Rowena was out of bed as soon as Morgan knocked, already having been awake for a couple of hours, musing about Jarl Toor and her husband and what she planned to do about them both.
She had long decided that if Jarl Toor could not be properly punished by beast law, she could punish him by her own queen’s laws. She just had to discover if there were persons close to him that could be exploited--namely romantic interests--since those kinds of relations fell under her court’s jurisdiction. And since she was the mouth behind such laws, she could craft something specifically to neutralize the jarl. She felt a little devious for considering such base tactics, and even saw the nasty smirk of Wolf in her mind’s eye, as if he approved of such clever, underhanded tricks… but she also felt that if she held back, Jarl Toor could position himself in such a way as to be untouchable, and then he might actually prove a real threat to his own deity… who was presently made low by her reservations about his divine character, of all things.
Additionally, there were the cycle’s seasons to consider. She had gathered that certain demifolk were more vulnerable during certain seasons, and stronger still in others. She would have to weigh Jarl Toor’s strengths and weaknesses against her own. And time would not stop for her to figure out those nuances.
She also had to account for The Spice King’s ebb and flow, timing things ever so to make sure he remained an image of fortitude for his stellar citizenry amidst all the bickering and hunting. She would have to remain mum about his condition to even those in her court. Perhaps she could place him on a rest day by her own wishes. Everyone assumed he was seeing to her needs after all. It wasn’t such a stretch that he might take a day off by her leave if she promised to handle his duties. She could imagine playing courtier and gardener if she had a little help.
How hard could it be to be God for a day? she asked herself grimly.
Morgan was surprised to see her awake, and Rowena felt a small pang of familiarity as she recalled Fionn wearing such an expression the day prior. “Maiden of Man,” Morgan greeted at last, her face returning to neutral acceptance. “How is our patient?”
“Our patient needs new dressings,” Rowena said with a small smile. “And I need to ready for court.”
“So early, My Queen?”
“The earlier, the better.”
“You may not have been born in the Spring, Spice Queen, but you certainly rise like one of its birds,” Morgan commented dryly before she retrieved the tea trolly with all its bandages and balms. Rowena had never heard herself referred to as Spice Queen, but she couldn’t have said she hated it. It certainly sounded better than Bastard Queen.
The girl watched as her handmaiden mixed a poultice together. She pulled her robe tighter about her and crossed her arms, asking absently, “Is Ouro--Tamlyn awake?”
Morgan’s face flushed, her oily skin taking on a delightfully russet hue. She huffed humorlessly, “He’s still sleeping like the womb-bound.”
Rowena managed a small, curious smile. “You’re blushing, Morgan.”
The lady crow blinked rapidly as she practically stabbed her herbs with the pestle gripped tight in her feathered hand. She spoke to the mortar in a low, loathful voice, “That cursed serpent sleeps in the buff.”
Rowena let out a sharp, mirthful chortle before covering her mouth. She cleared her voice and said, “Oh, stars above, Morgan, I am ever so sorry you had to see such a thing.”
“I would appreciate your sympathy more than your sarcasm, Queen.”
“So… what did you see that was so awful?”
Morgan cocked her head to the side and then addressed Rowena directly with narrowed eyes, but the maiden could see she was trying to suppress a giddy smile. “It’s unfortunate that the hanches on that beast could put a dancer to shame.” She made a vague motion towards her own posterior and said with widening eyes, “I have never ogled a--well…” She blew air from between lazy lips. “My feathers were effectively ruffled.”
The two of them devolved into shameless giggling then, and they only managed to return to form when they heard a groan of irritation from the bed in the chamber.
The Spice King rose up, wincing, to rest on his elbows. Morgan went to his side to force him back down, but he waved her away with an aggressive grunt.
“My King,” Rowena said with a bow, and Morgan followed suit, realizing in short order that he was sans delirium, and more irritated than confused.
“Time?” he grumbled as he sat upright and then curled in on himself. With the posture, his face immediately emptied of all color, and he put a hand to his head as if it ached. He hissed in report when his bandaged fingertips met with resistance. “The time, damn you,” he whispered.
