A woman strolls into the room and my first thought is that she doesn’t belong amongst these warriors. She’s wearing a dress, for saints’ sake. A pretty blue one with long sleeves, a modest neckline, and several skirts. A dark brown fur hangs over shoulders and her long blond hair is tied in braid that falls down her back. The way she glides across the floor, hands crossed at the wrists in front of her stomach, reminds me of my childhood etiquette tutors. It’s not a good feeling.
The second thing I think is she reminds me of the saint slobbering on my neck. It’s not obvious. Alana takes after her father but not in regards to her more feminine features. Her lips, the shape of her eyes if not their color, certainly her hair. This woman has all of those. Even Alana’s modest curves. The bad feeling gets worse.
Kalise’s muttered, “Feck, who invited her?” doesn’t help.
The woman stops at the end of the table and bows her head. “Excuse my intrusion, my lord. I simply came to wish the commanders good luck before the campaign.”
“Roza,” the duke says. He waves his hand and a servant appears with a chair, placing it beside her. The woman, Roza, takes a seat.
“Thank you, my lord.” She accepts a cup of water-downed Herbanacle, making a face after sniffing it. Oi. “And what is it we are drinking?”
“Something worth too much to touch your lips,” Eleanor scoffs.
“As civil as ever, Ellie.”
“Call me that again and the next rod shoved up that well-used hole of yours will be my spear.”
Kalise bursts into laughter along with a few other knights. Those of us not laughing stare at her in stupefied silence, namely me. The exceptions are the duke, whose expression remains blank, and Roza, who looks like she is trying not to frown.
“Drink up, Roza!” the barbarian roars. “I am in far too good a mood to play your usual games. You should take lessons from your daughter. If I didn’t know better, I’d say I birthed the sunny cat, ha!”
Oh. Saints. That resemblance isn’t a coincidence. This woman is Alana’s mother. During our first meeting, her daughter is sprawled on my lap and licking on me like I’m slathered in honey.
…
If I had to put this situation in a positive light, I would say that there is no way to go down from here. My future mother-in-law has gotten a very frank look at our relationship. There is also no doubt of our feelings for one another.
The bad. All the above and more. Roza certainly doesn’t look impressed by us. Her glare is nastier than Anastasia’s, though it lacks power. She does not approve. At all. “Alana,” her mother says, voice purposely soft but filled with agitation. “No greeting for your mother?”
Alana is so consumed with me that she wouldn’t care if the king himself had walked into the room. She ignores the demand on her attention, shuffling about so she’s straddling one of my thighs. The shameless saint begins to subtly grind and moans my name against my ear.
Her mother is not at all pleased with being ignored. “Alana,” she hisses. “You’re embarrassing yourself.” I can practically see the rest she wants to say on her face. You’ve finally made it to the James table as an equal and you’re making a fool out of yourself, and more importantly, me. She came to gloat, didn’t she? Of course she did. Why else would she be here in that kind of dress while everyone else is in casual clothes?
Is it that? Noble snobbery but in reverse? Instead of someone claiming the greatness of their ancestors, is she intending on claiming the greatness of her daughter? Riding her cape to the top of Victory’s social hierarchy? Not even the north can escape the politics of the capital.
“The only one embarrassing herself is you, Roza,” Anastasia chides. “Aren’t you too old to be running after my brother? And your daughter clearly has more important things on her mind.”
Thomas laughs, sloshing his drink. “I’d be more interested in fucking my woman than listening to my nagging mother too. Good on her!”
“Is it wrong that I don’t want my daughter acting like—”
“A shameless whore?” Eleanor adds with heat. “I thought you’d be proud she’s taking after you.”
“Hey!”
The table turns to me. This time, I don’t falter, glaring at the older woman. “Watch how you talk about her,” I say, making no effort to hide the threat in my voice.
“Frigid bitch,” Alana mutters loud enough for the rest of the table to hear.
Eleanor frowns but I sneer, daring her to try my patience. She grumbles unintelligibly but holds her tongue, drowning her feelings in Herbanacle.
“Looks like you have some spine, after all,” Anastasia…praises? I think? Her tone makes me think she’s praising me.
“I can’t stand when people insult her.”
“Lady Lourianne Tome,” Alana’s mother says. “I haven’t heard of your family before, which is very surprising. I’d have thought someone able to put on such a display at the Witness Circle would be renowned throughout the kingdom.”
“You watched a March?” Kalise exclaims in disbelief. “I thought bloodshed wasn’t good for your delicate constitution.”
Roza puts down her cup, clearly having no intention on joining the others in their drunkenness. “I didn’t have the pleasure of witnessing Lady Tome, no, but if it was half as grand as the rumors, she will certainly make her mark in Victory.” Her eyes narrow as her smile widens, not in a friendly way. “I also heard talk of marriage.”
“Is that why you slithered out of whatever rock you’ve been hiding under?” Kalise scoffs.
