Chapter 5

  Margaret strutted by rooms and corridors of decadence, of sheer extravagance and gloss. Every feature of the decorations, from the marbled floors and frescoed ceilings to the artworks and relics, they were seeped in history of eras long past. The pristine novelty of which was a testament to the upkeep of generations.

  Part of the furniture were the statuesque guards manning their stations. Beyond them, only the very immaculate of people were spotted in such imperial surroundings with their mannerisms of trained etiquette. Their presence not even beginning to crowd the vast indoors.

  Margaret didn’t dally and moved with purpose, her poise one of prestige and authority as she dismissed those she passed without sparing a second glace.

  She neared a pair of beautifully carved doors etched with hypnotic patterns. Stationed guardsmen on either side saluted and readily opened the gates for her that she didn’t have to break stride.

  If the hallways of the palace were held to a standard of glamor, the quarters Margaret entered were those of utmost indulgence. The very air scented of expensive perfume and the accessories were finery of the highest craftsmanship. Imported rugs, masterwork furnishings etched beautifully in wood, metal and glass, along with exquisite paintings were just the start in a long catalogue of luxury.

  The lavish room was illuminated dimly for the early morning. Margaret took to the environment with a sense of belonging, coming to stand in front of a large window with an elevated view of Isca, capitol of Ithica.

  Moments after, the doors to the private chambers opened and there appeared a most beautiful man. Tall, limber, blonde haired and of angelic face, he was one that tempted many to doubt their convictions.

  He smiled to Margaret, and it was a heavenly grace of smile. “Hello Margaret,” he wished in a frail melodious tone.

  “Hello David.”

  “It is so lovely to see you,” David gushed like he had just met his long-lost friend.

  “You as well,” she returned cordially. Despite David’s allure, perhaps more so because of it, Margaret always strived to keep a certain distance with him. David possessed the envious ability of lowering one’s guard without even trying.

  “She is late?” she subtly inquired.

  “It was a hectic night, pretty Margaret,” David confessed. “Lillian was very much pent and needed her release,” he recited like a doctor.

  The reply instantly tested Margaret’s patience. Nonetheless, she knew not to judge present company to what would otherwise be considered the height of rudeness.

  For his eccentricities, Margaret considered David akin to a child for his lack of sensibilities.

  As it were, David had been taken in by the Royal Couple some years ago. That David had since been a regular was a bit of a rarity as both the King and Queen weren’t particular keen on repeating company. It certainly had Margaret curious as to David’s expertise.

  David stepped alongside and joined her in observing the splendid view. “She is just getting ready, dear. You know how she gets. She does not let anyone see her at her second best.”

  If not for knowing better, Margaret would have asked him to stop talking. Indeed, David was a rare creature. Na?ve and oblivious, untrained in malice. His inherent goodness did afford him a few liberties. Unfortunately, he never seemed to pick up on the second chances given to him to act maturely.

  “I have never stopped thinking about painting you and Lillian, you know,” he continued on a tangent.

  Margaret suppressed a sigh. Artists were rarely sensible people and always did have their quirks.

  “But I still don’t know how to do you justice! I have some inspirations on Lillian, but you are a hatchling. Or are you a bud?”

  Margaret, for one, was not particularly keen on being painted as a bird or flower. Nor was she keen on the one-sided conversation.

  “You think me silly. Well, I suppose I am,” David giggled. “But the world could do with more harmless silliness than its hurtful silliness.”

  And just as Margaret was beginning to tire of David’s company, he goes forth and says something profound.

  Gratefully for her sake, she was spared as another presence made its arrival. Without preamble, Margaret went to hug her mother. Lillian playfully shuffled side to side and rubbed her cheek against Margaret’s like an affectionate pet, which always earned a smile from her daughter.

  With a small peck on the cheek, Margaret stepped back from the embrace to take in the state of her matron. Though Lillian’s face was immaculate, there was the slightest bruising on her neck. The silk mesh robe she wore was scandalous and left little to the imagination, revealing numerous reddened lesions with scratches and bite marks on her otherwise perfect skin. They were touched up, stylishly so for her fetish to keep souvenirs after a particularly memorable encounter. She could just as easily have summoned a healer or taken a potion and be restored to her pristine self, but she hadn’t.

  “No pleasure without pain,” Lillian always said.

  Margaret chidingly looked to her mother and shook her head in mock exasperation.

  In return, Lillian beamed at her daughter, before looking over her shoulder to David, her intent of dismissal clear.

  “I will be going then,” David announced, which was surprisingly astute of him. “Take care of her, Margaret. She took a firm hand last night.” His parting words, however, dispensed of any perceived maturity.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  After a few seconds of silence, Lillian commented, “Why are all the good ones queer?”

  “You’re one to talk,” Margaret scoffed. “I always think of him as a man child.”

  “Every man is, deary,” Lillian agreed. “Now come,” she led, entwining Margaret's arm.

  They proceeded through an adjacent door to a dining room with a table for six, but one that could easily seat double that amount. The ambience was inviting and relaxed, the space assigned for personal meals and private company.

  The table was readily set for a meal for two, with gleaming cloches awaiting the diners. Unexpectedly, there were no servants present. While customarily there would always be staff to serve on mealtimes, Lillian despised intrusions during the small hours afforded to her with her daughter. And like most things, Lillian got what she wanted.

  The cloches revealed the breakfast for the day to be a thin fillet of delicate fish paired with a light soup of onion and cream. The food was thoughtfully light being the first meal of the day.

  Mother and daughter ate in silence, enjoying each other’s company.

  Upon finishing her course, Lillian plucked an apple from the fruit basket. Producing a thin knife, she began to peel.