“Early morning. You only slept the night,” Morgan supplied.
“Get out,” The Spice King said without heat.
“Your bindings need changing, King,” the lady crow objected.
The Spice King’s hand fell into his lap and he glared at the crow, his kaleidoscopic eyes swirling with righteous indignation. “You stay any second longer and I will run you through, cook you over a fucking spitroast, and feed you to Ouroborus.”
“I would be impressed to see you get out of bed without falling over,” Morgan said flatly, but when she felt Rowena’s warning look, she gave an abbreviated bow and vacated without another word.
Rowena grabbed the tea trolly and was just about to wheel it out of the room when her husband snapped, “I didn’t fucking tell you to leave.”
“You said to get out. I assumed--”
“Close the twice damned door and shut your mouth.”
Rowena gave him a dower expression. “Or you’ll do what?”
The Spice King crossed his arms over his chest, mirroring her own position, but then he sighed and laid back into bed, his horns making a well in the wall of pillows behind him. From behind gritted teeth, he said slowly, “My eyes are about to squeeze out of my skull with every bloody footstep that stabs into my ears. Please close the door and sit here, Wife.”
Oh, so politeness isn’t beyond him, she thought to herself, but then she felt a pang of guilt. Despite his previous rudeness, his words were born out of frustration and pain, she supposed. She closed the door cautiously and came around to his bedside. He reached out a bandaged hand and she obliged by taking a seat and beginning the long process of removal.
The burns on his fingertips would be exposed, now that they had properly blistered, or at least, that was what Morgan had recommended during his treatment the previous night. As for his flesh wounds, those would be exposed in the same way, but treated with Morgan’s poultice if they had stopped weeping any humors.
As she unwrapped his torso, she couldn’t help but be aware of his wandering eyes. It was an easier time treating him before because he was all but dead weight. But now I don’t know what to do when he looks at me like that, she thought nervously, imagining for a moment that this innocent moment could turn dangerous if he decided to use their close proximity to his advantage in some way.
Of course, most of her misgivings evaporated when she unbound his midriff and the mottled bruising around his rubs was exposed. His breathing turned shallow and panicked as he forced out a wheeze of pain. Rowena, startled by his sudden turn, locked eyes with him and demanded harshly, “Why did you fight them?”
“What?” he rasped, gripping the sheets about him with wide eyes.
She shook her head and returned back to her work, the compression of her brow almost making her forehead ache. “You could have made them disappear. You could have trapped them in plants. You could have called dryads to your aid or summoned walls of thorns to protect yourself and yet you--” She ground out the last of her words as her molars kneaded together. She applied the pasty mixture to the first of his sides and he bit down a yelp of pain as his eyes squeezed shut. “Fool!” the maiden spit under her breath. “Your people need you whole!”
“Fool?!” He coughed on the word in shock more than offense, then groaned as the movement cost him more stabbing pains. He steeled himself enough for the next round of applications that he only grimaced from her insistent pressure. When she glared at him from time to time in persistent, silent demand, he finally let out a settling breath and said to her, “I will spare you the poetry. I like killing things. And I have my pride.”
“Well, you’re going to have to be more careful from now on,” she said neutrally, accepting his admission, but not necessarily approving of it. “You are in a man’s shape. You have to eat and sleep, and these wounds will take time to go away.” She didn’t bother sugar-coating things as Gaylord had recommended. He was a god of chaos and nature. If he couldn’t handle a bit of cold truth, then he was a lost cause.
“Like stone tits they will!” he snapped in irritation, but then bit down on another curse as she began to wrap his abs a little more roughly that she ought to have. He growled, “You’re doing that on purpose, you bitch.”
She grinned at him. “Yes. Yes, I am.”
“Another one of your nasty lessons?”
“I suppose so.”
“I fail to see what I might learn from such abuse.”
“Patience,” Rowena suggested. “Clearly you do not respond well to humiliation. But perhaps boredom will do.”