“I was waiting for my daughter to come and see me on her own,” Roza says. “I understand that she must be busy taking command of an army on her first campaign.” Hm. She certainly sounds proud but her tone grates on my nerves. “But, yes, when I heard that she was planning on getting married, I selfishly put my motherly concerns first and rushed to discover the details. Can you blame me?”
“Yeah, dumbass.” The barbarian punctuates the sentence by chugging the rest of her cup and demanding a refill.
One thing I will say about Alana’s mother is that she has impeccable control. Nothing flusters her. It’s too the point that I have to wonder if Alana gets her stern expression from her mother rather than her father. “So, Lady Tome. I assume you plan to move to Victory after your time at the Hall?”
“Uh.” I certainly do not. “Is that any of your business?”
“I would think it is. My daughter may be the next duchess. As her bannerwoman and her future wife, you would be by her side, wouldn’t you? I find it concerning that you didn’t immediately give a positive answer.”
“There she goes getting ahead of herself again.”
“No one has ever accused Roza of having small dreams.”
Saints, the duke’s wives have been absolutely brutal tonight. They seem intent on verbally shredding Roza. I see Kalise readying herself for another blow but she’s interrupted by Alana straightening up. She looks annoyed. Very annoyed.
“Will you shut up?!”
That finally breaks Roza’s composure. A tiny fraction. “Alana—" she tries to say but my saint is quick to cut her off.
“Did you not think there was a reason I avoided you, mother?” she practically growls. She makes a motion to get to her feet and immediately tilts. I quickly drag her back to my lap, sitting her on my knees like a child. She grabs my shoulder with a hand but her eyes never leave her mother. “This has nothing to do with you.”
“Alana, sweetheart—"
“Don’t call me that!” she shouts. “Only Lou calls me stuff like that,” she mutters much more quietly. I melt, of course. How can someone be so cute?
“I’m just worried about you. It’s your first campaign and—”
“Oh, now you’re worried. Where was that worry when you told me I was destined to be a knight? That I had to fight to prove my worth? You didn’t care if I died proving I’m a James so don’t pretend you give a damn about my life now!”
Silence. Long silence, only interrupted by the gulping of drinks and a few awkward coughs. Mm. A little heavier of a topic than they were expecting, I think.
“Should have just drank the shroom juice,” Kalise finally mutters, snickering at the stunned look on Roza’s face.
“Lou.” Alana turns sideways on my lap. “I want to go to bed.”
“Alright, Alana.” Sparing only my wife a glance, I scoop her into my arms and carry her away.
A woman strolls into the room and my first thought is that she doesn’t belong amongst these warriors. She’s wearing a dress, for saints’ sake. A pretty blue one with long sleeves, a modest neckline, and several skirts. A dark brown fur hangs over shoulders and her long blond hair is tied in braid that falls down her back. The way she glides across the floor, hands crossed at the wrists in front of her stomach, reminds me of my childhood etiquette tutors. It’s not a good feeling.
The second thing I think is she reminds me of the saint slobbering on my neck. It’s not obvious. Alana takes after her father but not in regards to her more feminine features. Her lips, the shape of her eyes if not their color, certainly her hair. This woman has all of those. Even Alana’s modest curves. The bad feeling gets worse.
Kalise’s muttered, “Feck, who invited her?” doesn’t help.
The woman stops at the end of the table and bows her head. “Excuse my intrusion, my lord. I simply came to wish the commanders good luck before the campaign.”
“Roza,” the duke says. He waves his hand and a servant appears with a chair, placing it beside her. The woman, Roza, takes a seat.
“Thank you, my lord.” She accepts a cup of water-downed Herbanacle, making a face after sniffing it. Oi. “And what is it we are drinking?”
“Something worth too much to touch your lips,” Eleanor scoffs.
“As civil as ever, Ellie.”
“Call me that again and the next rod shoved up that well-used hole of yours will be my spear.”
Kalise bursts into laughter along with a few other knights. Those of us not laughing stare at her in stupefied silence, namely me. The exceptions are the duke, whose expression remains blank, and Roza, who looks like she is trying not to frown.
“Drink up, Roza!” the barbarian roars. “I am in far too good a mood to play your usual games. You should take lessons from your daughter. If I didn’t know better, I’d say I birthed the sunny cat, ha!”
Oh. Saints. That resemblance isn’t a coincidence. This woman is Alana’s mother. During our first meeting, her daughter is sprawled on my lap and licking on me like I’m slathered in honey.
…
If I had to put this situation in a positive light, I would say that there is no way to go down from here. My future mother-in-law has gotten a very frank look at our relationship. There is also no doubt of our feelings for one another.
The bad. All the above and more. Roza certainly doesn’t look impressed by us. Her glare is nastier than Anastasia’s, though it lacks power. She does not approve. At all. “Alana,” her mother says, voice purposely soft but filled with agitation. “No greeting for your mother?”
