbit ears and no horns for the heavy gold band to press down on. Combined with an entire infant’s weight in gems and decorations added over centuries, even a few minutes were enough to cause a headache. 

Not that the rest of it was better. No cushion in the world was thick enough to pad out the harshness of a pure bronze throne made of the pointy end of ancient weapons, it was annoying to hold up a staff from a sitting position and of course the flaming sword wouldn’t stop hissing into her ear like a territorial cat. The scrying mirror only managed to get a passing grade because she didn’t have a third arm to hold it. 

“Blah blah blah,” the Duchess of Caledion said, bowing one final time and gesturing for her servants to add her gift to the pile. 

“Blah blah!” Her unattractive but well-bred husband added. 

“We are most appreciative. Perhaps we shall speak more at the ball two days hence.” Luna gave her best spin on how her predecessor behaved during major events like this.

A few more meaningless pleasantries left their mouths before they retreated from the throne room.

She didn’t mean to ignore them. They just had so little of substance to say. It wasn’t like either of them led their own contingent in the war, either. It made sense, naturally. The Witch-Queen’s greatest general and his daughter were both from their territory.

But… in practice, it left them oddly hollow. How much did they really know about marshal life? Glory? Of sacrifice or suffering? Everything they cared to talk about was frivolous or the finest things in life that were best left as a reward to oneself after some great feat. 

They had no war stories, no tales of adventure, of victory over the odds. They could complain of the pain a dance partner stepping on their foot caused them, not knowing the feeling of a crossbow bolt burying itself into their flesh. They wouldn’t even laugh at barely-macabre tales about being shot in the backside and needing to sleep on your front for a week.

…Luna didn’t resent them. Not really. They were just from a different world. Lots of people were. A hundred years of life lent her enough maturity to know they were simply too different to communicate beyond a surface level. 

“How many more?” She asked when the ducal pair excused themselves.

“The number would demoralise you, Your Majesty.” The guard on her right was Brigid, from the voice. They all wore their ceremonial war-masks for big occasions and it made them hard to tell apart if you didn’t know them well.

“…Knowing it’s a demoralising number has successfully demoralised me.” 

“Apologies.” She readjusted her grip on her glaive and wiggled her knees in the absence of guests to impress. 

“Where’s Arlene?” Losing track of her was a common occurrence, but she would reappear just as quickly and ghost-like as she left. 

“I believe the Chamberlain is organising the servants who will be on duty tonight.”

“Tonight-tonight?” All those idle little promises came rushing back to Luna and pinkened her cheeks.

“Tonight’s squad of servants tending to all the excess nobility staying at the palace, Your Majesty.”

“Well… good. I’m taking a break.” The last thing she wanted was for the headache to get worse from the passive-aggressive tongue lashing Arlene would hand out for slacking. Might even threaten to not hold a fun little orgy with her tonight, the heartless woman.

Sword first. Shut up. It fell into its decorative box with little care given to its well-being. Two thousand years and as many attempts hadn’t broken the thing and it wouldn’t start now. The blue flame sputtering, then petulantly dying was a delight.

The centuries-old staff leaned easily against the mirror, then—finally—the crown came off and took her spot on the throne so she could stand and stretch her legs.

“I don’t mean to question you, Your Majesty, but she would want me to remind you that the longer you take, the less free time you’ll have before the festivities.”

“And what if I’m looking forward to them?”

Teasing the guards, servants and ministers was an amusing pastime, but they all eventually caught on to the game. Only a few like Tara Merrywing, Rowan and Cait were serious or inexperienced enough to still fall for it. 

It was a shame the mask robbed her of even the simple pleasure of watching Brigid chew her lip and puzzle out a diplomatic tone. The blank white owl mask merely stared toward the door.

“Experience would suggest your least favourite social event is an unlikely candidate.”

“Perhaps I’ve turned over a new leaf. All these people wasting money and energy coming all the way to my doorstep with gifts their chamberlains thought very hard about… Surely any good woman would at least appreciate the company?”