  “I missed this,” Lillian admitted fondly. Whilst a child, Margaret was not partial to eating any fruits with a peel. She had long since overgrown her tantrums, but Lillian could not help but indulge her motherhood through such moments.

  Margaret returned the smile, her eyes draw to Lillian’s expert knife work as she cut the skin evenly in one whole twirl. There was barely any wasted flesh, the peel looking like a thin ribbon of shiny silk.

  “How have you been, mother?”

  It was a routine for the mother and daughter to start their day by having breakfast together. More often than not, it was the most time they spent together as Lillian’s many tasks kept her occupied while Margaret had her own responsibilities alongside her studies. Oftentimes they didn’t see one another the entire day until breakfast the next morning.

  The past week their hectic schedule had kept them estranged.

  “I am fine, dear,” answered Lillian as she sliced the peeled apple in a blink and plated it towards Margaret. “It was more tedious than anything else,” she explained. “It was mostly keeping an ear to whispers and fingers on strings. Most of the work had already been seen to.”

  Margaret understood her mother’s cryptic reply. “Anything?” she asked while biting an apple slice, inquiring as to what Lillian was willing to divulge.

  Lillian flicked her wrist dismissively. “Little things. You can have the reports if you want a look.”

  “Yes, please,” Margaret requested, knowing that pebbles started an avalanche.

  “Good,” Lillian approved. “Now, you.”

  “Nothing unexpected,” Margaret confessed before adding, “besides the rumors spreading to the Academy. It’s all the gossip.”

  “Not surprising,” Lillian admitted, at ease. “How is it?” she inquired, poring herself a cup of tea.

  “A day ago, everyone thought it a joke. But they have come to know better. Rumor has turned into news and it’s all they talk about. I have been hounded for details,” Margaret complained with a pout.

  Lillian inwardly squealed at her daughter’s adorable expression. “And?”

  “They are enjoying the tongue-wagging. The loudest gossip is about the groom. People know very little about him and are crying outrage at Gwen’s behest.”

  “The match is not looked upon favorably?” Lillian asked.

  “It’s too soon for that,” Margaret reasoned. “More than anything, they are shocked that the most desirable bachelorette is paired with a bastard. His anonymity has people curious.”

  “Expected,” Lillian commented, sipping. “Better this way. How is Gwen taking it?”

  A brief awkwardness burst within Margaret. “She is,” she struggled to choose the most appropriate description. “She is the same,” she sighed in defeat.

  At Lillian’s inquisitiveness, Margaret reported, “Gwen hardly seems bothered. It is as if nothing’s changed.”

  “She is a creature of desire,” spoke Lillian to Margaret’s unspoken frustration.

  “You say that about everyone,” was Margaret’s quick retort.

  Lillian chuckled. “More true for some than others.”

  Margaret placed her elbow on the table and leaned her chin in her palm.

  “The difference between you being a creature of desire and Gwen being a creature of desire is in your sense of decorum,” Lillian said in response to Margaret’s implied question, a gleeful twinkle in her eyes.

  Margaret rolled her eyes. “Of course,” she agreed with heavy sarcasm.

  “Propriety protects as much as it confines. You use it as a discipline and a defense. Gwen shuns it follow her whims. The trick is to have both.”

  “You would say that,” spoke Margaret, unconvinced.

  “Yes, I would,” Lillian nodded, shameless. “Why choose when you could have it all?"

  “Can we please not talk about this again?” Margaret pleaded. She knew what the conversation would inevitably lead to and wanted to avoid it all together. The argument was a repeated one. Margaret knew half of it was Lillian having fun at her expense.

  “Fine,” Lillian spared her daughter. “Eventually, you will learn,” she had the last word on the matter before adding, “I want you to keep an eye on Gwen.”

  Margaret furrowed her brow. “What for?”

  “Ask her to favor discretion.”

  Margaret blinked. “Discretion? Gwen?” she asked, incredulous.

  Lillian laughed. “I am not asking her to abstain. Just to remind her that she has appearances to keep.”

  “Again, this is Gwen we are talking about,” Margaret pointed out.

  A pensive expression flitted across Lillian, though Margaret didn’t pick up on it.

  “Just warn her,” said Lillian.

  “Warn her about what?”

  “Advise her,” Lillian rephrased. Following Margaret’s questioning look, “There is no going back. The board has been set and moves made. Gwen should know that the game is afoot and she has her role to play. Better for everyone that she plays it well.”

  Margaret frowned and then then her shoulders slumped. “I will do my best,” she spoke, unconvinced in her endeavor.

  “Persuasion, dear daughter. You must be better at it,” she reprimanded.

  Margaret hesitated as a sudden thought entered her mind. It couldn’t be restrained and a question burst forth, “Will you do the same to me?”

  Lillian paused at Margaret’s whispered question. “What do you mean?” she played coy, her eyes glinting with unfathomable emotion.

  Margaret swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. “How you matched Gwen and the boy,” she uttered her fear in the fewest words possible.

  “For ‘you’, child, I would do anything,” Lillian promised, her tone indisputable, though not unkind. “Anything,” she reiterated. “But I would never barter you. Never will I give you away. No one will own you and no cage would hold you. I promise.”

  At her mother’s declaration, Margaret curled up within herself. No different than a child who had done wrong and known that they had made a mistake soon as they had committed it.

  “You should know better,” Lillian chided, but seeing her Margaret wilt, she thawed. “As I will love you always, I will protect you always. Even when you doubt it.”

  Margaret lowered her head, chastened. “I’m sorry,” she muttered.

  Lillian smiled. “There’s no truer love than a parent’s for their child. You can only understand when you have your own. So do not blame yourself ‘too’ much,” she said, still smiling as she tapped Margaret’s cheek.

  “And who said ‘I’ was the one to play matchmaker?” said Lillian with mischief, her tone wise to some bigger mystery.