Alana is so consumed with me that she wouldn’t care if the king himself had walked into the room. She ignores the demand on her attention, shuffling about so she’s straddling one of my thighs. The shameless saint begins to subtly grind and moans my name against my ear.
Her mother is not at all pleased with being ignored. “Alana,” she hisses. “You’re embarrassing yourself.” I can practically see the rest she wants to say on her face. You’ve finally made it to the James table as an equal and you’re making a fool out of yourself, and more importantly, me. She came to gloat, didn’t she? Of course she did. Why else would she be here in that kind of dress while everyone else is in casual clothes?
Is it that? Noble snobbery but in reverse? Instead of someone claiming the greatness of their ancestors, is she intending on claiming the greatness of her daughter? Riding her cape to the top of Victory’s social hierarchy? Not even the north can escape the politics of the capital.
“The only one embarrassing herself is you, Roza,” Anastasia chides. “Aren’t you too old to be running after my brother? And your daughter clearly has more important things on her mind.”
Thomas laughs, sloshing his drink. “I’d be more interested in fucking my woman than listening to my nagging mother too. Good on her!”
“Is it wrong that I don’t want my daughter acting like—”
“A shameless whore?” Eleanor adds with heat. “I thought you’d be proud she’s taking after you.”
“Hey!”
The table turns to me. This time, I don’t falter, glaring at the older woman. “Watch how you talk about her,” I say, making no effort to hide the threat in my voice.
“Frigid bitch,” Alana mutters loud enough for the rest of the table to hear.
Eleanor frowns but I sneer, daring her to try my patience. She grumbles unintelligibly but holds her tongue, drowning her feelings in Herbanacle.
“Looks like you have some spine, after all,” Anastasia…praises? I think? Her tone makes me think she’s praising me.
“I can’t stand when people insult her.”
“Lady Lourianne Tome,” Alana’s mother says. “I haven’t heard of your family before, which is very surprising. I’d have thought someone able to put on such a display at the Witness Circle would be renowned throughout the kingdom.”
“You watched a March?” Kalise exclaims in disbelief. “I thought bloodshed wasn’t good for your delicate constitution.”
Roza puts down her cup, clearly having no intention on joining the others in their drunkenness. “I didn’t have the pleasure of witnessing Lady Tome, no, but if it was half as grand as the rumors, she will certainly make her mark in Victory.” Her eyes narrow as her smile widens, not in a friendly way. “I also heard talk of marriage.”
“Is that why you slithered out of whatever rock you’ve been hiding under?” Kalise scoffs.
“I was waiting for my daughter to come and see me on her own,” Roza says. “I understand that she must be busy taking command of an army on her first campaign.” Hm. She certainly sounds proud but her tone grates on my nerves. “But, yes, when I heard that she was planning on getting married, I selfishly put my motherly concerns first and rushed to discover the details. Can you blame me?”
“Yeah, dumbass.” The barbarian punctuates the sentence by chugging the rest of her cup and demanding a refill.
One thing I will say about Alana’s mother is that she has impeccable control. Nothing flusters her. It’s too the point that I have to wonder if Alana gets her stern expression from her mother rather than her father. “So, Lady Tome. I assume you plan to move to Victory after your time at the Hall?”
“Uh.” I certainly do not. “Is that any of your business?”
“I would think it is. My daughter may be the next duchess. As her bannerwoman and her future wife, you would be by her side, wouldn’t you? I find it concerning that you didn’t immediately give a positive answer.”
“There she goes getting ahead of herself again.”
“No one has ever accused Roza of having small dreams.”
Saints, the duke’s wives have been absolutely brutal tonight. They seem intent on verbally shredding Roza. I see Kalise readying herself for another blow but she’s interrupted by Alana straightening up. She looks annoyed. Very annoyed.
“Will you shut up?!”
That finally breaks Roza’s composure. A tiny fraction. “Alana—" she tries to say but my saint is quick to cut her off.
“Did you not think there was a reason I avoided you, mother?” she practically growls. She makes a motion to get to her feet and immediately tilts. I quickly drag her back to my lap, sitting her on my knees like a child. She grabs my shoulder with a hand but her eyes never leave her mother. “This has nothing to do with you.”
“Alana, sweetheart—"
“Don’t call me that!” she shouts. “Only Lou calls me stuff like that,” she mutters much more quietly. I melt, of course. How can someone be so cute?
“I’m just worried about you. It’s your first campaign and—”
“Oh, now you’re worried. Where was that worry when you told me I was destined to be a knight? That I had to fight to prove my worth? You didn’t care if I died proving I’m a James so don’t pretend you give a damn about my life now!”
Silence. Long silence, only interrupted by the gulping of drinks and a few awkward coughs. Mm. A little heavier of a topic than they were expecting, I think.
“Should have just drank the shroom juice,” Kalise finally mutters, snickering at the stunned look on Roza’s face.
“Lou.” Alana turns sideways on my lap. “I want to go to bed.”
“Alright, Alana.” Sparing only my wife a glance, I scoop her into my arms and carry her away.