If only it were true. It should have been true. She wasn’t such a sheltered princess that she didn’t know the value of what she was receiving. You could live a very comfortable life with a tenth of what she’d be given today. If only it wasn’t just platitudes from strangers solidifying their position or dispelling rumours of disloyalty. 

“Perhaps.” Brigid’s tone said it all.

“I’ve had an amusing diversion brewing in the back of my mind today.”

“I can’t stop you, but it’s in my personal interest to remind you that most of your guests weren’t in your personal guard. Delicate temperaments.”

“You’re starting to sound like Selene, you old grouch.”

“I’ll happily chastise you all day if you give me the Captain’s pay, Your Majesty.”

“Not with Layla as treasurer, I won’t.”

The stiff formality broke and the tss-hss-hss laugh of a woman laughing through clenched teeth made it through her mask. Luna didn’t last much longer and joined her laughter when she imagined the finance minister’s fuming grimace. 

“Aha… So what is it?”

“You’ll have to swear yourself to secrecy. Not even Arlene can know.”

Brigid tapped her fingers on the shaft of her glaive. “How much trouble’s it going to cause?”

“Are you saying you’re going back on your oath to follow me through thick and thin?” Luna played up her mock-surprise with an insulted gasp and a hand on her chest.

“I’m preventing information from being tortured out of me by the high of station and pure of blood. Should the Witch-Queen need decisive action, I’d be happy to carry out her orders.”

“Oh, that’s a good one.”

“Thanks, Your Majesty. Cooked it up with the gals over a game of hazard.”

“I’ve got to sneak into one of those some time.” It had all been so easy when they were just in a camp together. But now? The guards weren’t the problem so much as the flock of fussy servants who would throw themselves in her way. “The answer to the trouble question is that it won’t. Unless the guests are helpless gossips, in which case they’ll feel silly at worst.”

Brigid lifted her owl mask just enough to make eye contact with Luna and raise her brow.

“You wound me, Brigid. When have I ever gotten myself into trouble?”

“Should the list be alphabetic or by magnitude?”

Luna turned away on her heel and threw her hands up. “Keep a woman in your retinue for ninety years and suddenly she thinks she knows you. Hmph.”

The melodrama was too much and even the guard on the other side of the throne’s dais giggled.

Once she got the reaction she was after, she turned back to Brigid. “I pinky promise, swear on the Three, White Rabbit strike me down if I tell a lie.”

“Fine. I swear to hold your secret to my grave.”

“You know what the annoying part of the masquerade is? Being recognised. People constantly walking up and giving me the season’s greetings and congratulating me on still being alive.”

“The horns, height and black hair do make it obvious, mask or not.”

“Exactly! Completely defeats the point of the holiday. I aim to fix that this year.”

“And who is the main victim? Have we moved on from Sir Rowan?” She said it as though Luna tossed people she had sex with onto a burning pyre when she was done. Rude.

“He gives awfully good reactions, Brigid. In my first meal alone with him, he made two separate faces of horror when he thought I was a cannibal and again when he thought I was trying to addle him with some kind of foul magical drug.”

She tilted her head. “Never could figure him out.”

“That’s the best part. He’s clearly spent his entire life eating up every story that I’m the cruelest demon of the deepest hell, and he’s still dead-set on facing me honestly. It’s adorable.”

“And you want to see what face he makes when he finds out he was gossiping to you all evening.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“I didn’t care to torture Gislanders when we were at war with them, but thank you for asking.”

Luna groaned and did a lap of the dais to stretch her legs. “You know, Brigid, I normally appreciate your steadfast tomboyishness, but you’ve got no sense of drama.”

“I appreciate the compliment.”

“And our guests—” Arlene’s voice carried toward the throne from one of the decorative colonnades on the side of the room, “—would appreciate meeting their Witch-Queen in the next week.”

Oops. When did she get back?

“And I’m sorry to mention that your plan to torment Minister Rowan may not pan out. He’s stuck his nose into trouble again.”

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