“I don’t follow.”
“You’re to stay in here, in this bed, until you’ve recovered.” When his eyes glazed over, she added, “Or at least until those ribs are less--”
“Fucked?”
Rowena almost laughed at his deadpan response, instead turning away from him to push the trolley out of the room and close the door again. “Breakfast will be on its way soon, along with some bound stories.”
“Brought by that deceiving, ebony-feathered charlatan, no doubt.”
Rowena let out a longsuffering sort of sigh. “Morgan is the one who treated you, you know. She’s not all bad as far as beasts go. She’s certainly a more pleasant companion than you’ve been.”
“Well, she’s a piss poor healer in any case,” he said with a sniff, opting to ignore her latter comment. “I should be up and about already.”
She suppressed a laugh. “That’s not how healing works. It takes time.”
“Oh!” He said in mock surprise, “Is that all it takes? I had no idea!”
He’s a petulant child, Rowena declared internally and let him see the amused smile on her face as she turned to face him. His annoyed expression turned troubled as he met her eyes, then he looked away, suddenly penitent. “What is it?” she asked warily.
He meant to shrug, but instead winced and slipped further into the mass of pillows and sheets, pulling them up around him to cover him up to his nose. He mumbled, “No runny whites,” through the coverlet.
“What?”
“Breakfast. My eggs. No runny whites.”
She smiled warmly and bowed. “Of course, My King.”
Breakfast was delivered to the master suite, but Rowena abstained from the meal.
“Where are you off to in such a hurry?” The King asked as he hesitantly inspected the platter of cheese and eggs. Despite knowing how to ask for his eggs, it was clear to Rowena that he didn’t actually know if they met the standard he had set.
“To get ready. I’ll return after.”
“You can’t ready yourself here?” He set his tray onto her side of the bed and asked directly, “What are you planning, Queen?”
“Nothing that concerns you yet, King.”
“I’m concerned already.”
“I am relieved you bear the capacity to feel so,” she said simply.
She escaped to the common room and then to Morgan’s stay where the lady crow waited. Her handmaiden fixed her hair into a braided bun of tresses and eagle feathers. Then the maiden requested outfitting in a modest ensemble of trouser and jacket, choosing functionality over form for the day since she figured she would be on her feet for most of it, and dreaded the thought of stuffing her feet into any pointy-toed shoes for normal occassion’s sake.
“A court scandal in the making,” Morgan tutted as she snapped a fetching belt about the girl’s waist, to add a touch of femininity to the outfit. “You look like an Autumn huntress, Queen.”
“Good,” Rowena said, smiling slyly. “I wouldn’t want to put on airs.”
Morgan gave her a reckless grin at that. Her reaction was one of revel. Rowena suspected her handmaiden loved the idea of creating chaos, but remained wise enough to warn her of it. Silently, she thanked Cairne Cora for the lady crow’s recommendation. The hag certainly hadn’t cheated her in that regard.
As Morgan looked her over one last time, she nodded in approval, then asked out of the blue, “When you were among the men that call themselves beasts, did you command their attention?”
Rowena opened her mouth to ask after the handmaiden’s meaning, but then she relaxed and thought about the question. Morgan, regardless of her true loyalties, seemed to care for her. Perhaps she was simply curious about her. She had a right to be, after all. The girl shook her head. “No. I was invisible for most of my life. Maidens are only good for two things in my village. They are good for making more beasts and they are good for appeasing the hungers of The Spice King. I served my shaman for some time, but that was the most attention I ever received… before my sacrifice anyway.”
Morgan gave her a sympathetic expression. “That is not what I mean, Rowena,” she said. But she didn’t elaborate. She bowed and said, “I will attempt to wake Tamlyn once more, then ask Cero to fetch the breith if you still wish to make court so early.”
“I do,” the maiden confirmed adamantly. “Also call on our pyremistress, our larus, and--if you can--an authority in the King’s Court that I can consult on behalf of The Spice King’s matters. They should all meet the breith and I at court.”
