Valka
"Lady Nythorn, may I assu you have been... chaste?"
The question brings out of my spacing out. "If Lucien has not been chaste all this while, what makes you privy to ask that sort of question?"
The Priestesses face is carved out of stone. "It is tradition to ensure the bride is unsullied. And if there has been indulgence, there must be a cleansing in ti for the mating rites."
I stare at the woman. "Cleansing? Of what?"
Her eyes drop to my thighs under the pink tulle. "The cleansing of your lady parts, Your Highness, in preparation to conceive and birth the next Draemont heir. It is a sacred mont."
"Will the king’s tool be cleansed too?"
The maids gasp sowhere behind and Margot sighs heavily with the designers showing forth the dresses for the last fitting.
The High Priestess studies like I have said sothing preposterous, hands flying to her mouth in such horror, you would think I killed her first born son. "T-that is such a vile thing to utter, Your Highness!"
"I don’t see how it is--"
"Stop tornting the priestesses, Lyra," Margot chides. "You will do as you are bid. Every queen and princess before you went through the sa process. It is important you carry out every ritual and no fault be found with you."
My fingers curl on the tulle. "What might it entail?"
"Nothing tedious," the High Priestess says. "A bath will be drawn. You will be anointed in blessed oils and herbs to purge the body of any remnants of past touches."
"I’ve only ever been touched by the King."
Silence.
The Priestess nose scrunches up, but she smiles ekly, lowering her head in false submission. "Well, you must understand that this is necessary, as we cannot know for sure, considering your... unknown upbringing."
What does that even an? I lift the hem of my dress, rising abruptly. "Be done with it, then."
By the ti the priestesses are done, I am raw. Inside and out. They have scrubbed and anointed and whispered prayers over my body as though I were a weapon that must be dismantled before it can be used.
I stare at my reflection later, wrapped in white linen and dripping with sacred oil, and I do not recognize the woman staring back. They have painted into a bride--docile, quiet, pure.
And though, Lucien’s words hamr in the back of my mind, I cannot quite tell how exactly I’m supposed to fight any harder than I already am against traditions that have been in place for longer than I’ve been born.
"This," the seamstress says, and I turn sideways to see the ropes at the back of the pale silk. "It allows for easy shedding of your garnts. Layer after layer signifies sothing different, and we shall preside over the process to ensure it is done right."
My gaze snaps to hers through the mirrors. "Preside? There will be an... audience to the consummation?"
The woman nods like it is sothing I should have known. "Not within the chambers, of course. We will be on the other side of the door, behind the shift--"
"Absolutely not!" I bark, startling the room full of crazy won. "What is wrong with you people?"
The older woman blinks at slowly. "It is a mating rite, Your Highness. In our much cruder years, when the males choose their Erasthais, they do not bother with the privacy of chambers or walls. The bond takes them, reducing their inhibitions beyond normal and they breathe to fulfil their most innate instinct. Mate. Breed. The rite was often held under the moonlight, before the flas and the eyes of the people. The consummation of a king is a special thing. It has often been recorded that in the festival that follows, the blessing of children is gifted to as many as who seek it."
My gaze shifts to Margot, searching for answers on her face that this might be a crude joke, but there is none. She rises from the couch, chin high, back straight as ramrod as she walks to .
Ever since I was nad Lucien’s bride, she has walked taller, bolder than before. Her seat closer than ever to the King’s and her voice heard more frequently, more sharply. Even Wyatt doesn’t stay away from Court as much as he used to. He frequents the hallways enough now to elicit rumours that House Nythorn was taking power from the Draemonts once more.
I cannot be sure of it, seeing how little ti I have had to myself, but Margot has had these etings. So many of them I can barely keep count. She has been a surprisingly great companion in the last few years, a pillar of strength I never realized I needed.
But there are days when I rember Lyssandra’s words. That I am nothing but a pawn to her.
Like now.
Her eyes, like mine, are fierce and stern as they hold mine. "The title is only as strong as the one who owns it. They look down on us and this will not change until your seat is solidified. You must go through with the traditions and bear Lucien a son. It is the only way you keep that chair." Her fingers rest on my stomach. "Try keeping it inside this ti, child."
My shoulders begin to curve in. The weight heavy. Instinctively, my hand flies to my neck, to the pendant resting against my chest, thumb glossing over the smooth pendant. "I do not want--"
"But you do want it, Lyra," she says, smoothing over the hair on my cheek. "You forget you are not the only one who Whispers." She leans in and whispers, "I see you, Ilya."
I gasp, stumbling back, but she grabs my arm with crushing strength, keeping in place. "Your secret is safe with . And House Nythorn’s succession with you."
Fear clamps around my heart. It had never occured to to learn to place a shield on my own mind from others like . Did she always know? How much does she know? Everything? Did she draw close for that reason? Was it always about House Nythorn? Not because she truly cared about ?
The door swings open, the maid announcing Evadne seconds before she bursts into my bed chambers with a wine jar, looking less pale than the last ti I saw her writhing in bed and fighting the poison of ash in her blood. Margot breaks apart from , just as Katherine follows in behind Evadne, a hand on her round belly, another holding up more ale. "For the Maiden’s Farewell!"
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