Chapter 24
Aeryn sat beside Khaeric on a stone bench in the Royal Park beneath an ancient oak, its branches forming a canopy so dense that only scattered light reached the ground. The air smelled of grass and wildflowers, underlaid with the faint sweetness of honeysuckle climbing nearby trellises.
She’d barely slept. Every time she’d closed her eyes, the Queen’s words had echoed through her mind—your human blood speaks too loudly—followed by the image of those seven faces staring down at her with varying degrees of contempt and disgust.
Aeryn traced the embroidery on her sleeve with restless fingers. Everything in Béalimhe was perfect. Perfect architecture, perfect gardens, perfect records untainted by inconvenient truths.
“They’re stalling,” she said, breaking the silence that had stretched between them. A pair of songbirds flitted through the branches overhead, their chirping absurdly cheerful. “They hope I’ll withdraw my petition if they make me wait long enough.”
Khaeric’s hand found hers, his calloused palm warm against her skin. “Aye, probably.”
“It won’t work,” Aeryn said, though the words tasted like ash. She watched a leaf drift down from the oak’s branches, spinning lazily before settling on the grass. “I won’t withdraw.”
“I ken.” His thumb traced circles on the back of her hand.
Footsteps approached along the gravel path, accompanied by the soft murmur of feminine voices. Aeryn looked up to see four women approaching, their elaborate gowns marking them as nobility.
The lead woman wore deep violet silk with silver embroidery that caught the dappled sunlight filtering through the oak’s canopy.
The woman in violet smiled as she drew closer, the expression not quite reaching her eyes. “Princess Aeryn. What a pleasure to see you again after all these years.” She and the other women bowed.
Aeryn straightened on the bench, her fingers tightening around Khaeric’s hand. The woman’s face tugged at memory—something distant, like a name heard once at a formal dinner years ago. The violet silk suggested House Silverleaf.
“Good afternoon,” Aeryn said, keeping her tone pleasant but neutral. She rose from the bench, drawing Khaeric up with her.
The woman in violet stepped closer, her gaze flickering to Khaeric with barely concealed fascination.
“I was so delighted to hear of your return to Thiarra, Princess. Though I confess, the circumstances are rather... unexpected.” She tilted her head, and the sunlight caught the delicate points of her ears beneath elaborately styled auburn hair.
“Unexpected,” Aeryn repeated carefully. “I suppose any marriage might seem unexpected to those not involved in its arrangement.”
The woman’s smile widened, revealing perfect white teeth.
“Oh, of course. Though I imagine most marriages don’t require quite so much.
.. adjustment.” Her gaze swept over Khaeric again, lingering on his grey skin and the breadth of his shoulders.
“One must admire your dedication to the peace treaty. Not every woman would be willing to make such a sacrifice for the good of the realm.”
The barb landed precisely where intended. Heat crept up Aeryn’s neck, but she kept her expression neutral. The three women behind the violet-clad noblewoman tittered, their gloved hands rising to cover their mouths in a pantomime of discretion that only amplified the insult.
Khaeric’s hand tensed in hers.
“I must say, Princess, your husband is quite striking. So much larger than our men.” Her gaze traveled deliberately up Khaeric’s frame, pausing at his chest, his shoulders, before finally settling on his face with an expression that made Aeryn’s stomach turn.
“One wonders if all orcs are so... impressively built. It must be rather like keeping a prize warhorse, I imagine. Beautiful to look at, powerful in its way, but requiring such careful management.”
Her fingers slipped from Khaeric’s hand as she stepped forward, placing herself between him and the violet-clad noblewoman.
“How fascinating,” Aeryn said, her voice carrying the honeyed sweetness of poisoned wine.
“I didn’t know House Silverleaf had taken such an interest in animal husbandry.
Though I suppose when one’s own bloodline has been so carefully.
.. shall we say, inbred... for the past few centuries, one must seek expertise wherever one can find it. ”
The woman’s smile faltered.
Aeryn pressed forward, her voice light and conversational. “Tell me, Lady—forgive me, I’m afraid I’ve forgotten your name. There are so many distant branches of House Silverleaf, and they do all rather blur together after a while.”