Morgan hesitated for a moment, then said slowly, “The King’s nobles will not appreciate the suggestion that you usurp his rule… but it will make a certain collective interested in what you might have to say. You shook certain trees during your last session. If you go through with this, you will have even the highest echelons talking amongst themselves.”
“Good,” Rowena said. “I’ve been charged to keep order among his court. It’s time I acquainted myself with its factions.” Then she added wryly, “It’s time I started acting instead of reacting.”
“My Queen,” Morgan said with another bow, but before she left, she said to the floor in a voice full of quiet assurity, “I won’t believe that you went unnoticed, Rowena. Gaylord chose the right savior.” She vanished in a flourish of darkness and taffeta before Rowena could properly process the flattery beneath her words.
The girl, turning once more to the looking glass, smiled at her reflection there and straightened out her cowhide jacket. “She is right, you know,” she murmured to herself. “Pretend as you might, you died because of a certain man’s attention.” She shook the severe, chiding expression that came to her face and slapped her cheeks. “Right.”
She dipped out of Morgan’s stay into the common room, scooped up the canister of cocoa powder from one of the side tables, rubbed a thimble’s worth into the inside of her cheek and waited for a burning sensation to commence. Properly invigorated, she swished her mouth clean with a swig of mead from the stand near the front door and returned to the master suite to check on her invalid’s progress.
“They pop,” he said to her before she could announce herself. “It was disgusting. You could have warned me.” He was still wiping his face with her side of the bedsheets.
She raised an eyebrow at him. “What happened to gorging yourself at Harvest? You act like you’ve never eaten a meal before.”
He gave her a sour expression. “Shoveling substance into my face as quickly as I physically can while battling the knowledge that doing so will kill me does not strike me as a pleasant pastime. In fact, gorging myself on offerings is decidedly not the same as daintily consuming these gooey, little slime traps just so they don’t explode viscera all over my person!” She laughed out loud at his indignant expression and his face fell into bitter annoyance at her outburst. “You eat one,” he challenged her.
Without hesitation, she approached him, took up his unhandled fork, cut into the remaining egg, and used a piece of cheese as a vehicle to deliver the protein to her waiting grin. She made a satisfied sound as he gawked at her. She swallowed and said, “It does need a little pepper.”
“You popped it on the plate,” he said after a moment.
“That’s the secret.”
“Mm.” He grunted as he crossed his arms. Rowena almost laughed again, considering his fascinated expression.
She thought to herself, When he isn’t being a--well--a beast, he isn’t so terrible.
The Spice King adopted his normal aloofness then and he grew distant. He said, “Tell Tamlyn he’ll play nursemaid until I’m well. I won’t suffer Morgan’s presence until I’m certain she’s not some insidious agent.”
“What’s the worse she could do if she was?”
He glowered at her. “Oh, only kill me. Nothing too terribly damaging.”
She shrugged. “And? I’ll just go fetch you from the Deadwood again.”
“Teats on a treent, you’re a thorny twat,” he muttered in defeat.
“Why would treents need teats?” she muttered in reply.
“For fun,” he said with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
She stopped a nervous laugh with the back of her hand, trying unsuccessfully to not imagine an old treent with a nice pair of assets, and recovered her falculties by focusing on the task at hand. She cleared her throat noisily. “Finish breakfast and Morgan will send for Tamlyn. I have my own court to attend to,” she told him.
She saw something flicker over his face that looked almost like jealousy or disdain, but with a great deal of effort on his part, he stiffly nodded and even surprised her by saying, “Be careful.”
“Of… course. I will return Midday, if the session doesn’t go overlong.”
“Ro--” He stifled whatever he was about to say to her. Instead, he only nodded and said, “Don’t be long.”
She wanted to ask him why, but felt she had already asked too much of him by committing him to bed. On an impulse, she gave one of his curling horns a quick, friendly tug and then left him sitting there, staring at the space she had been, irritation and fondness making a war of his features.
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