Angharad of Llyr is heir to a matriarchy: a line of enchantress-queens that has ruled her island for centuries. Her destiny from birth: to rule as sole authority and ensure that her powerful bloodline endures for another generation. Devoted to her p...
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The queen's chambers were a study in opulence, lit by warm lamplight that glimmered on the surfaces of polished marble and winked from the whirls and corners of silver ornamentation. Thick woolen carpet, woven in spiraling patterns, muffled the fall of intruding footsteps. Heavy velvet curtains and rich tapestries softened the stone walls, the color crimson predominant and potent.
Though her own chambers were luxurious enough in comparison to most, Angharad had always entered her mother's with awe and hushed reverence; she did not relish the thought of relocating to them herself someday. When she was a young child she had overheard Regat, just after her coronation, murmuring to Arianrhod that it was difficult to sleep there, due to the dreams it induced. Vivid, visceral, often disturbing dreams already being common to all the Daughters of Llyr, the idea that anything could make them even more disruptive had not endeared Angharad to the environment, or resigned her to her inevitable future occupancy. Both her mother and aunt insisted that dreams were important, and not something to be avoided regardless of discomfort. Perfectly true, no doubt; it was an adage applicable to many details of her life, but no less disquieting. It wasn't just the anticipation of such dreams, however, that made her ambivalent; these rooms held an aura oppressive in potency, as though their rounded walls had soaked in the overflowed enchantments of their generations of residents until the very stones sweated out magic upon their cold surfaces.
Regat was sitting before the fire when she entered, writing something upon a lapdesk; the small table next to her couch was laid with neatly stacked and sealed parchments and a white marble inkwell whose spotlessness seemed to glare Angharad in the eye, reminding her, with irritating irony, of the smudges that always marred her own anytime she wrote. A councillor stood nearby, sealing wax and candle in hand; he bowed to the princess silently.
The queen laid down her quill and folded her document slowly and deliberately, held it out to be sealed, and pressed her signet ring into the scarlet wax. "That's the last," she declared. "They are to go out to the mainland tomorrow, as soon as the storm clears. One per courier, first ship that can accommodate the horses. Impress upon all that time is of the essence."
"Very good, Your Majesty." The man gathered up documents and implements and was dismissed without ceremony. Angharad barely noticed the door closing behind him; she was too uneasy at the lack of anyone else in the room - her mother was rarely without her ladies-in-waiting, but they must have been sent away for the moment, and the fact of their absence seemed...ominous.
Regat motioned toward the lamp nearest and it dimmed instantly; she put a hand to her eyes, thumb and fingertips pressing against her temples briefly. "Please sit, Angharad. I must speak with you."
Angharad sank into the other end of the couch, willing herself not to fidget. "Headache? What was all that? You must have been writing for hours."
"I was. It is too sensitive a matter for the scribes," Regat said, looking at her solemnly. "Angharad," she began, and then hesitated, as though unwilling. Angharad waited, silent, her heart pounding. Regat looked away from her, and stared at the fire. "What I have to tell you will not be to your liking, daughter. Indeed, it is far from my own. I would far rather circumstances were different, and that this step is one you would have taken in your own time - within reason."