The woman’s cheeks flushed, a splotch of red blooming beneath her powder. “Lady Celoria,” she said, her voice tight. “We were introduced at your sister Elowen’s wedding.”
“Ah, yes. Of course.” Aeryn waved her hand dismissively, as if the memory was only just now returned.
“But perhaps I’m being uncharitable. After all, House Silverleaf has always prided itself on.
.. tradition. Why, I recall reading in the lineage records that your great-great-grandmother married her own cousin to keep the bloodline pure.
And then her daughter did the same. And her daughter after that.
” Aeryn tilted her head, mimicking the woman’s earlier gesture.
“Tell me, how many generations does it take before everyone at family gatherings starts to look remarkably similar? I imagine it saves considerably on portrait commissions.”
Behind her, the three companions had gone utterly still, their fans frozen mid-flutter.
“At least my family understands the value of preserving what is sacred,” Lady Celoria said.
“Sacred?” Aeryn’s laugh came out sharp, like glass shattering on stone.
“How interesting that you mention preservation, Lady Celoria. I seem to recall that the Council itself denounced the practice of cousin marriages several generations ago.” She hummed, pretending to recall the information.
“Something about concerns regarding mental and emotional defects that began appearing in certain bloodlines with alarming frequency.”
Lady Celoria’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again, but no words emerged. Behind her, one of the companions made a small choking sound.
Aeryn smiled, the expression warm and utterly false.
“Though I’m certain House Silverleaf has nothing to worry about in that regard.
After all, any such defects would surely be.
.. immediately apparent. Wouldn’t they?” She tilted her head, studying Lady Celoria with exaggerated curiosity, as though examining a particularly interesting specimen of insect.
“Perhaps a tendency toward poor judgment? Or an inability to recognize when one is being profoundly insulting to a member of the royal family?”
The three women behind her exchanged panicked glances, their earlier amusement replaced by obvious discomfort. One of them tugged at Lady Celoria’s sleeve, a gesture so subtle it might have been missed if Aeryn hadn’t been watching for it.
“We should be going,” Lady Celoria finally managed, her voice strangled. “The afternoon is growing late.”
“So soon?” Aeryn allowed disappointment to color her tone.
“I was so hoping we might continue our conversation. After all, it’s been so long since I’ve had the pleasure of discussing.
.. what was it you called my husband? A prize warhorse?
” She paused. “I’m certain there must be other comparisons you’d like to share.
Perhaps you’ve been cataloging them for just such an occasion. ”
Lady Celoria’s lips pressed into a thin line. The flush had spread down her neck, disappearing beneath the high collar of her gown. “Princess, I—I didn’t mean—” The words tumbled out, tripping over themselves.
“Of course you didn’t.” Aeryn’s smile remained fixed, pleasant, utterly false.
“Just as I’m certain you meant no offense when you suggested my marriage was a sacrifice rather than a choice.
Or when you implied my husband required management like a beast of burden.
” The pleasantness drained from her voice.
“But I assure you, I take great offense to all of it.”
Lady Celoria stepped backward, nearly treading on the hem of one companion’s gown.
“And while I appreciate your belated recognition of your error, I find myself wondering what possessed you to approach.” She paused, letting the question hang. “Did you truly believe I would smile and nod while you insulted my husband to his face?”
Khaeric’s hands settled on her shoulders, warm and steady through the fabric of her gown.
Lady Celoria’s mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping on dry land. “I—” she began, but Aeryn raised her hand, cutting her off.
“Save your excuses. I have no interest in hearing them.” Aeryn stepped closer, close enough to see the fine powder caking in the lines around Lady Celoria’s eyes.
“But I will give you something to carry back to whatever drawing room spawned this little expedition. My husband is not a beast. He is not a sacrifice. He is not a curiosity for bored noblewomen to gawk at and compare to livestock.”
Each word came out precise and deliberate, sharp enough to cut.
“He is Clanlord of Clan Druin, son of High Chieftain Korrath, and my lawfully wedded husband.” Her voice dropped lower, each syllable weighted with steel.
