AllFreeNovel
Share Us
At the dressing table, I tore a brush through my hair, affixed my locks into a braid at the crown of my head, and secured it with the clips. “I’m a future monarch, not a mermaid.”
Mother flung up her arms. “Oh, Briar. I give up.”
Not a moment later, company arrived in a whirlwind of satin. Seven courtiers, all my age and with sun-kissed complexions ranging from peachy to dark, in stark contrast to my pale skin.
The Queen of Spring’s ladies.
The clique strutted into the room, their hips swinging and their gazes confident. Upon seeing the queen, they grinned and dashed across the space. When they finally remembered to stop, the ladies bumped into each other, then burst into impish chortles.
Cadence. Freya. Lisette. Vale. Posy. Questa. Rhiannon.
They dipped into a graceful row of curtsies, each one cooing, “Your Majesty” and “Majesty” and so forth until all seven had performed their greetings.
A pause followed. I waited as the Seven finally remembered themselves. “Your Highness,” they said to me in unison, but not with the same congenial octave they’d afforded Mother.
They flocked to her, surrounding the queen like nymphs while chirping over each other in enthusiasm. “Welcome back,” and “We’ve missed you,” and “There’s going to be such levity at the feast tonight,” and “I’m in lust,” and “She’s always in lust,” and “But I’m inexceptionallust,” and “No, therealword for it is obsession.”
The Seven listed the revelers attending tonight’s event, from noblemen to female soldiers. However, they kept cycling back to the entertainment, hinting at a savory performance while withholding the details. They cast each other knowing glances and raved over the delicious secret of it.
A fine line existed between distinguished fun and Spring fun. Frivolous at best. Indecent at worst. Visions of a sword-swallower wrapped in a loin cloth and greased in oil flitted through my head. That, and an erotic dance that involved even less clothing.
I pinned myself to the dressing table’s chair, watching as the effervescent group modeled their gowns and spread their skirts wide. Wrist bangles jingled from their arms. One of the outfits boasted a high slit and a visible garter hugging the female’s thighs.
As if to buoy themselves, three of the ladies imitated a classic Spring dance in prelude to the evening. The trio hummed a tune, circling one another in a formation that managed to exude spirit, allure, and sensuality.
In between conversing with the other females, Mother smiled and offered compliments to the dancers.
I kept quiet, squeezing my hands in my lap.
“Join them, Briar,” Mother encouraged. “Go on. For me.”
I had wounded her once already. I could not refuse.
Even so, this would not end well.
After a moment’s hesitation, I stood and approached the trinity of swaying figures while fighting to keep my chin aloft. While the ladies spun, I moved as though made of wood. Each ligament tensed, no better than if I’d been nailed together.
Mother rose from her perch by the hooded fireplace. “If you’ll excuse me,” she announced, the belt tassels around her waist knocking together. “Do keep Briar company.”
She bobbed her finger toward me and mouthed a silentStay, then left.
I suffered inwardly. I was quite sure the others did as well.
The three dancing females refrained from verbally reacting as I treaded on their toes. Instead, they beamed to my face, though the trio swapped very different looks over my shoulder.
Posy had been blessed with plush curves like Mother, a nose as tiny as her namesake, and a string of inked blossoms looping along her collarbone.
Vale’s dark skin complimented her burgundy irises, which matched the shade of her hair.
Cadence’s evergreen tresses cascaded down her swanlike figure.
Rhiannon and Lisette kept talking. Freya and Questa joined in the dance, which enabled Posy to detach herself and use the opportunity to snoop at my possessions. She appraised everything from my shoes, aligned in a neat row beside the wardrobe, to my signature quill and a stack of my favorite illuminated manuscripts.
Satisfied, Posy trotted to the window and unfastened it. Not an instant into her daydream, the female gasped, “Oh, my Seasons. It’s him!”
The dance broke apart. Pandemonium ensued. The ladies stampeded to the sill—what in theworld?—and squished their heads through the gap.
“Your Highness, you must have a look,” Posy whispered.
