Sunlight filtering through the Galdra-made sky windows warmed Saga’s cheeks, and combined with the scent, triggered a fierce wave of nostalgia.Memories bloomed in her like a garden—playing spinning games with her small brown-haired sister and hiding in the foliage with her mother, waiting for those winterwing birds to fly from their cage. The indoor gardens had once been Saga’s favorite place in all of Askaborg. But, like many corners of the castle, she frequented them rarely these days.
As she rounded a corner on the pathway, the fountain came into view. Saga murmured a silent prayer to Marra as she settled into a chair. Today, she’d need all the wisdom she could get to steer conversation toward the Klaernar. How would she do it? The King’s Claws were not exactly a common topic discussed with the queen.
Thankfully, Queen Signe soon arrived, glimmering in an ivory gown and golden jewels. Standing to curtsey, Saga drew a deep breath and unraveled her mental shields.
“Saga,” said the queen, taking a seat. “You look gorgeous, darling.”
…that shade gives her a sickly complexion,wafted Signe’s thoughts. Saga wrangled a smile, despite the desire to sag. An hour of torture, and for what?
“As do you, Your Highness,” Saga forced herself to say, sinking into her own chair. As her eyes met the queen’s, Saga’s stomach lurched. A fading purple bruise covered Signe’s left cheekbone.
Signe’s lips drew down. “If you have a question, Saga, then voice it.”
“I apologize, Your Majesty. How did you?—”
The queen’s glacial eyes sharpened. “I was careless and ran into the wall.”
But Saga knew better than to believe it. It wasn’t the first time Saga had seen such marks on the queen, nor the first time she saw her future. A loveless marriage. A husband who bedded countless others and used violence to get his way.
“Do not worry for me, child,” continued the queen in a demure voice. “I should have paid better attention.”
…and I know better than to voice my displeasure aloud, thought Signe, waving to the cupbearer. What is it Skraeda would say? The rabbit comes easily to the clever wolf who waits…
The serving thrall scurried forward with a kettle, pouring steaming róa into a pair of silver cups. Saga added a spoon of honey to hers, stirring slowly as the spiced scent filled her senses.
“I thank you for meeting me, Saga,” said the queen, setting her own spoon aside and meeting her gaze. “Long have I wished for us to speak honestly with one another.”
Saga’s heart sped up.
“Mother to daughter,” said Signe. “Woman to woman.”
Saga clasped her gloved hands tightly on her lap as new alarming thoughts surfaced. Had Signe discovered the wax sealer’s theft? Had word of the tampered letters reached the queen? Saga’s heart thudded as the attending thrall placed a trencher of steaming oatcakes with butter and strawberry preserves on the table. The urge to flee to her chambers was high, but she fought against them, reciting the solarium’s exits.
“It is a delicate matter, darling,” continued the queen. “But one that must be addressed.” The queen leaned closer. “We must discuss your womanly duties.”
Saga exhaled slowly, staring at the queen. “Womanly duties,” she repeated.
A coy smile tilted the queen’s lips. “What is expected of you upon marriage to Bjorn.”
Saga felt the blood drain from her face.
…for her sake, I hope Bjorn doesn’t share his father’s taste for pain in the bedroom, thought Signe, blowing steam from her róa.
Gods, Saga thought she could be sick, right here, on this table.
The queen frowned. “Now don’t be so dramatic, Saga.” She watched Saga over the rim of her cup as she took a sip. “Things we do not understand can sometimes appear frightening.”
Saga opened her mouth to tell the queen she knew more than she ought, thanks to those books from the Southern Continent, but decided against it. She bit into an oatcake with vigor, determined to let this go where it must.
“Now I’m certain you know what makes a man and a woman different, don’t you, Saga?”
Saga nearly choked, managing a nod at Signe.
“When a man appreciates a woman, his…” Signe paused, looking down at the table. She picked up the silver teaspoon. “Hisspooncan grow in size.”
“It can become a tablespoon?” Saga could not help but inquire, lips beginning to quiver with suppressed laughter.
“For some men,” said the queen, “it can even become a serving spoon.”