“And if you or any of your companions ever speak of him in such terms again, I will ensure that the High Queen hears every word of it. I wonder how High Queen Elindra would react to learning that members of her court are treating diplomatic envoys like animals in a menagerie.”
The blood drained from Lady Celoria’s face, her eyes wide, leaving her complexion the color of curdled milk. “I—forgive me, Princess, I—” Her voice broke on the last word.
“You meant exactly what you said.” Aeryn’s hands trembled at her sides. “But I suspect you didn’t anticipate any consequences for saying it. Now you know better.”
Lady Celoria’s companions had already begun edging backward, their faces pale beneath their powder and rouge. One of them tugged more insistently at Lady Celoria’s sleeve, no longer bothering with subtlety.
“We really must be going,” the woman whispered, her voice carrying despite the attempted discretion. “Lady Celoria, please—”
Lady Celoria finally seemed to register the danger she’d placed herself in. She dipped into a curtsey so hasty it bordered on graceless, her violet skirts bunching awkwardly around her knees. “Princess Aeryn. My lord. Good day.”
The four women retreated down the gravel path with considerably less elegance than they’d approached, their rapid footsteps crunching against the stones.
Aeryn turned back toward the bench, her legs suddenly unsteady beneath her.
The fury that had sustained her through the confrontation drained away all at once, leaving her hollow and shaking.
She lowered herself onto the stone seat, her silk skirts pooling around her as she pressed her palms flat against the cool surface.
Her hands wouldn’t stop trembling.
Khaeric’s low rumble of laughter startled her. The sound was unexpected. Aeryn looked up at him, confused. “What could possibly be funny?”
“Ye,” he said, his amber eyes crinkling at the corners. “Standin’ there, all silk and courtly grace, tearin’ that woman apart wi’ nothin’ but words.” His hand found hers again, his thumb tracing the ridge of her knuckles. “She never saw it comin’. Walked right up to ye like a lamb to slaughter.”
Aeryn’s breath caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob. The image was absurd enough to ease the trembling in her hands. She pressed her free hand to her mouth, trying to contain the sound that wanted to escape.
“I shouldn’t have said those things,” she managed, though the words felt hollow even as she spoke them. “I was cruel.”
“Aye, ye were.” Khaeric settled onto the bench beside her. “And she earned every word of it.”
Aeryn sighed, the tension in her shoulders easing. He was right. What had Lady Celoria expected? Polite silence? Grateful acceptance of the insult?
“Would yer aunt actually do anythin’?” Khaeric asked. “If word reached her that Lady Celoria insulted me?”
Would Elindra actually care? The High Queen had made her feelings plain—she’d called the request unprecedented, questioned whether elven law had ever envisioned “this,” as if Khaeric were some aberration rather than a sovereign leader.
“I think so,” Aeryn said slowly. “But not because she cares about you. Because it would look poorly on the Crown for allowing any noble house to speak that way to a Silver Bough.”
“So yer threat works,” Khaeric said, “but not for the reasons that woman thinks.”
“Exactly.” The admission should have felt like victory—she’d wielded her position as weapon and shield both, protecting Khaeric through the very bloodline the Council refused to extend to him. The irony tasted like copper on her tongue.
Aeryn watched a gardener in the distance trim a hedge into perfect geometric angles, his shears flashing in the sun. Everything in Thiarra bent toward perfection, toward an ideal so rigid it allowed no room for deviation.
“I hate it here,” she said quietly. “I hate the way they look at you. The way they speak in careful circles, wrapping insults in silk until you can barely see the blade beneath.”
Khaeric grunted, his gaze sweeping across the manicured lawns and perfectly pruned hedges. “At least in Beinn Ork, if someone thinks ye’re beneath them, they say it plain. Or they challenge ye to combat and settle it there.”
“That would certainly make things simpler.”
Across the lawn, the gardener’s shears caught the last of the afternoon light. Aeryn watched until he disappeared around a corner, leaving nothing behind but the perfect, unchanging shape.