Rupert quietly leaves, and I swiftly dress. Going through the motions robotically.
My ears are still sore from being pierced, hopefully that will pass soon. The tiny silver earrings are beautiful and necessary. Magical translators. I will be able to understand the fey as if they are speaking English.
Mother’s ears were already pierced, so her matching gift was not painful. But envy is an ugly emotion. I should put it aside.
I give my hair a quick comb, then I straighten my tie in the mirror.
My reflection stares forlornly back at me. Tension clear in the corner of my eyes. I poke at my face with my fingers, pulling at the muscles and trying to get them to relax. I need to look perfect.
It’s time for breakfast. With Mother.
I glance at the carriage clock on the mantelpiece. My appearance is going to have to do. I can’t be late.
With one last glance in the mirror, I turn and leave. I hurry down the stairs, straighten my shoulders and enter the breakfast room.
Mother is sitting at the table. A cup of coffee on the starched, white-linen tablecloth in front of her. The newspaper she is reading is covering her face.
I give her a quick bow and then silently move over to the side table to serve myself breakfast.
“Fruit only,” Mother says without looking up from her morning paper.
My fingers let go of the porridge ladle and move over to the fruit.
“The engagement has not been formalised. You cannot allow yourself to get fat, and you absolutely cannot be bloated for your first meeting. You should know this.”
“Yes, Mother. Sorry, Mother.”
I take my small plate of fruit slices and join her at the table. Sitting at my place across from her.
I nibble at my fruit while she sips her coffee and slowly turns the pages of her newspaper. The silence is oppressive. Thick and heavy.
One good thing about being married is that I will be free of Mother. I will escape all her criticism. Her disapproval. Her disappointment that I was not born a formidable mage like her, but merely a feeble vessel. Too weak towield my own magic. Only able to give my magic to others through sex.
I pick up my last apple slice. My stomach rumbles.
Monty is a formidable mage. She has one son to be proud of.
Except he is rebellious and disrespectful and does not agree with her worship of the fey. I even heard the servants gossiping about how he has filled our ancestral home with his boyfriend’s friends and lovers. His boyfriend, who used to be a sex slave. Along with his friends who are not even human, they are vampires and shifters and kelpies and such.
As if having a boyfriend wasn’t shocking enough. Even though Monty’s lover is a vessel like me, and a mage and a vessel pairing follows the natural order of things. But apparently, not buying your vessel is uncivilised.
The servants said they all run around our old house having orgies and wild parties and trashing the place. I don’t believe that. Monty would never, and I met his boyfriend, Pink, once. And I can’t imagine him doing anything like that either.
I suspect the truth is that Monty is sheltering his found family from the fey invasion. Keeping his friends safe. Protecting them.
I glance over at my mother. Monty isn’t offering people up to the fey.
As if aware of my attention, Mother shakes out her paper and places it on the table. I hastily lower my gaze.
“I don’t have to tell you to be on your absolute best behaviour, do I?”
“No, Mother.”
She stands,so I do too.
She strides out of the room, and I follow behind. Three steps. The polite, respectful distance between a mage and a vessel.
We reach the sweeping driveway. The sunlight feels nice on my skin, but there is no time to enjoy it because the car is already ready.
