The Heirs

Chapter 30- Epilogue

and thou most dreaded impe of highest Jove,
faire Venus sonne, that with thy cruell dart
at that good knight so cunningly didst rove,
that glorious fire it kindled in his hart,
lay now thy deadly Heben bow apart,
and with thy mother milde come to mine ayde:
come both, and with you bring triumphant Mart,
in loves and gentle jollities arrayd,
after his murdrous spoiles and bloudy rage allayd.
and with them eke, O Goddesse heavenly bright,
mirrour of grace and Majestie divine,
-

Rhiannon disliked the colour of the roses around her throne. Why had she chosen roses, anyway? They were so frightfully mundane, and everyone liked them. She ought to have chosen Venus-traps- to honour her grandmother Aphrodite-

Oh, of course. That was why she had had roses on her throne. Roses were sacred to the Goddess of Love, and the Faerie Queen had chosen to pay tribute to her divine ancestry with them.

Poppies were her favourite, if she had to choose one- although they were sacred to the Goddess Demeter, who had had no love for the Queen of the Fae. Perhaps that was why she liked them most- for being fond of them angered someone she disliked.
Nothing quite like infuriating a cunt of a Goddess by using flowers.

"Pyrhleus." She called loudly, and a Faerie with ears made of leaves was before her immediately. Her folded wings fluttered in satisfaction at the promptness. "How is the prisoner goddess?"

Pyrhleus looked discomfited- not least because he had been dancing in the Throne Room for as long as he could remember since waking up what felt like eons ago, and now his feet hurt- and he anxiously touched one of his ears.

"Well- she-" He looked into her ivory eyes, and remembered who she was- and what she could do. How dare he hesitate, in his Queen's presence. "She is physically well, but mentally unsound. I believe she has been attempting to injure herself enough that she dies- but I do not think she is aware that she is in the process of committing suicide."

Rhiannon's brows rose, "Suicide? The last time I looked in on her, she had her hands between her legs and was lost to all but her fantasies." That sight had been what had prompted her to change her alias to the prisoner goddess. That woman, however much the Faerie Queen hated her, was beautiful, especially when naked and in the throes of pleasure. "What changed?"

"I do not know." The Faerie replied simply. "Humans are weak, and fragile. I am surprised she has made it as long as she has."

"Humans are stupid and emotional. Their stupidity and emotions make them last." But then she smiled coldly, idly running her fingers along the edge of her translucent gown. "But it often brings about their deaths, as well, much to my satisfaction. Death is the epilogue many need. The prisoner goddess is trying to kill herself, you say?"

"I believe she is."

"Well, then." She raised her voice, and the rest of the Court- those dancing, those singing, those making love, those biting into poisonous berries just to feel the rush of the toxins- looked at her immediately, abandoning their previous exploits. "The prisoner goddess. You know of her, the human who can control water. Let this be a decree. If the prisoner goddess dies of her own hand, I kill everyone in this Court, and your children's and lovers' bones will become part of my furniture."

Pyrhleus stepped back, almost falling onto the floor.
How did this measly human mean so much to her? He knew she had been a Queen-
"Why, Your Majesty?" He dared to ask, though his head was bowed. "Why is the prisoner's life so important?"